Inherent Vice is one of those rare examples of cinema where the experience of the audience is entirely aligned with the experience of the film’s protagonist. This achievement should celebrated when found in great horror films, that terrify and alienate you along with their characters, or classics like Goodfellas, which follows sharp-edged cocaine dynamism with a grim, regretful coda that is felt as much as it is observed. But it’s a true achievement for a film as wilfully incoherent as this one, a film that swerves through a potentially coherent narrative with a nonchalance that obfuscates any details behind a thick cloud of pot smoke, all rendered with gorgeously grainy film and scored to a string of indelible 1970s pop classics.
Continue reading my full review at The Essential.
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It doesn’t always make perfect sense, but then again, it’s hardly ever boring, either. It just works all around. Nice review.
I feel like it probably would all fit together if you had the time/wherewithal to slide all the pieces together … I do not. Cheers.
Well written review. Have your read Pynchon’s book?
No; I haven’t read a single Pynchon, sadly. Where should I start?
Inherent Vice! You will love it. David Foster Wallace was referred to at the start of his career as “the new Pynchon”
Ah, that certainly sounds promising then!
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