Review of Inherent Vice (2014) by Alejandro G — 12 Jan 2015

Let me start off by saying no, I haven't read the book, just the first few chapters that Amazon would let me sample. I have read some of Pynchon's other works, and so had some idea of what expect while maintaining enough ignorance to go in with a clean and unbiased mind, and I am glad to say I was not disappointed, because despite what other critics may say, you don't necessarily have to have read the book in order to "understand" this film. You just need a keen ear, a stiff attention to detail, and a willingness to accept weirdness at face value, because in true Pynchon fashion, Vice has more twists and tangles than the curls in Joaquin Phoenix's Jewfro.

Our story follows hippie PI Larry "Doc" Sportello (played by Joaquin Phoenix, still drunk, still belligerent, and still in mourning of the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and thus perfect for the role) whose descent into the underworld begins in true noir fashion when he is interrupted during one of his nightly bouts of nostalgia by the near ghostly apparition of his old lady, Shasta (Katherine Waterson) who of course is in trouble and needs the help of her indigent ex-lover and his pot-enhanced senses to rescue a wayward real estate baron from the dark forces conspiring against him. The conspiracy runs deep and sweaty, and in his unraveling it all hands are against Doc, his only strong allies being a Chicano maritime lawyer Sauncho Smilax, Esq. (Benicio del Toro, essentially playing Dr. Gonzo's sober older brother) and Doc's own worst enemy, Det. Christian F. "Bigfoot" Bjornsen (Josh Brolin), an early 1960's high school anti-drug film made flesh and bone, whose square and proud of it, the sort of cop who self-admittedly orders pancakes at Japanese restaurants not for the quality of the food itself but for the fearful respect shown by its owners. Brolin's Bigfoot is just one of many strange characters Doc meets on his investigations, but he will likely be remembered as one of the most memorable in the movie, if not in cinema itself. As for the cinematography, it bears Anderson's own loving touch, with its reliance on real spaces with few bells and whistles in order to capture a time period of Nixonian sleaze and paranoia, including its hallucinatory, wtf moments reminiscent of Punch-Drunk-Love hyper-realism, when the viewer can't help but scratch their heads and wonder "Did I just really see that?".

All in all, another classic for the film buffs to argue over.