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Emily Watson and Adam Sandler star in Punch-Drunk Love.
The unlikely combination of Adam Sandler and Paul Thomas Anderson was always going to result in something a bit different, and without a doubt Punch Drunk Love represents a change in direction for both star and director. The risk was that it would be so different that the film would fall between two stools, being too quirky for the average Big Daddy fan but not serious enough for fans of Boogie Nights and Magnolia. In many ways this is exactly what happens, but the result is something so spectacularly unique it doesn’t really matter.
While there are elements of Sandler’s well established and familiar persona in Barry Egan, the underlying violence and social awkwardness of characters such as Happy Gilmore is fore grounded in Punch Drunk Love revealing a character with real emotional problems. Barry is a bizarre yet somehow likeable mixture of autism, Tourettes, depression, rage and innocence. The revelation is that Sandler is excellent in his portrayal of this oddball character. We are somehow able to empathise deeply with a man who smashes his brother-in-laws windows at a party, destroys hotel restrooms for no reason, calls sex lines and collects puddings. There is an emotional depth to Egan that is surreal yet undeniable. Alongside this emotional depth Sandler is at times hilarious. After an awkward, lengthily confession that he suffers from uncontrollable bouts of crying the doctor tells Barry he can’t treat him “Because I’m a dentist.” This is a fine joke in its own right but it also reveals the extent of Barry’s social inadequacies.
For Anderson Punch Drunk Love is a departure from what could have been called his signature style. Both Boogie Nights and Magnolia were painted on big canvases with many characters and came in around the three hour mark a la Robert Altman. Punch Drunk Love is half their length at ninety minutes and focuses very tightly on Barry Egan. In his two Altmanesque masterpieces as well as in his debut feature Hard Eight Anderson carefully paced the story with a steady hand, building towards emotionally charged climaxes. On paper Punch Drunk Love should be easier to pace, simpler to plot, with it’s singular main character who has a clear goal (the girl). Yet the story wanders all over the place, from harmoniums to phone sex to puddings to haircuts, and this can be frustrating. Likewise Emily Watson’s Lena feels underdeveloped as the love in Barry’s life. In a film that seems unconcerned with traditional plot structures she is dangerously close to being little more than a plot device. It’s touching that two such blatantly maladjusted people find love in each other yet it feels strangely forced, especially since Lena is determined to date Barry before she even meets him. Also the film seems to end abruptly, leaving the audience feeling as though they’ve been cheated out of some form of catharsis just as we are warming to these two strange lovebirds.
It could be argued that because the story telling is so haphazard Punch Drunk Love is more a series of moments than a tightly plotted narrative. But what moments they are. Several images really stay with you so strong is their impact. The jump out of your seat road accident that breaks the silence of the films opening, Barry destroying the restroom and being asked to leave the restaurant in the middle of his date, Philip Seymour Hoffman shouting “Shut up” ad infinitum into the phone, Barry marching the many miles to confront Hoffman with phone still in hand, severed cord dangling. This is real magic. And despite the films brevity, Anderson once again demonstrates his mastery of the long take. In particular the scene at Barry’s workplace in which his sister marches in and out of Barry’s office determined to persuade him to go on a date with her friend (Emily Watson) while Barry is otherwise engaged talking to a phone sex worker who is trying to blackmail him via his credit card.
The scene works so well not just because of the perfectly judged balancing act between Barry’s desperation and his sisters’ almost comic determination, and not just because of the flashy without showing off camerawork. What really makes the scene is Anderson’s use of sound. Punch Drunk Loves’ soundtrack is weird beyond belief. There is an assortment of odd sounds placed at what would be inappropriate moments in any other film as well as some very self-conscious bursts of music, which don’t so much blend in as stick out, albeit in a good way. Not only is it difficult to imagine this use of sound working in any other film, it is also impossible to see Punch Drunk Love functioning properly without it. Most striking is the use of “He Really Needs Me” (first performed by Shelley Duvall’s Olive Oil in Altman’s Popeye) as the films central motif, often accompanied by the screen dissolving into a garish rainbow of wavy neon that is worth the price of admission all on its own.
So, Sandler does some serious acting and Anderson reigns back on the scope. The result is that if anyone goes in expecting something approximating either mans previous work, they will leave disappointed. However, an audience with no preconceptions will have the pleasure of seeing something truly unique. Probably best described as a glorious mess, the film will no doubt frustrate as many as it thrills with it’s persistent and determined wackiness. Not for everyone then, but a gem for those who will appreciate it.
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