Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza follows the unlikely relationship between Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman), a fifteen-year-old actor and serial entrepreneur, and Alana Kane (Alana Haim), a twenty-five-year-old photographer’s assistant who keeps getting drawn back into his orbit despite her better judgment. Set in the San Fernando Valley in 1973, the film unfolds as a series of misadventures held together by the gravitational pull between two people who shouldn’t work together but somehow do.
The film earned three Academy Award nominations including Best Picture and Best Director. Community response has been enthusiastic among Anderson fans and generally positive among broader audiences, though the age gap between the leads has generated sustained debate. The film’s episodic structure also divides viewers between those who find it refreshingly free-form and those who want more conventional narrative structure.
The Valley in Golden Light
The chemistry between Haim and Hoffman is the film’s foundation, and it holds everything together. Haim, making her acting debut, is a revelation: funny, abrasive, vulnerable, and so naturally charismatic that you forget she’s never done this before. She plays Alana as a woman stuck between the ambition she thinks she should have and the chaotic energy of a teenager who refuses to accept limitations. Hoffman, son of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman, has inherited his father’s ability to make confidence and vulnerability coexist in the same moment. Gary’s hustler energy is irresistible because Hoffman plays it without cynicism.
Anderson has never made a film that feels this free. The camera follows Gary and Alana through setups and schemes with a loose, handheld energy that mirrors their restless movement through the Valley. Individual sequences, including a waterbed delivery that turns into a gas crisis adventure and an encounter with a volatile film producer, play as self-contained short films that happen to share characters. Anderson’s command of tone means these episodes can shift from comedy to tension to genuine tenderness without feeling disjointed.
The 1970s period recreation is immersive without being museum-piece precious. Anderson grew up in this world, and the detail feels lived-in rather than researched. The soundtrack selection is superb, deployed with the kind of intuitive precision that only comes from genuine familiarity with the music and the era it accompanied.
Sean Penn and Tom Waits deliver a memorable double act in an extended cameo that captures the self-destructive glamour of old Hollywood with real affection. Bradley Cooper’s appearance as Jon Peters is a comic highlight, playing the real-life producer as a live wire of volatile energy that threatens to derail every scene he’s in.
The Age Gap and the Ramble
The age gap between Gary and Alana is the film’s most debated element. Anderson doesn’t ignore it: Alana’s discomfort with the dynamic is woven throughout, and the film never depicts a physical relationship between them while Gary is a minor. But the romantic framing is undeniable, and some viewers find it impossible to set aside the age difference regardless of how the film handles it. This is a personal threshold question that no argument can resolve.
The episodic structure, while charming, means the film occasionally feels like it’s running in place. Some setpieces are more successful than others, and the connective tissue between episodes can feel thin. The waterbed business, the pinball parlor, and the political campaign segments vary in their impact, and viewers who prefer tight narrative construction will find the looseness frustrating rather than liberating.
At 133 minutes, the film tests the patience of viewers who aren’t fully invested in the central relationship. Anderson’s confidence in his material means he lets scenes play out at their natural length, which sometimes means they extend past the point where their energy peaks. The final act gathers emotional momentum that the middle section doesn’t always maintain.
Two scenes featuring a character speaking in a stereotypical Asian accent have drawn criticism for casual racism that feels out of step with the film’s otherwise warm sensibility. Anderson has faced questions about these inclusions, and many viewers find them jarring enough to pull them out of the film’s otherwise inviting world.
Running Toward Something Unnamed
The film’s deepest insight is about the gap between what people think they want and what actually makes them feel alive. Alana keeps trying to build a sensible adult life and keeps being pulled back toward the chaos and energy of Gary’s world. Gary keeps chasing schemes and accomplishments when the thing he actually wants is standing right in front of him. Their constant cycling between connection and separation has the rhythm of something real, and Anderson captures the confusion of that rhythm without ever reducing it to a simple lesson.
Should You Watch Licorice Pizza?
If you enjoy hangout films, character-driven romantic comedies, or Paul Thomas Anderson’s work, this is among his most accessible and enjoyable efforts. The performances are wonderful, the period recreation is transporting, and the film’s emotional warmth is genuine. It’s also a strong recommendation for viewers who want something that feels handmade and personal rather than constructed from familiar templates.
Skip it if the age-gap premise is a dealbreaker, if episodic structure frustrates you, or if you need narrative drive from your films. Licorice Pizza wanders by design, and that wandering is either its greatest charm or its most significant weakness, depending on your tolerance.
The Verdict on Licorice Pizza
Licorice Pizza is Anderson at his most generous and his most relaxed, a film that trusts its performers and its world to create something more felt than plotted. Haim and Hoffman are a screen pair worth rooting for, and the San Fernando Valley of 1973 has never looked more alive or more inviting. The episodic structure and the age-gap dynamic will keep it from universal embrace, but for viewers who surrender to its rhythm, it’s one of the warmest and most purely enjoyable films of the decade.