The Anderson tapes
Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film is a very different beast from the lurid flourishes of Boogie Nights: a sprawling attempt to film the almost unfilmable Thomas Pynchon drug novel Inherent Vice.
‘Do you smoke?” asks the publicist, outside the hotel room where Paul Thomas Anderson awaits. Given we’re about to meet for the writer-director’s adaptation of Thomas Pynchon’s pot-soaked novel Inherent Vice, I’m half-expecting to open the door and find him toking on a joint.
But when I walk in to meet a bearded Anderson, dressed in a crumpled white shirt that looks as if it’s...
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