Magnolia
Everything in Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Magnolia” is connected to a fictional kids game show, “What Do Kids Know?” Donnie Smith (William H. Macy) was a former champion on the show. A young, drug-addicted woman named Claudia (Melora Walters) is the daughter of the host of the show, Jimmy Gator (Philip Baker Hall). A former producer on the show, Earl Patridge (Jason Robards), lies dying, looked after by a sympathetic nurse (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a gold digging wife (Julianne Moore), and estranged from his son (Tom Cruise). A young participant on the show, Stanley (Jeremy Blackman) is on a roll like Donnie was in the day, but his father (Michael Bowen) pushes him. John C. Reilly’s Officer Jim goes to a call at Claudia’s apartment after a fight with her father, and is immediately smitten. That pushes him into the orbit of coincidence and pain that envelopes Anderson’s film for its 3-hour running time.
“Magnolia” begins with stories of coincidence and death as told by a narrator (the terrific Ricky Jay, who also plays a production assistant on the show now), and the film deals heavily in coincidence throughout the film. Death also plays a role here, as the two oldest characters (Jimmy and Earl) are dying, but while Jimmy is still trying to do his job, Earl has been on his death bed for some time. Both of them have secrets and sins to confess, however, before their time is up, which will rattle the family dynamics we witness during the film, and allow for some measure of forgiveness, where appropriated. When I first saw the film in early 2000, these connections in the stories and themes Anderson was exploring were not immediately felt by me; they are now, although I still feel as though his way to weaving these narratives together still feels disjointed to me, like individual moments being shown rather than scenes being developed. The film held my interest through its 188 minutes, though; one cannot accuse Anderson of not being able to propel his films headlong through even their less-confident moments.
It occurred to me in this viewing just how reliant Anderson is telling this story, whether it’s the songs by Aimee Mann- his girlfriend, at the time- or Jon Brion’s overwrought score. I appreciate it when a filmmaker is able to utilize music effectively in telling his story, but I do not feel like “Magnolia” is a good example of it. The songs, admittedly, are more capable of carrying the emotional weight of Anderson’s film than Brion’s score is- his music here just feels too insistent, and too much a part of the way Anderson is trying to achieve his effect. Like the film, as a whole, when it gets quiet and contemplative, the pain and emotion of Anderson’s narrative comes into focus.
You can tell by that opening paragraph just how stacked the cast is for this film, and I didn’t even mention Melinda Dillon as Jimmy’s wife, Patton Oswalt in the film’s opening montage, Luis Guzman as an adult contestant on the show, Alfred Molina as Donnie’s boss, and Felicity Huffman as a handler on the show. How much mileage a viewer gets out of “Magnolia” is directly proportionate to how engaged the viewer gets in each narrative. In 2000, my engagement was strong in some cases, and weak in others. Rewatching it, I feel the same way, although I was largely engaged. My main issues this time out came as Anderson moves between the stories in the middle, sometimes rapidly, and while we get character development in all the main cast members, the way the stories are told often dictate how the symphony of emotion, misery, and (sometimes) hope lands with us. Julianne Moore has two key scenes as she is trying to do what’s best for Earl- one at a pharmacist, one at Earl’s lawyer’s office- that rely on similar emotional outbursts; the first one feels overbearing and over-the-top, while the second one has some emotional grounding that allows us empathy with the character. Macy has quiet moments of desperation and longing that are powerful, but whenever Donnie is verbally expressing himself, it doesn’t have quite the impact. Jim and Claudia’s relationship was one that fell flat for me in 2000; I’m more intrigued by the possibilities in it now, but like with Macy, their best moments are quiet ones, and separate of one another. As he would show so profoundly with his later films, starting with “Punch Drunk Love,” Anderson gets the best work from his actors when he’s using their silent performances to tell the emotional story. (The only one here that is consistently successful at bucking this trend in “Magnolia” are the interactions between Hoffman and Robards, especially when Robards is lucid and sharing his regrets with his sympathetic nurse.)
For me, “Magnolia” boils down to two performances that are beyond reproach, and heartbreaking. The first one is Blackman as Stanley. I was not as acutely aware of how anxiety played a part in my life when I first saw the film, but after over a decade of personal exploration, I empathized with Stanley so much. His anxiety comes from his father’s desires for him, and his drive for him to be the biggest winner in the game’s history. There’s a moment in the middle of the film where Stanley, during filming, has to go to the bathroom. We have already seen how dominant he is capable of being in the game, but the anxiety of having to go to the bathroom, and not being able to because they are filming, causes him to shut down. Blackman’s performance is as close to a note-perfect representation of anxiety caused by parental pressure I’ve ever seen in a film, and it’s a shame that this story thread is seemingly forgotten in the last hour of the film.
The second is Tom Cruise as Frank Mackey. Mackey is a motivational speaker to men who want to pick up women. His philosophy- which can be boiled down to one of the most vulgar lines of dialogue Cruise has ever uttered- is basically motivation for a group we call incels now. This might be the most toxic character a major actor has ever played, and this is coming in the same year Brad Pitt played Tyler Durden in “Fight Club,” and it’s probably Cruise’s best work ever on film. He was uncomfortable going into the movie, but accidentally, this might be his most revealing work to date, as the bravado he brings to Mackey’s “pep talks” and philosophical explanations remind me of what we’ve seen when Cruise has talked about Scientology. It’s when he is confronted by a reporter with his past, and every scene with him afterwards, where his work achieves all-time great status. His confrontation with Robards, his being told on the phone that Phil is trying to reach him, has Cruise hitting emotional levels we haven’t seen from his before or since, and it’s a fearless performance that is what this film is capable of at its best, when Anderson isn’t biting off more than he could chew.
