The reviews of Pynchon’s movie ‘Inherent Vice’ are unreadable, because the movie is, unwatchable. Indeed, these reviews are fake. No writer dare take a chance and be wild and honest (the main ingredient in an Bohemian movie) lest the literary Mafia put them in cement shoes. I will be seeing this Disaster Movie tomorrow.
Meanwhile you can mull over the zany antics of our cute anarchist. The world famous New York artist, Stefan Eins, bid me finish my musical – despite the death threats I was receiving!
“The show must go on!”
Pynchon didn’t receive one death threat while Inherent Vice was being filmed. How about any of the cast?
I knew only a handful of folks would have any empathy for the hero who is screwing the girl he returned to her parents when she was a teen. He took her parent’s money – and her virginity – after he gets her stoned? Did he stalk her? This kind of male drug-rape crap does not go over real well with Alleybelle, who said this in regards to destroying me.
“And I’m done with patriarchal abusive bullshit.”
The 70’s were fun while they lasted. Millions got away with murder. This attempt to bring those sexy days back, is a big bust!
Look at me! You can tell how much fun I had, because I’m paying the piper! I got she-demons up the ying-yang, while Pynchon runs out the back door, hops a fence, and makes a beeline for his bank! The costume you see above is Tom’s go to the bank incognito outfit. We all got to go to the bank once in a while. Now you know.
https://rosamondpress.com/2014/06/10/cute-and-disorderly/
Jon Presco
If that reminds you of chewed-over Chandler, you’re not wrong, and one of the fables on which “Inherent Vice” ruminates is “The Long Goodbye,” and the loping, unflustered movie that Robert Altman made of it, in 1973, with Elliott Gould as Marlowe. He, too, was looking for a vanished man with an English spouse, on the verge of the Pacific, and his search, like Doc’s, involved poking around a sanatorium for the mentally vexed, but what lent the puzzle its loose charm was the fact that Marlowe could only just be bothered to solve it, as opposed to staying home with his cat. At least there was a solution; to the ardent Pynchonite, however, making sense of any mystery makes no sense at all. The nailing of one crime will simply reveal another, deeper one, and then another, and so on, until you arrive at the vision of a society that is already cracked and crazed. Does Anderson stay loyal to that vision for two and a half hours? Absolutely. Will his audience be overjoyed to realize, around the ninety-minute mark, just how little of “Inherent Vice” is going to be wrapped up nice and neat? Hmm.
hat does that imagination feed on? Easy: paranoia and marijuana, both freely available—indeed, interchangeable—in 1970, when “Inherent Vice” is set. In those days, the film suggests, you could be present and correct and yet seem freakily AWOL, with your body in the room but your spirit out of town, the result being that everyone, not just Doc, becomes a private dick of sorts, constantly cross-checking on other people’s existence. (One stoner, who is meant to be deceased, remarks of old friends, “Even when I was alive, they didn’t know it was me.”) As Doc, Joaquin Phoenix is so befogged with weed that he seems to gust along inside his own personal weather system, although he’s impressively out-doped by Owen Wilson, with his narrow-eyed, inward stare, not to mention those long and lazy vowels. Meanwhile, from the pack of speakers shuffling through the book, the one that Anderson, in his wittiest move, picks to provide the voice-over for the film is Sortilège (Joanna Newsom), an astrologer who hangs out at the beach. Believe me, narrators do not come more unreliable than that.
Fenway (Sasha Pieterse), a teen-age runaway whom Doc once tracked down and delivered to her parents—enough, we gather, to make her run away again.
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/12/15/swinging-seventies-3
http://screenrant.com/inherent-vice-reviews-movie-film-2014/
What’s up, Doc?”
That’s just one of a few running gags that keep afloat the cockamamie, kaleidoscopic, languidly compelling whodunit of “Inherent Vice.” The Doc in question isn’t a wascally wabbit, but Larry “Doc” Sportello, a private eye living in the seedy environs of Gordita Beach, Calif., in 1970. Like his animated counterpart, this Doc (played in a hirsute, thoughtfully spaced-out turn by Joaquin Phoenix) gets out of his share of scrapes in a tale whose characters, structure and tone — a balance between mournfulness and inspired mayhem — often feel as if they were crafted by Raymond Chandler while under contract at Looney Tunes.
Rosamond Press 
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