Pelin, just as a follow-up...as soon as you can, be sure to check out P.T.
Anderson's newest, ``Punch-Drunk Love,'' which has more wonderful things in
its 90 minutes than any other American film of the year (so far) by several
miles. And one of the most wonderful of the wonderful things is how Anderson
treats urban architecture. Notice his staging inside and outside of a
Chatsworth (northwest San Fernando Valley) warehouse, which also includes
multiple inner spaces, such as a glass-framed office that Adam Sandler
occasionally seeks refuge in; or the way he turns a massive Valley apartment
building into an impossible maze of hallways; or how Sandler's characterless
apartment, presented in one continuously held shot, perfectly reflects his
own character, a deeply stunted young man who's a painful work-in-progress;
or the wood-framed, theatrical corridors of Honolulu International Airport,
in which the ceiling fascinates Anderson as much as any of his actors; or
the lush pinks and graceful archways of Waikiki's Royal Hawaiian Hotel,
which Anderson employs for the kind of romantic moments that would make Gene
Kelly--himself a great fan of studio design--envious; or Anderson's framing
and coverage of enormous American supermarkets, with their endless aisles of
perfectly arranged, candy-colored products, their cavernous space (echoing
Sandler's giant warehouse), their inhuman flourescent lighting; or
Anderson's frontal presentation of a suburban home, and a character makes a
statement not by what he says, but by how he shatters the perfectly clean,
transparent plate glass sliding windows which fill the screen from top to
bottom. ``Punch-Drunk Love'' is many things, and among them it is a movie
that reveals more about the state of everyday, utilitarian American
architecture and how it affects people than any other American film in
memory. It is, also, I think, Anderson's most accomplished, honed,
disciplined and inspired work to date.
Robert Koehler
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