Much like Phantom Thread, Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest movie, Licorice Pizza is a film for all six senses. There is no living director preternaturally gifted at evoking a time or place we have never experienced, never visited, but only vaguely remembered in our dreams. You don’t watch Licorice Pizza, you inhale the soft scent of bronzed skin from the California sunshine, taste a well-made martini, feel the ripple of a waterbed undulate as you gaze at the beautiful smile of the girl who wants to sell it to you.
Paul Thomas Anderson places you in the golden heart of the San Fernando Valley in 1973 for a two-hour out-of-body experience, travelling by astral projection, cartwheeling, running, and flying with 15-year-old child actor, Gary Valentine and his 25-year-old, friend, business partner and sometime chaperone, Alana Kane.
Gary meets Alana at his school. She’s the school photographer’s assistant and Gary asks her out to dinner. “I can be your friend, but I can’t be your girlfriend,” she tells him. Gary has that effortless charisma, that slow-burn smile, that something you can’t put your finger on. He’s the centre of gravity, the sun that slowly pulls planets like Alana around him. She’s intrigued to enter his giddy orbit. What is it about this kid? He’s not ugly, he’s not handsome, he’s just right. Gary’s exuberance is infectious, and Alana can’t resist where it lands her.
Their relationship ebbs and flows, trickles, and cascades like the waterbeds they will eventually sell together in their newfound company. Should we be worried for them both? Should we be happy that their friendship is genuine and heartfelt? Just watch mesmerised as they cling to opposite ends of the telephone, silent in their communication to one another. Something deeper than electricity or love flows through the telephone lines. What is clear is that they enjoy being around one another and we have their joie de vivre wired directly to our nervous system as they bounce from one crazy situation to another.
What we do know is that Gary’s parents are absent. He loves his brother, and they seem safe surrounded by their peers and collection of older friends. But once you know that Gary is played by Cooper Hoffman, son of the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman the frequent collaborator and friend of Anderson their absence takes on a more poignant meaning. Deep within the supernova of Gary’s bright, bright soul is a heartfelt sadness, a loss that a more seasoned actor than Cooper Hoffman could never hope to replicate.
That’s why Alana Haim, of the band Haim is his perfect foil as Alana. She too relates to Anderson through the music videos he directed for her and her sisters. Her on-screen chemistry with Cooper isn’t hindered by audience over-familiarity but is boosted by the vague recognition viewers may have of them. How many times are we genuinely surprised by newcomers? During Hollywood’s pandemic uncertainty to take risks, Cooper and Alana’s genuine allure is akin to a nuclear reaction.
Anderson is savvy enough to surround his debutant actors with some real Hollywood heavyweights. Sean Penn jumps through fire as a craggy, William Holdenesque movie star, Benny Safdie is a revelation as mayor candidate Joel Wachs, and a scene stealing Bradley Cooper chomps down on the scenery as he lords it as Barbera Streisand’s ex-boyfriend Jon Peters. But they are all mere satellites to Cooper Hoffman and Alana Haim. When they hold hands on a waterbed and Let Me Roll It by Wings drops, it’s a lights-out moment.
I can’t tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheelLet me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Make of that what you will.