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Movie Review: Punch Drunk Love

Paul Thomas Anderson succeeds again.

by A. Rosenbloom | 2002.10.30

It is not frogs, but unknown talent and a revitalization of the romantic comedy that fall from the sky in Paul Thomas Anderson's new film Punch Drunk Love. He follows up his Altmanesque three plus hour epic, Magnolia, with a tight, short film (clocking in at 89 minutes, less than half of his previous film) that is an entirely new genre for him and his incredibly unlikely star Adam Sandler.

In place of Magnolia’s cascading toads (a strange event meant to signal a change in the lives of the characters), we are given a car crash and the accidental delivery of a small harmonium to the office of Barry Egan (Sandler), a man who has spent the night trying to figure out a way to earn millions of airline miles through an error in a promotional deal. The arrival of the wheezy instrument precedes that of Lena Leonard (Emily Watson), a shy but persistent woman who works with one of Barry's seven sisters. For some reason (and it must be better than her claim that she saw Barry in a picture) she decides to fall in love with Barry, despite his shy idiosyncrasies.

Of course, the story cannot be this easy, and Anderson knows well the laws that govern the romantic comedy and forces Barry and Lena to pass through a gauntlet of strange, and sometimes painful, events. Barry must first get through his seven sisters who subject him to constant abuse and humiliation and somehow never understand his outbursts. If they were not enough he must then endure the four blonde brothers dispatched from Utah by Dean the mattress man (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) as part of an extortion plan in which Barry and Lena become unfortunate victims. Any more plot summary could never do justice to wild and delightful ride of Punch Drunk Love, which won Anderson best director at the 2002 Cannes Film Festival.

What can be said is that both Watson and Sandler turn in especially surprising and emotionally true performances. Sandler nearly destroys his man-child alter ego not by leaving it behind, but by adapting it to Anderson's quirky world. Every nuance he delivers we have seen before, but they somehow feel tailor-made for Anderson's film. Though unlikely, his interactions with Watson, Hoffman and Luiz Guzman (underused as Barry's assistant) all come across as real and genuine. Anderson wants to do with Sandler what Peter Weir did with both Robin Williams and Jim Carrey: turn a cut-up into a legitimate actor.

Anderson pulls off an amazing task with his new film; he manages to shift the attention onto his actors while remaining completely in charge of what is on the screen. He is more excited as a filmmaker than in all three of his previous films and executes his scenes with a fascination for the movies. Anderson’s film borders on being a musical with its Technicolor print, its precise attention to color and its wall-to-wall score. The effect that his blitzkrieg style gives is one of pure excitement. It also allows him to throw tons of information in every scene without sacrificing any of the electricity. Even the most minimal characters are given depth and we understand their motives. Anderson gives every aspect of filmmaking its time in the spotlight. Robert Elswit's cinematography has never had as much of a chance to shine, and Jon Brion's score is as symbolic as the harmonium or as Barry's strange blue suit. Not since The Conversation has sound design played as large a role as the film's actors. With Anderson at the helm, the result is not unlike his title.

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