Out of the Audience

On Making it to the Credits of Inherent Vice

Seeing Inherent Vice this week made me want to compile a list of films I didn’t initially understand, but still loved. The first that came to mind was Donnie Darko, which left me feeling bewildered following my first viewing. The sense of confusion Kelly provoked came nowhere near to what Paul Thomas Anderson achieves in his latest mystery. Based on Thomas Pynchon’s novel of the same name, Anderson has made no attempt to decipher the confusion of a modernist’s pen. The question then arises — is it worth going to see a film that has a pattern of cinema goers walking out before its close?

For me, films have always been about escapism. Anderson finds a combination to perfectly achieve this. His characters somehow remain believable despite their ridiculousness. The continual addition of familiar actors, within roles that are distinguished from their defined careers, sets Inherent Vice apart from its predecessors. Individual narratives denote every player as their own stereotype, from a bald bodyguard with a swastika tattooed on his face, to an ex heroin addict with a new set of teeth. Despite an excess of names to remember and points of reference to recall, this only serves to reflect the confused mental state of a perpetually stoned Private Investigator. At that point Joaquin Phoenix delivers a leading performance which is wonderfully simple in form, yet complex in deliverance. Each aspect of the film is utilised to its comic effect, so that the narrative is enjoyable at every turn. Alongside a series of settings that are all intricately sculpted, and a portrayal of 70s America that does not pander to the more attractive elements of the time, Inherent Vice simultaneously exists within and transcends reality. The accompaniment of a soundtrack that sometimes overtakes the scenes in its brilliance establishes a viewing experience that is wholly immersive. 


Then what of the claim that Anderson’s latest endeavour makes no sense? Epitomising a protagonist defined as a ‘doper’, what Anderson achieves through his nonsensical plot is a cult classic that is The Big Lebowski tenfold. Taken as a mystery, Anderson utilises the incoherence of Pynchon’s novel to a result that is constantly gripping. The detachment that this enforces between viewer and subject is reflective of the same distance exhibited by the characters. Choosing not to take the familiar route of hippy free love in which everything seems like a pleasant dream, the depiction instead sits securely in the realms of the outsider. It is here that Anderson is able to manifest a film that is as endearing as it is indecipherable. For these reasons, not only is Inherent Vice worth watching, it is doubtlessly a classic to see countless times. Hopefully with each viewing we may better understand the sophistication of the director’s talent.