Thesis!

Introduction:

By the spring of 2019, as I started brainstorming ideas for what to write my thesis about, I kept coming back to Paul Thomas Anderson. There was something undeniably appealing about the challenge of analyzing such a well-known, yet difficult filmography. I then watched Magnolia (1999) and The Master (2012) in the same week. This only stoked my interest. What truly brought these films head and shoulders above the rest was that I could not fully articulate why I connected to them so strongly. This, to me, is the power of film that separates it from all other mediums. A movie can speak to people without them ever being able to fully understand or explain why. With this in mind, I decided that I wanted to write about the director whose films did that to me more frequently than any other filmmaker I had, and have, seen before.

When I first proposed my thesis, my intent was to explore the connection between sex and greed in Anderson’s films. After rewatching Anderson’s films, or watching a few for the very first time, I realized that both sex and greed fell under an even larger thematic umbrella: control. Frequently the protagonist in Anderson’s films must battle for control over something or someone. As I began to research and read some scholarly analysis, I found a few more interwoven and interconnected themes or moments of significance across Anderson’s filmography: a character’s suppression or repression of trauma and the act of “letting out” or “letting go.” In some cases, “letting out” can mean a dramatic release of emotions, whether it be rage or sorrow. In other cases, this act of “letting go” can refer more to the letting go of trauma or desires. Each character’s attempt to gain control involves them dealing with some sort of trauma, which is sometimes fully explained and sometimes not (this will be explained in greater detail later). While either suppressing or repressing this trauma or letting go of it, the protagonists will let out their emotions.

Magnolia:

On Magnolia’s ending:

….What we see in the wake of the frog storm, which represents these character’s letting go of trauma, could be a metaphor for what happens after we let all of our emotions out. When we let all of our emotions out it creates a ripple effect. If you tell a person how you really feel, or try to confront someone, there is a consequential fall out from that. In Magnolia it is the same. After the storm the streets are littered with frogs; Jim Kurring cannot even walk without stepping on them. To see something as absurd as frogs raining down from the sky and then disregard it as though nothing happened would be ignorant. An event of biblical proportions would be hard to just toss to the side. If a person confronted trauma that had been ailing them for much of their adult life, only to then ignore to the consequences of this confrontation, then we might argue that they are in denial. One should not rationally separate an action from its consequences, even if they are tangled and difficult to deal with. Frank may have gotten to say goodbye to his father, but he still has to go see Linda in the hospital. Donnie may be aware that his plot was poorly thought out, but he also acknowledges that his love has no place for it to be received. Stanley may confront his father, but his father seems to disregard his demand. Magnolia shows that in the aftermath of the frogs and emotional confrontation there are still messes that need to be cleaned up and things that need to be addressed.

Ultimately, Magnolia concludes without definitive endings for its characters, but a number of things suggest that may be the film’s underlying point. As mentioned, the characters try to claim power over their pain in a myriad of ways. In trying to control these ailments they push them down and refuse to acknowledge the pain that exists inside of them. The characters succeed in suppressing these emotions until the film goes out of its way to show the audience that it is in the characters’ best interest to confront their trauma and let all of their pain out. By the end of Magnolia, practically all of the main characters have done this in some way or another. Frank has one final conversation with his father, as does Stanley. Claudia begins to open herself up to be loved, Jim in turn puts himself out there to love someone, Donnie recognizes that his braces plot was unnecessary, and even Linda spends much of the film confronting her past sins.

This messiness and uncertainty is reinforced by the final voiceovers of the Narrator and Jim Kurring. As hospice workers come to collect Earl’s body, the Narrator says, “And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that strange things happen all the time. And so it goes and so it goes. And the book says, ‘We may be through with the past but the past ain’t through with us.’” This is a call back to both the opening prologue, voiced by Ricky Jay, and also to when Jimmy Gator says, “For we may be through with the past, but the past is not through with us” to Burt Ramsey, also played by Ricky Jay. It connects two of the more overt themes of the entire film though as well: chance and past trauma. The narrator is reminding the viewer once again that despite all of what just occurred seeming absurd, it is actually rather typical. The narrator is also reminding us that as much as we might want to move on from our past, it cannot be ignored. A few minutes later, we hear Jim narrate over helping Donnie return the stolen valuables. Here, he says, “Sometimes people need a little help. Sometimes people need to be forgiven. And sometimes they need to go to jail…You can forgive someone. Well that’s the tough part. What can we forgive? Tough part of the job. Tough part of walking down the street.” This connects to the past that is “not through with us.” Many of the characters of Magnolia have been wronged by someone, and much of the film is their attempt to forgive and/or move past it.

Magnolia is both a mess of a film and about life’s messiness. Looking at the final act of Magnolia it becomes clear that Anderson, in attempting to “pour his whole heart out,” tries to say a lot of things: 1) life is messy and absurd 2) the things that haunt us will continue to hurt us if we do not try to deal with them and 3) even if we do deal with them life might not be perfect afterwards.

Punch-Drunk Love:

On Barry’s emotional state:

In the very first scene we see Barry at a desk in his warehouse. It is framed as an establishing shot, yet Barry and his desk are dwarfed by the wall behind them. Additionally, Barry is positioned in the corner of a right angle, and so the two connecting walls lead our eyes to Barry seated at his desk. Thanks to the combination of these two elements, Barry is at the center of the frame, but is contained in it at the same time. In one sense the image represents Barry’s inner emotional state; Barry’s emotions are these lingering minimized frustrations that are compressed to appear small. It is no different than the act of bottling up your emotions and pushing them down deep inside of you. This image could speak to Barry repressing his emotions as well. In this room, Barry is miniature and hidden from the outside world, just like how his problems have been minimized and stowed away from his conscious. The opening image Punch-Drunk Love shows that Barry both suppresses and represses his trauma.

Soon after we see another moment that can represent Barry’s ignorance of his own emotional well-being. After the shot of Barry at his desk, he walks outside to take in the early morning when he sees a car suddenly flip over and roll violently until it is out of frame. In the same screech from the car rolling, a van suddenly drives up into the foreground and drops off a harmonium. The car flipping is completely unprompted, no accident is shown to have caused it. The multiple flips and loud crashing sounds exaggerate the severity of the crash to an extreme level. The car then exits from our view and before we know it there is something else in front of Barry. Viewed as a metaphor for Barry’s emotions and his handling of them, the car represents Barry’s explosive emotions that he rarely shows. Often they are over the top and harsh, but they are quickly moved past and replaced by something else. As Toles writes, “The cab slides into place before us like a repression screen, blocking out the sight of flying debris from the still-in-progress accident.” While Toles may call this repression, I would argue that is suppression. Barry sees the crash and chooses to ignore it and instead focuses on the shiny object in front of him.

On Punch-Drunk Love and masculinity:

…After watching Punch-Drunk Love and looking at how it addresses control, suppression, repression, and repurposing of trauma it is clear how one could critique stereotypical masculinity and praise love. Barry is held to a certain standard of masculinity: a strong businessman who is in control of every aspect of his life. Barry cannot control all these realms; he’s chastised by his sisters, and tries to fulfill his sexual desires in socially unacceptable ways, and is clearly depressed because of it. Barry fails to live up to these standards of masculinity, nor is he able to fully understand or recognize how they affect him emotionally. These failures then condemn society’s absurd ideals of masculinity. After Barry begins his romantic relationship with Lena, though, his anger becomes empowering, thus making Barry stronger. The film shows that love can give people the ability to channel their emotions into something greater. The film ends with Lena walking across Barry’s warehouse to find him playing the harmonium, an instrument of expression, he found at the beginning of the film. Now, with Lena’s love supporting him, Barry is able to channel his anger, highlighting the power that love has on humans.

The Master:

The Master and its audience:

…Normally, the audience expects a film to be in service to them. From their perspective, the point of a film is to be a consumable and comprehensive product. With this expectation, the viewer is in control of their experience or in their relationship with the film because the film is expected to serve them. The Master is the contrary. It’s inconsistency makes it a confusing and difficult film to follow. Critics even found themselves confused by The Master when it was first released, wondering what was the message, or even if there was one. Roger Ebert writes in his review of The Master, “Paul Thomas Anderson’s “The Master” is fabulously well-acted and crafted, but when I reach for it, my hand closes on air.” This confusion and desire to understand the film might have been the point after all though. As Toles explains, “The most pressing feature of The Master that must be acknowledged and accounted for is its seeming determination to thwart our desire to get inside the narrative. The so-called dramatic action of the film is strangely reluctant to allow us to enter in emotionally and become fully oriented, comprehending participants…We are offered inducements to believe what we are seeing more fully…We partly fill in the gaps with inferences about character psychology, story logic, environment…The distance between watcher and spectacle in The Master, while reduced at times, is never entirely overcome.” By creating a confusing viewing experience for the viewer, the film is reclaiming the process of consumption from the viewer. Toles agrees, as he writes, “Anderson strives to revise the customary balance of power in movie narrative by placing a character who embodies formlessness as convincingly as any in film, decisively and relentlessly in the foreground.” As the viewer watches The Master, we are in service to the film because we are trying, and struggling, to follow along, so that we can find out if our expectations are met. The Master shifts the balance of control away from the audience back towards the film and the filmmaker.

The open ocean:

… After seeing the title card for a moment we cut to an image of the deep blue ocean with a giant wake rippling waves through the middle outwards. This image alone could be interpreted in so many different ways. In one sense it could easily represent the forthcoming outpouring of emotions, as this large flowing body of water could symbolize the dramatic emotions experienced by Freddie and Dodd over the course of the film. It could also represent the film’s protagonist himself, Freddie Quell. The massive waves are unkempt and untamed, creating ripples and affecting everything around it, similar to the actions of Freddie Quell and the consequences stemming from them. The dark blue ocean battling against the light blue wake pushing outward could represent Lancaster Dodd, fighting against the rocky waves that signify Freddie Quell. The image is then an epilogue, or a warning, for what is going to come. This reading is supported score for the scene: an up-tempo aggressive song titled “Baton Sparks” that feels like the musical version of a tornado warning. The image could also represent the characters affected by Freddie over the film in another sense. With the boat outside of the frame, the ripples it causes could represent the consequences of Freddie’s actions and those affected by them.

This is not the only time the image of the open sea is called upon in The Master. After Freddie answers a series of difficult questions about his past, Dodd asks Freddie to close his eyes. Immediately we are inserted into Freddie’s memory; we see him back in his home state of Massachusetts with Doris and learn how they were separated. Freddie stumbles away from Doris’ house and we go back to this ocean image. However, it is slightly different on this occasion. First, the music is different. Here the song “Overtones” begins during the flashback and continues into the ocean scene. A symphony of instruments creates an unsettling feeling as we first see the ocean, but within seconds we hear them harmonize like a sweet release from what just came. After what we just witnessed occur between Freddy and Doris, this deep harmony expresses feelings of anguish and nostalgia, feelings common with reflecting on and letting go of the past. Another key piece that both separates this moment from its predecessor is the camera movement. In the opening frame the camera stood still as we looked down on the ocean waves moving, whereas in this scene the camera tilts from looking downwards up to an eyeline level, eventually showing the ocean waves that have settled in the far distance. Freddie’s answers are explicitly honest; it’s where we learn about his mother, his father, Doris, his troubling sexual history, and even that he’s actually afraid that he killed that man on the lettuce farm. This is a brief, but quite open window into the convoluted mind of Freddie Quell. To then see an image of the open ocean with waves wrestling feels like we are seeing a metaphor for the outpouring that just came before it, with the body of water representing both Freddie’s past and his openness. The camera moves up so that our depth of field gets deeper, showing us what is getting farther in the rearview, just like Freddie’s traumatic past or relationship with Doris. As mentioned, the music coming together only adds to this outpouring of raw emotions in this moment. Ironically, the scene ends with Dodd saying to Freddie, “Release and return to me.”

The ultimate “message” of The Master:

Recall, in Dodd’s final words he says, “For if you figure a way to live without serving a master, any master, then let the rest of us know. Will you? For you’d be the first person in the history of the world.” Freddie’s choice to leave behind Dodd could be a signal that Dodd is incorrect. Yet, by the end of the film Freddie is not much better off than when we first meet him, so it is not necessarily a convincing argument for freedom and aimlessness. In fact, the last frame, which shows a beached Freddie being comforted by the sand woman sculpture, could suggest that Freddie is still searching for something or someone greater than him.

All of this is to say that The Master is a film that seems to pose more questions to the audience than it answers. In not answering these questions The Master actually gives us a more complex resolution. The Master being “air” isn’t a flaw as Mr. Ebert claims it is; it’s just unclear. Sometimes, we are like Freddie Quell, we do not know what we are looking for or why we are after it. Similar to Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson uses The Master to tell us of life’s unresolved complexities, such as our traumatic pasts, relationships, and desires.

Phantom Thread:

On Reynolds and Alma’s relationship:

…As she leaves, the camera shows her departing from Reynolds’ perspective and then does a reverse shot, showing Reynolds seated alone at a table. In this image Anderson again uses his classic frame within a frame style. We see a doorway in the foreground, framing Reynolds. The width of the frame allows us to not just see Reynolds in the doorway but a small portion of the room where Reynolds is seated as well. Behind Reynolds is another doorway, to which we can barely see into the room behind him, creating depth to the frame. This framing and spacing makes Reynolds feel contained, but not two-dimensional or flat as though there is no space or room for him to move. Reynolds is staying at home and isolating himself, both socially and romantically, but it is his choice. Consequently, he is confined to a space that he put his own limitations on, leaving enough space for just himself. After Alma leaves the frame the film cuts to the same exact setting. With this cut we hear footsteps and then see Alma, dressed for a party, walk down the stairs, past the camera, and out the door.

The difference between these two shots is the framing. In this second shot, the camera is now further away from Reynolds, creating more depth between Reynolds and the camera. In the foreground of this shot is part of another doorway that does not fit entirely into the frame. The camera is placed to the left of the part of the foregrounded doorway but to the right of the back doorway near the kitchen. Consequently, the doorway in front cuts off our ability to see all of the doorway behind it. Thanks to the depth of the frame though we can then see a sort of combined frame within a frame, with the left side of the second doorway marking one boundary and the right side of the first doorway marking the other. As Alma walks down the stairwell, Reynolds quickly peaks his head out but then goes back to hiding behind the doorway, but after the door closes he pops his head out again, signaling a sort of surprise that Alma actually went through with this act of defiance. In this moment he stares longingly towards the door and his face is framed by the two doorways. Here, a new framing shows how Alma and her attempt to gain control complicates Reynolds’ space and lifestyle. This new doorway, or person, has inserted a new boundary on Reynolds’ life and influenced his line of sight and, metaphorically, his lifestyle. With Alma trying to gain leverage in their relationship, Reynolds is put into positions with less power.

Perhaps the best scene that shows not just one person’s attempt for control, but the couple’s emotional and psychological tug-of-war is when Alma models a dress during a fashion show. As Alma walks around showing off a dress to bidders, we see Reynolds backstage quickly turn around to look through a peephole in a door. Alma walks through the showcase room and twirls for a moment to make it seem as though she is only posing, but as the camera turns with her it is revealed that she is also positioned so that she can stop for a moment and stare directly at the other side of the same peephole. We assume it’s the same peephole given the fact that the film first shows an insert shot of Reynolds’ eye looking through it, then cuts to reveal Alma looking back at it, then again cuts back to another extreme close up shot of Reynolds’ eye with the light of peephole shining on it. This creates a visual association between Reynolds looking through the peephole and Alma, and so we assume that Reynolds is watching Alma. Alma continues to walk backwards, still showing off the dress, smiling and looking in the same direction as before. The back and forth cutting and Alma’s continued stare would suggest that not only is Reynolds watching Alma, but that Alma knows that Reynolds is watching her.

This scene is a powerful moment, one that speaks to the dynamics of Reynolds and Alma’s relationship. Reynolds has power in their relationship because Alma can be used an object to showcase his true passion: his dresses. He creates something out of his ideas and then puts it on her. His power in this moment is expressed in his gaze, he is watching his work and can look at his muse showing it off in all its glory. On the other hand, Alma shares an equal amount of control. With her smirk and stare back at the peephole she is aware of the fact that she is wearing Reynolds’ passion. Reynolds’ part of the dressmaking process is over, he has done all that he can do, and now it is in Alma’s hands to properly highlight the beauty of the dress so that it can be sold. Alma, if she wanted to, could completely humiliate Reynolds’ dress and his public reputation when she walks out to the crowd. The slightest whiff of this threat gives Alma power, even though she never acts on it.

The similarities between filmmaking and dressmaking:

This scene also speaks to the power that editing has on a viewer’s understanding of a film. The images that a director decides to show us and the order of those images affects both how we understand a film and what we think about it, so the director has the control to shape our thoughts on a film through editing. Each of these images on their own, the two of Reynolds and the two of Alma, hold little significance, but put together they have meaning. Additionally, if you put these images in a different order, this moment could possibly have a completely different significance. Due to the order in which these images are assembled, we as viewers can then ascertain what is happening, that Reynolds and Alma are aware of each other despite this barrier between them. The stitching together of the images is what makes us understand what is happening, not any sort of dialogue; it is a prime example of showing and not telling. The close up shots of just Reynolds’ eye feels like a not so subtle acknowledgment to how we, the viewer, are watching things and taking in information, just like Reynolds is watching the fashion show.

The link between filmmaking and Reynolds’ profession runs even deeper. Reynolds is like the demanding filmmaker who uses their artistic vision to create something and oversees every step of the way. Like a director, Reynolds has a crew of helpers to execute this vision and make it into a reality. They come in day after day and are even on occasion asked to work long grueling hours to make sure their work gets done. Throughout the film there are extreme close ups on the fabric of Reynolds’ work, showing each stitch. It is as though we are seeing the sewing together of a film, being put together seam by seam. The narrative, its carefully crafted images, and the sequencing of those images show how Phantom Thread is a metaphor for a filmmaker and their difficult artistic process.

Looking at Phantom Thread compared to the rest of Anderson’s filmography:

…It shows the growth of a filmmaker who has consistently pushed boundaries for two decades and has now begun to play precisely with everything inside of them. Personally speaking, I find it to be the most comprehensive and complete film of Anderson’s. It has the consistency that some of his earlier work, such as Magnolia, lacks, but it also brings much more clarity and resolve to its narrative than some of his other later films, like There Will Be Blood and The Master. Some would take this to mean that despite these achievements and growth Phantom Thread is simplistic and lacks complexity, but it is quite the contrary. Critic Adam Nayman, when comparing Phantom Thread to The Master, wrote, “Instead of looking for ways out, Anderson has taken his place as the American filmmaker who pulls us in the deepest.” The end of Phantom Thread does not simplify Alma and Reynolds’ relationship. In the second to last scene in the film we see Alma envision vision a “happily ever after”-esque future for her and Reynolds. Alma pushes a stroller, with a child presumably in it, and even assists Reynolds with his daily work. Reynolds brings Alma and the viewer back to reality though when he responds, “Yes, but right now we are here.” Anderson in Phantom Thread mixes the aspirational conventions that cinema has placed on love, such as crazy feelings or insane gestures, with the more nuanced, human understanding of it, like ideas of sacrifice and partnership.

Conclusion:

Anderson’s influence on me personally:

One could argue, as some have to me, that Anderson’s films resort to twists due to an inability to fully grapple and unlock some of the more confusing elements of his film. In an essay for The Point, film critic Nick Pinkerton stated, “Where some see derring-do, however, I find a hint of desperation — I get the feeling that Anderson, having painted himself into a corner, is turning to the grand gesture to make his escape…His career to date reveals a series of uneasy negotiations between the multiplex and the art house, an attraction to overly general, even abstract themes, counterbalanced by a lucid attention to detail in execution.” I think there is some truth to Pinkerton’s argument. Many Anderson’s earlier films rarely ever become everything that they set out to be, especially in a concise or clear manner.

In the interview Anderson is asked about his influences as a filmmaker and he says, “2001: A Space Odyssey makes my head spin in the same way. Every time I see it I don’t understand what’s going on or what the movie’s about, and then there’s this kind of flash; for like three or four frames I’ll get this kind of epiphany about what it’s all about, and it’s fleeting — it’ll just sort of whisk away. I couldn’t tell you what that movie’s about even if I tried right now. But when watching it, when I’m immersed in it, it’s an enjoyable experience and that’s a good feeling.” I can’t help but think that is exactly how I feel about Paul Thomas Anderson’s films. Each time I watch them, no matter how many times I have seen them before, they are still quite confusing. Then, for one brief moment, it’ll all click into place and become clear. During The Master it was Freddie and Lancaster Dodd standing face-to-face, shouting at each other through their jail cells. During Phantom Thread it was Reynolds and Alma’s silent stare at the New Years party. In those moments the whole film makes sense, and nothing else occupies my thoughts. Before I know it though that moment fades away and I’m back to being confused. I don’t think Anderson does this to intentionally confuse the viewer though. I think this style actually reflects the complexities of life in many ways. I want to believe that I have a full grasp my life and understand myself fully, but the reality is that most of the time I do not. Except there will be these brief moments where everything makes sense; there’s not a sliver confusion or doubt in my mind. But then it drifts away and I go back to pretending like I know what to do and how to do it.

I will admit, there are also definitely personal factors that may influence why I project so much importance on to Anderson. Much has been written about Anderson’s parents, especially his father Ernie, and their influences on Anderson. I would say my parents have been quite influential in my life as well. Anderson’s lineage being so well-publicized has allowed me to keep this information in the back of my mind and be aware of it as I watch his films. I can’t help but notice the repeated impact of parents on Anderson’s protagonists and not project my own relationships onto these characters. Anderson’s films all seem like an exploration of a child trying to navigate the world with the effect of their parents looming over them. Each of his protagonist’s are missing something and searching for something because of their parents or their family. Although I don’t think I can put exactly it into words, it’s this never-ending quest to feel complete and adequate that makes me so attached to Paul Thomas Anderson’s films.