Category Archives: Reviews

Licorice Pizza: Paul Thomas Anderson’s Sticky L.A. Valentine

Paul Thomas Anderson is to the San Fernando Valley what Woody Allen is to Manhattan.

Sure, Quentin Tarantino grew up here. Chinatown is here. And Hollywood has one address.

But Anderson represents the sprawling heart of the Valley. Half Stanley Kubrick, half strip shopping mall, Anderson is the avatar for the 21st Century California filmmaker. And ‘Licorice Pizza’ the 21st Century California movie, tye-dyed in nostalgia for an era that may or may not have existed. But its appeal undeniably did.

In a way, ‘Pizza’ is the embodiment of nostalgia without sentiment, capturing a time and place in the 1970s when Nixon was on TV, Vin Scully called Dodger games on radio, gas lines formed because of shortages, and a boss could brazenly slap the behind of his female employee without fear of repercussions.

At its core, the movie is a peculiar love story, one involving Gary (Cooper Hoffman, the son of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman), who’s about to turn 16, and the older Alana (Alana Haim, of the rock band), who finds direction in an otherwise unfocused life thanks to Gary’s get-rich-quick schemes, which include peddling water beds.

A few actual ’70s characters find their way into the pair’s Hollywood-heavy plot, with Bradley Cooper portraying producer Jon Peters as a wildly flamboyant lunatic who actually purchases one of the beds. Sean Penn also turns up as an actor (the name is changed, but only slightly) full of strange stories, although it’s not entirely clear that he can separate reality from his movies.

‘Licorice Pizza’ really doesn’t have much of a plot; instead its a ‘Dazed and Confused’ style series of loosely connected episodes, in a way that becomes more obvious during the second half. Nor does it really address some of the nagging questions about Alana, whose periodic tantrums are among the film’s only poorly written scenes.

Those disclaimers aside, for the most part Anderson (who has directed a number of Haim videos since his last film, “Phantom Thread”) has delivered another highly entertaining movie, capturing a very particular time but also the enduring and universal nature of relationships developing in the most unexpected ways.

The title, incidentally, comes from a chain of record stores that were popular in the ’70s but no longer exist — a fitting symbol of the desire to give this bygone era another spin.

Anderson, the director of ‘Boogie Nights’ and ‘There Will Be Blood,’ has made perhaps his most sentimental film yet. More importantly, ‘Licorice Pizza’ is a movie Hollywood desperately sought mid-pandemic: one with heart.

‘Finch’: Not Exactly Best in Show


Finch wants desperately to be a good boy.

It learned all the movies it wanted to be. Rain Man; 2001: A Space Odyssey; E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. It had a beloved breed in Tom Hanks, who established his canine flick bonafides with Turner and Hooch. He won a couple Oscars, too.

But Finch ultimately is a good argument for why the MPAA needs its ratings system fixed. Because while it is rated PG-13, Finch is not a movie for audiences 13 and older. I’d say 16 and under.

How else to describe Apple’s latest film? It feels like Castaway met Wall-E and they went off to raise My Dog Skip — without the originality of any. Finch decaffeinates and sanitizes so many crucial scenes you’d think Disney made it (right down to physical comedy that’s just plain Goofy).

Hanks reprises the deserted-island role he made so memorable in Castaway. This time, the universe wants his character dead by solar flare, which has already wiped out most of the planet. Rightfully concerned that his irradiated days are numbered, Finch builds a robot to care for his dog.

While those plot details might be trickled out in an adult drama. Finch vomits forth those irresistible plot points almost by the first half hour. From poster to trailer to opening scene, Finch wears its cliches proudly and telegraphs its messages as clearly as Morse, which is almost a charm in itself.

Because there’s no hating Finch. I wept during it, but almost furiously so: It’s like a rescue shelter commercial set to Sarah McLachlan: Either don’t watch or get a tissue, because your heartstrings are going to be mercilessly plucked.

And it’s hard not to watch anything Tom Hanks does, even when it’s just him, a CGI robot and a rescue dog named Seamus, a terrier mix who looks a lot like my rescue mix. I was ready to love Finch. I wanted to love Finch.

But then Finch started misbehaving. For starters, Seamus plays a dog named Goodyear. Goodyear? The film gives some contrivance for Goodyear’s name, but come on: At least know a good dog name. You know, one that a dog would recognize and wouldn’t sound like product placement. Say, Seamus.

And for the robot, Jeff (again, ??). The movie quickly establishes that Jeff has only 72% of the information about the world that our hero, Finch (Hanks), meant to upload. A sudden dust and radiation storm cut the upload short, propelling our band into a wacky road trip.

There are many details to follow in the movie, but it’s all downhill from premise.

Or maybe not. Perhaps Apple, Disney and all major studios trying to stay in business view movies not for their teenager-and-older subject matter, but for their teenage-and-older consumer matter.

Because the movie ratings system is a grim numbers game, as the Motion Picture Association of America has confused its ratings as a seal of approval from the film industry — or a specific movie.

Your movie have smoking in it? PG rating. More than two “fucks?” You got yourself an R rating, buster. Showing pubis, or, worse, showing it in a sexual context? You’re flirting with an X rating — a death rating outside a particular demographic.

So why don’t we in the media get out of that absurd system? Can we not tell audiences who the movie is for, in terms of subject matter, instead of using Hollywood’s definition of age-appropriate viewing, which is a consumer-based metric?

Because Finch is a fine family film, full of fine lessons about friendship, family and the meaning of consciousness.

I just expected it in an adult film.

The Death of the Plot Twist


Spoiler alerts have become to movies what the Surgeon General’s warning became to smoking: a perfunctory caution before ill-advised behavior.

Remember plot twists in movies? The stunning revelations in films such as Psycho, The Crying Game and The Sixth Sense? Good times.

And getting rarer. When was the last time you were surprised by a movie’s plot?

Studios are trying to maintain the mystery: In the ad frenzy promoting Daniel Craig’s final film as James Bond, No Time To Die, trailers exclaimed (and still do) “You won’t believe the ending!”

Perhaps. Unless you read the Wikipedia entry for the movie. It spelled out the ending in detail — on the movie’s opening weekend.

This is the new rule, not the exception, in Hollywood’s click-bait reality. Movie reviews and plot secrets air on social media the day a movie opens, if not before. Some YouTube movie critiques are ad-libbed on cell phones outside the theater that just aired the film.

And it’s not only the ending. The Eternals, Disney’s latest comic-book entry, led all moves this weekend with a respectable $70 million in the U.S. — only in theaters.

But for those who enjoy Marvel’s trademark end-credits for their cameos and plot clues, bad news: Wikipedia listed that as well. Twice, actually: Eternals had a mid-end-credit scene, too. Both were duly described.

This poses a conundrum for an industry that must tease a film without giving away away too much. Studios are already laboring to sell kids on the theatrical experience itself, no small task in a pandemic. That job becomes tougher without intrigue.

So what fate, the movie twist? Already, fans are calling on fellow cinephiles to be more discreet.

Studios are asking reviewers sign agreements that they will not write on social media about a movie before their reviews. And more film reviews and analyses can be found on YouTube with a “NO SPOILERS” guarantee.

But for now, it’s up to the viewer to provide the suspension of disbelief. And surprise.