Inherent Vice didn’t electrify me the way most of Paul Thomas Anderson’s other movies do, but I still dig it, because it’s a movie that’s meant to be dug. It’s a sidewinding, meandering goof of a noir; like Raymond Chandler had lived long enough to write about the late-60s death of hippie counterculture … or if Thomas Pynchon had decided to write about it himself. And while it pains me to start this review on a pair of off-notes, I’ll say that even though Vice showcases Anderson’s utterly unsurprising knack for literary adaptation, watching the gifted director cram his style into the episodic, blocky confines of a detective yarn — even one as good as this — feels unnatural, like watching Shaquille O’Neal try to fit into a Mini Cooper. In essence, Inherent Vice is Paul Thomas Anderson’s Jackie Brown; a rock-solid literary adaptation that calls a great deal of his skill set into use, but which still doesn’t quite feel like one of the director’s signature projects.
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