Paul Thomas Anderson's hippie noir seems completely stoned: inarticulate, confused and prone to giggling at unknown jokes. Pynchon fans might tolerate it.. Inherent Vice lives happily on the outer limits, where the noir form and its history are at least as important as the content.. Anderson moves further from conventional storytelling with each new film, and closer to something more intuitive, more damning, more true. He hasn't made it there yet. God help us when he does.. The sunnier that Barr...
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