Boogie Nights

(1997)

If not handled correctly, magic realism can be easily mistaken for sloppy storytelling. A capitulation into fantasy from a naturalist framework became a trademark of Paul Thomas Anderson’s filmmaking after MAGNOLIA but in BOOGIE NIGHTS it hurts the denouement of a historically grounded film about a sub-culture with a clear trajectory, and to suggest that there is a last-ditch upward spiral in anything but the imagination of the protagonists is an insult to those who languish in death, disease, and destitution because of the industry they work in. If my disappointment in the utopian resolution is palpable, it is precisely because telling the story of the film industry in the late twentieth century through the prism of porn offer such an illuminating perspective on the dreams, dysfunctions, and delusions of the artists and businesspeople within those circles. It is a metaphor for commercial cinema that also overlaps with the real thing, not just technology but in mindset. Stardom looks at itself in many mirrors as Burt Reynolds mentors young talent and presides over its replacement. Video degradation of the cinematic look is literal, sexual, and visceral, the golden sheen that veils the exploitation is whisked away, revealing the harsh realities of the carnal act. The ability to fantasize is what unites all kinds of filmmaking and any cinematic account of the tragic loss of that distinction through brute commerce must not be consumed in gratuitous fantasy filmmaking to satisfy the whims of an auteur in development of a signature style.