Responsible for the simultaneously funny and awkward tone of “PDL” is Paul Thomas Anderson, whose “Boogie Nights” was one of the best films of 1996 and whose Oscar-nominated “Magnolia” is still in the cellophane on my shelf because I haven’t found three hours to watch it all in one sitting. While “Boogie Nights,” with its overlapping conversations, has a Robert Altman-cum-“Goodfellas” style realism to it, the universe in which Barry finds himself is a little bit magical. Scenes are beautifully orchestrated for us to empathize with how little things bother Barry so easily—he always seems to be located at the edge of the frame, no matter how much the camera has to move to accomplish this—and the entire ninety minute run-time did its best to instill Barry’s awkwardness and jitteriness into every member of the audience. Speaking of the audience, at my screening, half of them laughed at Barry, and the other half winced, and those halves switched back-and-forth regularly.
“PDL” could be called Sandler’s first dramatic role, and in a way it’s more satisfying than comedian Jim Carrey’s attempts at seriousness. Even in his mostly dramatic turn in “The Truman Show,” Carrey has always been willing to make everything around him come to a screeching halt so he can wave his arms around like a lunatic, but, as Barry, everything Sandler does is within the character and within the story; he never exits what has already been established in the film in order to get a cheap laugh. Only about three characters in the course of “PDL” understand Barry; the rest, like his sisters, try to change him to their own liking. Of course there’s Emily Watson, as his sweet-eyed catalyst for self-improvement, but there’s also one of his employees, played by the wonderful character actor Luis Guzman, who’s one of those actors you suddenly realize you’ve seen in about a dozen movies but can’t remember what they are. (He was a sycophant to the porn stars in “Boogie Nights,” a DEA agent in “Traffic,” and “The Count of Monte Cristo’s” loyal sidekick.) He and Barry have no heart-to-heart conversations, but his most important contribution to Barry’s sense of well-being is to realize there is something peculiar about his boss, and to not poke, prod, or peck at him the way his sisters do. The other character that seems to get his head around Barry by the end is, ironically, his phone-sex arch-nemesis. Played by Philip Seymour Hoffmann, who, like Guzman, has made a career of being That Guy in movies (“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” “State and Main,” “Boogie Nights”), he turns out to be the anti-Barry, or perhaps Barry in another life, ranting and raving and swearing just as much.
The most amazing thing about “PDL” is that, by the end of the movie, I really wanted Sandler and Watson to get together, and I dreaded the thought of what Barry would do next to prevent that. More often than not I have little interest in romantic comedies because I’m usually so indifferent to whether the boy and the girl will ultimately fall in love; only about three or four movies have actually provoked my romantic empathy, and this is one of them. In its strange, awkward way, “Punch-Drunk Love” is one of the most beautiful and magical movies of 2002.
Finished November 5, 2002
Copyright © 2002 Friday & Saturday Night