Licorice Pizza — The Valley of Shattered Dreams (and Unmade Beds)

Licorice Pizza: full review

The San Fernando Valley in 1973 smells of gasoline, shattered dreams, and that cheap perfume girls wore at drive-ins. Paul Thomas Anderson, the prodigal child of Gen X who’s already blessed us with gems like Boogie Nights and There Will Be Blood, returns to his favorite stomping ground: nostalgia as a lethal weapon. Licorice Pizza isn’t just a film—it’s a family photo album someone dug up at a flea market and decided to turn into cinema. The problem? Sometimes nostalgia leaves a bitter aftertaste when you realize what you’re watching is little more than a stylistic exercise with stumpy legs.

Anderson has always had a knack for portraying losers with affection, but here that affection curdles into self-indulgence. Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman, son of Philip Seymour Hoffman—and yes, the resemblance is uncanny) is a 15-year-old child actor with more charm than common sense, while Alana Kane (Alana Haim, the middle Haim sister, in her film debut) is a 25-year-old who doesn’t know what to do with her life. They meet, they click, they drift apart, they chase each other, they lose each other. It’s the eternal adolescent dance, but with a $20 million budget and a director who seems more interested in recreating 1973 than telling a story worth a damn. The result? A film that’s as pretty as it is hollow—like a scratched vinyl record that sounds nice but says nothing new.

The shoot was controlled chaos, as is everything Anderson touches. Shot on 35mm with a Panavision camera that weighs more than some actors’ egos, the film has that grainy, warm look that makes celluloid nostalgists weak in the knees. But here’s the first problem: Anderson doesn’t just want us to see 1973—he wants us to smell it. And boy, does he succeed. Every frame is so stuffed with period details it sometimes feels like a documentary about the era, not a work of fiction. The issue? In his obsession with recreating the past, he forgets that a film isn’t a museum. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

The cast is a mix of seasoned pros and fresh faces, and—surprisingly—it works better than it should. Cooper Hoffman has his father’s charisma but with an innocence that’s all his own. Alana Haim, meanwhile, is a revelation: her naturalism on screen isn’t something you learn at acting school. The problem? The rest of the cast looks like they were plucked from a Boogie Nights extras casting call. Sean Penn as a drunk actor who suspiciously resembles William Holden is amusing, but it’s still a cheap laugh. Bradley Cooper as Jon Peters, Barbra Streisand’s unhinged producer, is the film’s highlight—a comic turn that steals every scene he’s in. But even that reeks of filler, as if Anderson only included Cooper to justify the budget.

Direction and Mise-en-scène: 1973 in a Bottle

Paul Thomas Anderson is a master of mise-en-scène, and Licorice Pizza is proof. Every frame is meticulously composed, every camera movement seems designed to evoke a specific era. But here’s the rub: Anderson doesn’t just want us to see 1973—he wants us to live it. And sometimes, that’s exhausting. The film is packed with scenes that feel like they were lifted from a documentary: the sequence where Gary and Alana flee the cops in a gasless car is brilliant, but it’s also a reminder that Anderson prefers style over substance. Do we really need to watch two characters run for five minutes to understand they’re running away?

The script is another weak spot. Anderson writes dialogue that sounds authentic, but sometimes it feels like it was lifted from a screenwriting manual. There are moments when the film seems more interested in recreating the vibe than telling a story. And when it finally seems like it’s about to take off, Anderson gets lost in subplots that go nowhere. The relationship between Gary and Alana is the film’s heart, but even that feels incomplete, as if Anderson didn’t quite know how to end the story. Is it a romantic comedy? A teen drama? A generational portrait? In the end, Licorice Pizza is a little bit of everything but never quite becomes anything.

Performances: Chemistry That Burns (and Actors Who Don’t Belong)

Alana Haim and Cooper Hoffman are the film’s soul. Their chemistry is so real it hurts—like a first love that never quite comes together. Hoffman has his father’s charisma but with an innocence that’s uniquely his. Haim, meanwhile, is a revelation: her naturalism on screen isn’t something you learn in acting school. The problem? The rest of the cast looks like they were plucked from a Boogie Nights extras casting call. Sean Penn as a drunk actor is amusing, but it’s still a cheap laugh. Bradley Cooper as Jon Peters is the film’s highlight—a comic turn that steals every scene he’s in. But even that reeks of filler, as if Anderson only included Cooper to justify the budget.

The best

• The chemistry between Alana Haim and Cooper Hoffman: It’s so real it hurts. Like a first love that never quite comes together but leaves you grinning like an idiot for days.
• Bradley Cooper as Jon Peters: A comic turn that steals every scene. If this were a musical, this would be the song everyone remembers.
• Paul Thomas Anderson’s cinematography: Every frame is meticulously composed, as if Anderson wanted to bottle 1973. The grain of the 35mm gives it an authenticity few films achieve.
• The soundtrack: Jonny Greenwood’s score is pure nostalgia, like time stood still in 1973.

The worst

• The script: Anderson writes dialogue that sounds authentic, but sometimes it feels like it was lifted from a screenwriting manual. There are moments when the film seems more interested in recreating the vibe than telling a story.
• The unnecessary subplots: The film is packed with characters and situations that go nowhere. Sean Penn as a drunk actor is amusing, but he doesn’t add anything to the main story.

The pacing: Licorice Pizza* lurches forward in fits and starts. There are brilliant moments, but others where the film gets lost in its own nostalgia.

• The lack of direction: Anderson seems more interested in recreating 1973 than telling a story worth a damn. In the end, the film is a stylistic exercise with stumpy legs.

The Verdict of Claqueta Ácida

Licorice Pizza is a pretty film, but a hollow one. Paul Thomas Anderson gifts us a nostalgic trip to 1973 that reeks of gasoline, teenage sweat, and missed opportunities. But in the end, it’s like a scratched vinyl record: it sounds nice, but it says nothing new. The chemistry between Alana Haim and Cooper Hoffman is the only thing that saves the film from being a self-indulgent wank. A masterpiece? No. A film worth seeing? Yes, but with reservations. In the end, Licorice Pizza is like first love: it leaves you grinning like an idiot with your heart in your throat, but also with the nagging feeling that something was left unfinished. 💀

Licorice Pizza: frequently asked questions

What is the rating of "Licorice Pizza" on Claqueta Ácida?

"Licorice Pizza" scored 8/10 on Claqueta Ácida in the review by Camilo K.O..

Is "Licorice Pizza" worth watching?

Yes. We gave it 8/10 (Nuclear Fusion), our rating for must-see films.

Who directed "Licorice Pizza"?

"Licorice Pizza" was directed by Paul Thomas Anderson.

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Theater Collateral Damage Report

Psychophysical impact certificate issued by Camilo K.O.

🛡️ Epic Survival

🥱 Yawn-o-meter

Cero. La pantalla absorbió cada segundo de atención disponible.

⏱️ Panic Clock Checks

El móvil permaneció en el bolsillo donde debía estar.

😬 Cringe Index 2/10

☕ Caffeine Prescription

Ninguna. Esta obra no necesita muletas estimulantes.

💥 Derailment Point

"No hubo. La coherencia se mantuvo hasta el último fotograma."