02/16/2022
LICORICE PIZZA - A Film Review by Cat Ruiz Kigerl. 2022.
United States
2022. Director, Paul Thomas Anderson
Screenplay by Paul Thomas Anderson
When I sat down to view Licorice Pizza in a near empty theater on a Saturday afternoon, I only knew that it was a coming-of-age story set in early 70’s Los Angeles and that licorice pizza was a slang term for vinyl records.
What I found was a sweet, subtle story that unfolds rather disjointedly amidst a backdrop of palm trees, nighttime streets and city sprawl vistas from the hills.
Licorice Pizza is not a fast-paced film. It unfolds tentatively in fits and starts much like a youth’s relationship.
I didn’t find it hard to identify with Alana Haim (played by Alana Haim), 25, her being the youngest and least understood of three girls, her sense of being lost without a clear adult purpose, her lack of confidence, and her rather aimless energy. Alana isn’t glamorous in 1970’s Hollywood terms, and that’s one of the things—along with her gutsy manner—that makes her so likeable.
Gary Valentine (played by Cooper Hoffman), Alana’s 15-year-old admirer, isn’t immediately believable as a potential love interest. He is a chubby, pimply teenager. But he steadily grows on the viewer. He has charm, charisma, and an exceptionally mature business and marketing acumen. He’s an adult businessman in a teenage boy’s body. So, it becomes easy to forget, and to see how Alana forgets, he is only 15 years old.
As a former child star, Gary has found he lacks adult star appeal, so he turns to his business savvy, which obviously is his true talent. He ambitiously jumps into a series of business ventures—including a waterbed business and a pinball machine arcade—quickly turning around a new business when the last one failed.
Yet the two are an unlikely pair. In fact, it’s not real clear why Alana, an attractive young woman of 25 would even give the time of day to a 15-year-old boy. It’s only when we see how immature Alana is herself, and how protected her life has been—she still lives at home with her parents and sisters—and how little she has learned her own talents, that her interest in Gary becomes more believable. He’s already made his way in the adult world and is absolutely confident about it.
On his part, Gary makes us forget he’s only 15. He is too mature, too on top of his game. So it is that Gary brings out the confident gusto in Alana. Through their friendship we see her begin to thrive. The two, we find, are nothing if compatible business partners with a zest for life. By the end of the film, their age difference has become insignificant.
There’s a lot going on at the subtle level in this film. The camera masterfully catches all the important young adult looks of jealousy, admiration, anger and denial. It also captures the awkward, spot-on moments of the budding young relationship like a comical, wordless telephone call between Alana and Gary, such a novelty to see now, in our higher tech age.
Licorice Pizza is set in 1972, and the period is done beautifully. This is southern California suburbia, more appropriately, “the Valley,” a part of Los Angeles known for film studios, film stars, and a place dear to the director, Paul Thomas Anderson’s heart; he grew up there and still lives there.
Alana sports halter tops, hot pants and short dresses, and towards the end of the film Gary dons a white suit, flirting with the up-and-coming disco era.
The film certainly captures the nuances of LA’s year-long summer climate, as palm tree lined streets float by, pot smoke rises to the sky, and the closeted shrewdness of a budding politician makes Alana cringe.
Even two action scenes—one of a motorcycle jump over a bonfire, and one of Alana backing a truck down a harrowing hill—unfold rather slowly and surreally.
The music, so integral to developing the 1972 “Valley” world, varied from a touching theme song to rhythm and blues, to jazz, to the eras rock and roll.
Unfortunately, the film takes a bit of a dive in two scenes where Miyako Restaurant owner, Jerry Frick, talks to his Japanese wives (his first Japanese wife has been replaced by a younger second in the second scene with Frick). Instead of speaking Japanese, he speaks to his wives in a demeaning baby like way, and in the second scene reveals to Alana and Gary that he doesn’t even understand Japanese. This doesn’t come across as funny. The wives speak only Japanese but there are no subtitles. Why not? Unless the viewer understands Japanese, we can’t even squeeze some humor out of these hard to digest scenes.
Yes, there was racism in Hollywood in the 70’s towards Asians—historically, Asian roles were acted by white actors until Bruce Lee’s fame began to turn the tables. Leaving out subtitles so we could view Jerry’s wives as human beings was a blunder on Director, Anderson’s part. Were the two scenes in fact necessary?
The Media Action Network for Asian Americans states that “The scenes do not appear to be integral to advancing the plot, as MANAA noted, and serve mostly as ‘color’ to flesh out the film’s hyper specific, historically inspired setting — as well as to play into the well-worn trope of deploying casual anti-Asian racism in the name of art.” https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/licorice-pizza-analysis-asian-accent-criticism-1235068375/
Overall, the focused abandon of Alana and Gary’s connection is engaging. If Licorice Pizza is a love story, it is a chaste, platonic love story between two almost-adults.
Mostly, this film speaks for youth—the fleetingness of it, the quirkiness of it, the magic about it, above and beyond the ever-pressing adult world.
Photo: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=B09M6TG6V5&crid