Okay, here's the deal. There's not too many families that don't have a story or three hidden deep under the surface. I'm guessing that every small town in America has their own little "Days of Our Lives" going on, regardless of what anyone will admit. But, if you switch your metal detector to 'dysfunctional', you'll hit some well-guarded secrets before too long.
In Carver Point, we point our detectors toward our local "gossip-historian", Ms. Shirley Faye Harmon. Shirley Faye has been the counter waitress at the Carver Point Diner since, well, since Genesis, I think. (Nobody's real sure how old Shirley Faye is, thanks to makeup and hair dye and the perpetual cloud of smoke that swirls around her head from the Salem Lights.) And, since she's been the town sounding board for who-knows-how-long, she's filed away more dirt on folks than the FBI.
Catch her just as the big breakfast rush has ended and ask, "Shirley, what's going on?" You'll hear more than you ever wanted to know about everyone in town, including who's on the arrest report, who's on death's door, and who's gonna be on one or the other after word gets out on who's sleeping with whom. Shirley will take a deep breath, flick the ash off her Salem, and say, "Well, Patchy Peabody -- you know, Clem Peabody's oldest boy -- well, he and Mary Paige Summerlot were out most of the night last night, and Harlan Summerlot is none too pleased with the state of that union. Guess Harlan don't 'member when he and Faithy Leigh Walters did the same thing many a night in a row. 'Course, that was 'fore Faithy's daddy, Big Don, got caught runnin' around with the secretary over to the Meth'dist church. When Mrs. Sylvia found out that Big Don was adult'rin', she let him have it with a hot iron, leaving behind not only Big Don, but also a big pile of unironed shirts. And for months after, Big Don would just sit on the porch with that ugly ol' red iron imprint on his forehead, drinkin' iced whiskey and mutterin' Bible verses...."
It'll go on all day if you let it, but, generally, when you ask for the check, she'll wind it down with, "...but, other than that, there's not much to tell."
Very few people, though, have managed to keep a running tally on a family tree and all its branches on film. Usually, the story gets so convoluted and twisted that it makes for tough viewing. That's why I was a little skeptical about Paul Thomas Anderson's newest film, Magnolia. But then I remembered that he managed to chronicle a family of sorts in Boogie Nights. Here, Anderson tackles a straightforward, albeit dysfunctional, family. And, people, let me tell you, Boogie Nights was no fluke. Anderson is a filmmaker to stay, and Magnolia is a great movie.
The story centers around Earl Partridge (Jason Robards), a dying television producer. Earl's young wife, Linda (Julianne Moore), is a little whacked, but that may be because she's overmedicated. Earl has a nurse, though, named Phil (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), and Phil is helping Linda out with her dwindling supply of drugs. Phil's also trying to help Earl by contacting his long-lost son Frank Mackey (Tom Cruise). Frank is a motivational speaker who's heading a program called "Search and Destroy," a bombastic self-help course that teaches men to treat women as sex objects and little else.
Like any good Anderson film, there are plenty of other interwoven plotlines. There's a young whiz kid (Stanley Spector), who's getting ready to make an appearance on a live game show. The show is hosted by Jimmy Gator (Phillip Baker Hall), a tired man dying of cancer. A simple, warm-hearted cop named Kurring (John C. Reilly) who has a thing for a pretty little lady named Claudia (Melora Walters), a bundle of insecurity wrapped in a coke habit. And, of course, there's the incredible William H. Macy, this time playing Donnie Smith, a former whiz kid who's grown up into a middle-aged frump with a crush on a boy bartender he knows. There's more strings to weave in here, but I leave them to your discovery.
Your discovery will be nothing but pleasure. When Anderson begins this film, he bounces in with a juiced-up prologue that throws us some unrelated stories that hinge on freaky occurrences and chance coincidences. And, at once, it sets you to thinking, "Where is this thing headed?" It's like being slammed into a crash course on Robert Altman, Martin Scorsese, and Quentin Tarantino all at once. A dozen possible ways to go, and they'll all converge into one smooth exit that'll leave you thinking, "Ahhhhhhh...now I see." Not here. If you remember Boogie Nights, you'll recall its strength was in the characters, the simplicity of themes flowing not exactly together, but concurrently. Magnolia is like that, but on a grander scale.
If it sounds like I am complicating things trying to explain Magnolia, I probably am. There aren't words to describe some of the things that take place. Well, there are words, but I don't want to use them, because describing what to look for in the way of plot twists and surprises would be criminal, especially with this movie. Anderson sets this film up to be seen like you'd listen to some great opera. The tempo swells to grandness, then slows to an easy pace, then begins to build for the next crescendo. And, like any grand opera, the story follows the tempo, with heavy dramatic arias where the music is at its peak, and letting exposition take place in between.
Anderson writes crystal dialogue, and has honed a script that's perfect for "regulars" like Reilly, Macy, and Moore. All three do superb work, by the way. Bringing in the big guns like Robards provides stability at the core, and Robards plays it for all the marbles, showing once again why he's one of moviedom's unsung masters. Then Anderson bounced out of formula to grab Tom Cruise for the pivotal character of Frank, the "prodigal son" as it were, and the move works like a charm. Cruise's powerhouse performance is stunning. I think back to the "new" Burt Reynolds we saw in Boogie Nights, and how everyone saw Burt in a new light. The same feeling is true for Cruise. Suddenly, he's not the All-American boy, he's not the action figure, and he's not the gentle lover. On the surface, he's a barely contained explosion, like a mad dog trying desperately to sneak in unseen. We later see that beneath it all, he's trying to hide years of pain. His dynamic portrayal of this character complicates an already complicated Oscar® race for Best Supporting Actor; although, knowing the Academy's penchant for crossing us all up, he might be bumped into the Best Actor category. If this happens, his wonderful work will get lost alongside the likes of Spacey, Carrey, and Denzel.
I'm not gonna kid you though. It does take some concentration to keep up with everything, and, yes, there are moments that might lose you for a second or two. And, yes, when Brother Paul goes over the top, he goes like The Duke in Sands of Iwo Jima. He doesn't nudge the edge, he stomps right through it and keeps going, screaming, "Whattya, wanna live forever?" But even when he goes over the edge, he does so in a riveting blaze of glory. That being said, all the flash is braced up by the genuine emotion at the movie's core. When the proverbial fat lady sings, folks, you'll know you've seen a top-notch motion picture, one that easily earns a "best of '99" tag, coming in just under the wire, of course.
Don't worry 'bout the three-hour running time. Just steer clear of the "Jumbo Coke", and you'll soon realize just why film is art just as it is entertainment. Magnolia is entertaining, yes, but it's fascinating to behold. Families always are, as long as you're on the outside looking in.
Image copyright New Line Cinema.
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