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Punch-drunk Love review
:. Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
:. Starring: Adam Sandler, Emily Watson
:. Running Time: 1:30
:. Year: 2002
:. Country: USA
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Paul Anderson's transparently naïve, yet effective fourth movie, Punch-Drunk Love, is a thoughtful work showing his penchant for film direction.
This film could be considered the story of a director striving to capture a character in his camera's field of view, a film about training and craftsmanship. It is difficult to slot this movie neatly into one genre.
The official pitch would say it's the story of Barry (Adam Sandler, both comical and stifled), a run-of-the-mill manager of a small toilet plunger firm, managed by his seven interfering sisters. With a non-existent love life and plenty of hang-ups, Barry's only focus seems to be collecting money-off coupons from pudding packets to win free air miles. Barry is a loner, alien to his surroundings, struggling to fit in. He expresses his awkwardness by avoiding the camera. He nods, turns his back, isolates himself, hides in corners (the first scene in the film catches him by surprise at the far edge of the frame), stamps his feet, can't stand still, and submits himself to us and others. He forces the camera to use wide-lens shots to keep him in the frame.
However, there is also a sly side to Barry, which the director draws out using two parallel plots. He meets a woman who is already in love with him (Emily Watson), and becomes the victim of a traumatic blackmail attempt following a lonely call to a phone-sex service. He moves, changes his gestures, his attitude and his relationship to the camera: the road to happiness begins. This hybrid film is both a farce (Buster Keaton-style), with its frantic events, and a musical comedy with its foggy reality. The film's direction transcends the plot, providing a cinematic frame and genre to justify the story. There is a fine line between love and anger in the film and what we might have expected to be a Todd Solondz-type sordid love story is really light-hearted, frenzied blues. The pace quickens, the story is simplified, time and space are reduced and colors are displayed in Technicolor (blue of his suit against the red of her dress). Slowly but surely, the dance begins.
The film's direction echoes the theme of learning how to live. The act of filming represents the fulfillment of a character, as if filming a man walking is to catch him before he dances. This reflexivity is extremely skillful, rejecting all visual pretentiousness. The director deconstructs his narrative by intermittently flashing to watercolor paintings and through the use of omnipresent, and often clashing music, which associated with the images, is reminiscent of an orchestra tuning up before a concert.
This is, very simply, the story of a film's direction. The slushy love story is in some ways redundant. Here may be a good time for the critic to skillfully wrap up his text and conclude with mention of the film's well-deserved Best Director 2002 award at Cannes. This is truly unconventional film direction.
Raki Gnaba
Translated by Nicole Berry
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