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an epic struggle rooted in the turn of the 20th century, paul thomas anderson’s magnum opus transcends the time in which it was made in both form and theme. like all the best work from the 2000s, its juxtaposition within this time gives it added resonance, with a sheer ambition that eventually yields a wholly draining emotional weight. there will be blood seems both singularly specific and unspecifically timeless — about exactly what it’s about, yet about the human condition.[[MORE]] __________ why don’t i own this? why don’t i own this? just past the midway point of this long, grandiose masterpiece, daniel day-lewis delivers these lines not as the apishly physical daniel plainview of the silent opening act, nor the hysterically scenery-chewing madman of the film’s infamous coda, but with an authoritative and direct precision that’s both frightening and emphatic. at this point, the themes of the film are clear: anderson has followed plainview through a conventional character arc from hardworking silver miner to ruthless capitalist oilman. but the lingering power of there will be blood lies in anderson’s discontent with just that. the balance of the second and third act, spanning 1911-1925 in prospector’s california, are spent exposing the fullest extent of a man’s moral degradation: we follow plainview’s fall to nadir after nadir, ruining all possibility of functioning in society or relating to another at all, until his final reversion to ape, beating his prey to death with a blunt object. following a series of sprawling ensemble works (hard eight, 1996; boogie nights, 1997 and magnolia, 1999), director paul thomas anderson made punch-drunk love (2002) with adam sandler, a film remarkable for retaining an esoterically auteurist stamp while forgoing the cocksure indulgence in breadth and scope from an enfant terrible of the cinema (as, after exclaiming magnolia was the best movie he’d ever make,* this was how anderson was increasingly being perceived). it was the first indication that anderson was beginning to shape a brand of more intimate character studies that lose none of the inherent difficulty and complexity of his earlier films, and for which anderson’s latest work (the master, 2012) is inarguable evidence. from its searing first act to brahms’ finale-capping violin concerto in d major, there will be blood falls neatly into this trajectory in that it too is about two men — or, in any case, a man [day-lewis’ plainview] and a squealing man-boy [paul dano’s eli sunday, a priest with questionable training and motive] who must grapple with their alternating dependence and opposition. its promotional material would go on to diametrically oppose them as ambition and faith; its critics capitalism and religion; while oil!, the unused title of the source material from upton sinclair, is merely subject matter as a means to this end. equally pertinent attributions would be greed and greed, or power and power, as daniel and eli engage themselves in a twisted game of one-upmanship and humiliation that will escalate over decades, but each are conscious to from the very outset. in an early scene across the sunday ranch dining table, sunday counters plainview’s offer for ‘quail prices’ for land rich with oil with a request he commit to building a road to sunday’s church of the third revelation. there’s a moment of realisation from both of the falsity and deception at the core of the other. the simplicity with which anderson executes this is masterful: a sudden dialling-down for this wordless exchange (in an otherwise monumentally-proportioned work) that marks a filmmaker uncannily precise in his powers. far from being just a medicinal work in austere cinema better appreciated than loved, there will be blood manages to be entertaining as it enthralls, and oddly, caustically funny despite plumbing the depths of human madness and ruinous ego. if small moments like the aforementioned ranch scene display anderson’s talents as a director of actors, it far from inhibits the film making a beautiful aesthetic statement both visually and sonically, robert elswit’s expansive cinematography pairing so singularly with dylan tichenor’s unhurriedly menacing cut; jack fisk’s production design an exercise in evocatively-curated minimalism. these regular anderson collaborators are complimented unexpedtedly, perfectly, by jonny greenwood’s vaunted kubrickian aural experiments; an amalgam of each distinct element to satisfy one man’s unwavering, unique vision. anderson makes the audience a promise when titling his film there will be blood. at several points during its run-time he threatens to unearth the sticky red stuff we know and love, in a film where oil seems to be elevated to its proxy: the same substance rendered black is unearthed very early in the picture, and flows so freely throughout. it’s a harbinger for internal conflict made outward physical and psychological violence, with often damaging consequences — take the brilliant burst-derrick action centrepiece in which plainview’s adopted son suffers most, and his incapacity to come to terms marks his final severance with any dignity or humanity; or when sunday’s attempt at direct confrontation with plainview over owing money results in his being dragged through it, beaten down and humiliated. but blood features in there will be blood’s 158 minutes only once, and not until a private bowling alley-set duel of wits does anderson so sublimely deliver upon his word. fittingly for the bold, divisive, combative finale that polarised critics otherwise in unanimous agreeance with their acclaim, everything superficial the movie is about is thrown out the window: not neat thematic resolution can satisfy anderson’s tendency toward troubled, insular forms of redemption; not oil, not faith, not money can satisfy plainview’s carnal need to drink your milkshake, to finally end this archaic feuding with an unadorned, primitive weaponry — to draw blood, to win. only then can anderson declare ‘i’m finished!’ with this piece of mad, deranged genius; an irreducibly insane work, yes, but one of such astonishing force few other directors could possibly deliver it. there will be blood58th berlin film festival — paul thomas anderson & jonny greenwood, silver bear (silberner bär) for directing and music. __________*anderson, they shoot pictures, don’t they? [more chronicles]


an epic struggle rooted in the turn of the 20th century, paul thomas anderson’s magnum opus transcends the time in which it was made in both form and theme. like all the best work from the 2000s, its juxtaposition within this time gives it added resonance, with a sheer ambition that eventually yields a wholly draining emotional weight. there will be blood seems both singularly specific and unspecifically timeless — about exactly what it’s about, yet about the human condition.

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this isn’t reality TV.

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for the director who last gave us the godfather ii within prison walls (with 2009’s critically-lauded a prophet), expectations for a follow-up could be forgiven for being stupidly high and improbably-achievable. still, it’s surprising that jacques audiard’s rust and bone (de rouille et d’os, now screening), is able to defy its sentimental premise and deliver the uncompromisingly frank, necessarily gritty drama it does.

billed as the film’s lead, marion cotillard’s stéphanie really shares equal, if not more screentime with brutish alain [mattias schoenaerts], a security guard/trainer with a partiality to bareknucle fighting and a less-than-stellar record as a separated father of one. when stephanie, a whale trainer, loses both her legs on the job in a horrifically stylised accident, she recalls an earlier encounter with alain, legged, in a nightclub, whom she turns to for companionship, a little sex, but mostly utter lack of bullshit and pity.

far from being the intouchables without the LOLs, however, audiard dials in the heartstring-tugging to focus on his troubled leading duo; his unmissably obvious parallels between damaged bodies and damaged minds helped to a pass by a couple of excellent leading performances that almost challenge you to cry, to empathise, or to feel in any conventional way, then to ask how dare you think you were in for a soft-focussed lifetime movie of the week — to its credit.

rust and bone is unrelenting at parts, heartstoppingly caustic at others, particularly the snow-set climax. it treads difficult emotional territory. but it’s also the kind of film that’s grown on me, not insignificantly, since seeing it months and months ago.