Inherent Vice (2014)
February 2nd, 2022
Two months ago I decided to watch this film in preparation for Licorice Pizza. I wasn’t a fan, but was able to appreciate the atmosphere and saw where the majority of the praise was coming from. I started reading over winter break and, with this particular 35mm screening in mind, decided to buy The Crying of Lot 49 and Inherent Vice. I finished the former in a few days and was instantly in love with Pynchon’s style. I was essentially introduced to a whole new form of art and was able to experience new feelings, new ways of seeing myself and others.
I then started Inherent Vice, and finished it during the day prior to this screening. While I didn’t feel as strongly as I did while reading The Crying of Lot 49, it still managed to do a hell of a lot for me. The atmosphere, the characters and their distinct personalities and connections to one another, the lackadaisical nature of it all, the entire thing flew by as if it were one of those hazy, softly-lit and carefree Gordita Beach nights Doc spent hopping from bar to bar, person to person, conversation to conversation, page to page.
The film starts off promisingly, with Shasta and Doc’s inciting encounter playing out as I imagined, a nearly word for word adaptation of the source material. CAN’s Vitamin C thumps as Shasta pulls off into the night… Inherent Vice. I couldn’t help but smile, having spent so much of my time anticipating this moment, revisiting an adaption of a work I had now experienced on my own. For the first hour and a half or so, this was my experience. I was fully engrossed in this world, the great Doc Sportello navigating underground LA in stunning 35mm. I was shocked at the faithfulness of the adaptation, nearly scene for scene and word for word. And then, shockingly late into the runtime, the shortcuts began in favor of a shorter runtime than required for an adaptation of the book.
I honestly have to admire Anderson for believing he, or anyone for that matter, would be able to adapt a Pynchon novel. When a very significant majority of the story is told through vivid and lengthy descriptions of feelings, environments and most importantly past events, it’s extremely hard to adapt to the screen. I imagine this is why no one has attempted to adapt a Pynchon novel before or since. These passages were intermittently replaced with a narration from Sortilège, something that bothered me from the start. When you have to rely so heavily on narration to provide necessary information to the audience, it may be a sign that the text you’re adapting isn’t suitable for the screen.
I also understand why the plot had to be cut down, however I can’t help but wish Anderson would have committed and made a 4-5 hour film encompassing the entire text. Up until the shortcuts began, I was genuinely waiting for each new scene to begin and end, waiting for Doc’s trip to Las Vegas, waiting for every scene to play out just as it did in the book. I wouldn’t have considered the runtime, would’ve sat through 5 hours of the faithful adaptation the first hour and a half managed to be without checking the time. What I got, in the end, left me feeling empty, like I was watching a cut version of a finished product, something with almost none of the gradiose, sprawling feeling I got from the book. The first hour and a half almost had me convinced, I truly thought I was going to get an adaption I almost enjoyed, something to mirror or at least imitate the experience I got reading the book.
With all of that out of the way, some other notes. Performances seemed a little unconvincing overall with the exception of Brolin (perfect casting) and Anderson’s long-take style fit really well with dialogue scenes between characters in their own contexts. In the end I can’t help but wonder, why not just read the book?
Carter Haskins 