Paul Thomas Anderson Movies and Directing Style

Boogie Nights (1997)

The story of a young man's adventures in the California pornography industry of the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Magnolia (1999)

An epic mosaic of interrelated characters in search of love, forgiveness, and meaning in the San Fernando Valley.

Punch-Drunk Love (2002)

A psychologically troubled novelty supplier is nudged towards a romance with an English woman, all the while being extorted by a phone-sex line run by a crooked mattress salesman, and purchasing stunning amounts of pudding.

There Will Be Blood (2007)

A story of family, religion, hatred, oil and madness, focusing on a turn-of-the-century prospector in the early days of the business.

The Master (2012)

A Naval veteran arrives home from war unsettled and uncertain of his future - until he is tantalized by The Cause and its charismatic leader.

Inherent Vice (2014)

In 1970, drug-fueled Los Angeles private investigator Larry "Doc" Sportello investigates the disappearance of a former girlfriend.

Phantom Thread (2017)

Set in 1950s London, Reynolds Woodcock is a renowned dressmaker whose fastidious life is disrupted by a young, strong-willed woman, Alma, who becomes his muse and lover.

Now for the fun part. Let's jump into the brilliance of Paul Thomas Anderson. 

Dodd's authority is threatened by someone who began the scene as an inconsequential, anonymous guest. They end the scene with John having gotten the upper hand. And this transition is expertly reinforced by simple frame composition choices.

On paper, this scene is a heated conversation between two people. As written, you might not be able to sense the shift in power. On screen, we see the change, and the scene takes on new meaning.

There are always strategies to make your scenes more interesting. When you film a confrontation like this, keep these concepts in mind.

What's the point of this shot? What purpose does it serve?

This shot gives us a proper introduction to our main character. We learn everything we need to know about this character. Eddie's life is on his walls.

He's a musician, he loves fast cars and beautiful women, and he's a massive fan of Bruce Lee. Every one of these things is waiting for him if he agrees to start making adult movies with Jack (Burt Reynolds). He'll get the car, he'll get the women, and he'll be the next kick-ass action star.

It's not simple foreshadowing; it is character development. In one shot, we can see that Eddie has been waiting for this opportunity. Some characters don't know what they want in Act One. Others, like Eddie, absolutely do.

So, when he goes for it, that character decision is already motivated. But this shot isn't significant for the set decoration alone. The posters on the wall show us Eddie's interests, but the camera shows us much more.

Eddie's world is small. The circular motion of the 360 pan shows us the limits of that world. It is claustrophobic and finite. The decision to become an actor will be the prison break he's been looking for.

This is an excellent example of economical storytelling. It gives the audience valuable information as efficiently as possible. Look how much story and character we get from meaningful set decoration and a simple camera move.

How much can we learn about your main character in a single shot? How can you tell us who they are and what they want without a word of dialogue?

Suspense in Hard Eight

Edit for suspense and character

Editing suspense is pretty straight forward. By manipulating time and delaying the inevitable, we get suspense. But what if you could edit for suspense and character at the same time? This is precisely what P.T. Anderson did in his first film, Hard Eight.

At the climax of the film, Sydney (Philip Baker Hall) has made a crucial decision to kill Jimmy (Samuel L. Jackson). Sydney breaks into Jimmy's house, finds his guns, and waits for Jimmy to come home.

As Sydney waits in the dark, staring at the front door, we intercut three scenes into one. From the moment he sits down to the first shot fired, we wait for over 3 minutes. That is a lot of time for tension to build.

There is also a contrast between each of the scenes. Sydney is tensely waiting, Jimmy has a blast gambling, and John and Clementine share a quiet and peaceful drive. This mixture also creates tension.

Sound Design in Punch-Drunk Love

Designing stress

Music is great for communicating and enhancing a character's emotions. But what are some other emotions that music can convey? How can sound design communicate anxiety?

In P.T. Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love, we have a fantastic example of this. Barry Egan (Adam Sandler) is a character dripping with anxiety. He is a ball of nerves. And we know this from his body language, dialogue, cinematography, and editing. But the music and sound design are how this idea is made complete.

Let's start with sound design.

We (and Barry) are continually assaulted with sound. In the first scene, Barry witnesses a car accident. The sound leading up to this moment is minimal and neutral. Suddenly, the car flips and the violent action is paired with an intense burst of sound.

Later, when Barry is thinking about taking the harmonium, a semi-truck comes out of nowhere. Like the earlier car crash, the truck's sound is equally assaulting.

When Barry is playing the harmonium for the first time, we see calmness and peace on his face. Of course, this is immediately shattered when Lance (Luis Guzmán) opens the warehouse door. Barry is flooded with bright light and excessively loud sound.

Once again, our anxiety matches his. Through this sound design, we begin to understand what it must be like to be Barry Egan.

Music in Punch-Drunk Love

Soundtracking anxiety

Some of the music is crafted to mimic anxiety as well. Early in the film is a sequence that has all the tension of a high-speed car chase. But it's happening in Barry's head, and it comes through the music.

In the sequence, Barry is having a very hectic day. He's meeting with clients, and his sisters take turns calling and pestering him about attending a party that night. And earlier in the day he met a beautiful woman who he expects to show up again any minute.

Jon Brion's score during this sequence is a collage of chaos. What we hear is random, sharp, atonal, abstract, and far from recognizable music.

It's a freeform mix of clicking, scratching, drumming, and other odd instruments. According to Brion, there are also sounds of duct tape peeling off the roll. It sounds as if someone recorded a bunch of toddlers in a music store as they fumble around with the instruments.

Here's a challenge: in your next project, think of a character experiencing a specific emotion. Choose something nuanced like paranoia. Now imagine what music would best serve the scene.

What do you hear?

Costumes in Inherent Vice

Presenting character

When you meet someone, you form your first opinion of them within seconds. Most of that impression comes from their physical appearance. It's not judgmental; it's human behavior.

Short, tall, fat, skinny. Well-dressed, under-dressed, long hair, short hair. Beard, mustache, earrings, necklace. When you're designing the look of your characters, all these elements should be considered.

In a perfect scenario, the audience will pay attention to the costumes on a superficial level. But subconsciously, the overall effect of the character's wardrobe plays a part in our experience.

Inherent Vice has some great examples of costuming that informs the character. Like many of Anderson's films, it is a period piece. Specifically, it is set in Southern California in 1970.

Many demographics come together in the film. There are beach bum hippies and the straight-laced cops. There's a white-robed cult, a biker gang, and a member of the Black Panther party. Each group has a distinct and meaningful outer appearance.

Let's look more closely at our lead character, Doc Sportello, and Det. Bjornsen. Doc is a private investigator, and Bjornsen is LAPD. We understand very quickly that these two men have a love-hate relationship.

Idealistically, they are two sides of the same coin. They clash on many topics, even if their ultimate goal is the same. Doc is a dirty hippie, and Bjornsen is a man of the law.

Doc has unruly hair, mutton chop sideburns, and he is either barefoot or wearing sandals at all times. His approach to solving the case is loose and sometimes unfocused. His costume echoes this.

Bjornsen is uptight and frustrated. He sports a buzzcut, no facial hair and often wears a black suit and tie. Bjornsen is a no-nonsense detective. He's the opposite of Doc in every way. This dichotomy is made clear in something we take for granted: costumes.

In your next film, don't forget about what your characters should wear. Thoughtful costume design is strong filmmaking. It will speak volumes to the audience, and it will enhance the actor's performance.

Locations in Phantom Thread

Confine your characters

If you've seen Phantom Thread, you know it's an intimate story. Actually, strike that — it's a claustrophobic story. Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a premiere dressmaker. He is demanding of others and himself.

His home is also where he and his many seamstresses work. The building is an elegant, Georgian townhouse. It is a tall building, but it is not wide. The 5-story home is much more vertical than horizontal.

This is not a set that Anderson built on a soundstage. It is an actual location where he shot a majority of the film. Why did Anderson shoot in this building? What was it about the cramped architecture that appealed to him?

He chose it to add to the tension his story called for. Woodcock's personality is quiet but intimidating. If he lived in a mansion, this would not come across. His soft-spoken militancy would be an empty threat.

The drama is elevated because these characters have no escape. They live on top of each other, and this pushes them past intimacy. Look at this breakfast scene and notice how the lack of physical space is stifling.

Three characters are sitting at a table, which takes up a majority of the space. Even the table is crowded with dishes, food, and teapots. The wall curves around their backs, surrounding them.

This is a tight, uncomfortable space. The dialogue in the scene is also awkward. Now, imagine the same scene in a large dining room. It would not have this effect. We might see the literal and feel the emotional distance between the characters...but the tension would be gone.

When searching for the perfect location for your scene, consider how the space (or lack of space) will add to it. It's not easy to shoot in such tight quarters, but the effect it has on the actors will enhance their performance. This is why your production designer should be aware of the space ahead of time, or even collaborate with the location manager to create the best space for the story.

The script is very light on details. The dialogue is the primary focus of the scene. There isn't much specificity about the look of the location, the costumes, etc.

In this scene, Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) is all washed up. His decades of ruthlessness have made him rich but alienated everyone around him. He is alone, alcoholic and unhinged.

Outside of the dialogue, what decisions must be made to turn this scene from words on a page to moving images? One of the few descriptions we get from the script says, "There are empty liquor bottles around...signs of a MESS/BOOZE/TROUBLE."

We get a very basic idea of what the scene should look like. And this is where a script breakdown comes in. Watch the scene here:

Let's start with costume, make-up, and hair. These elements of filmmaking might be taken for granted, but they are crucial. So much of a character's performance is informed by their presentation.

There is no denying Daniel Day-Lewis' award-winning performance. It just might be the best acting ever committed to film.

But when we examine Plainview's outer layer, we see his hair is unwashed, and his stubble is overgrown. His boots have holes worn in them. His sweater is stained and looks like it hasn't been washed in far too long.

In contrast, Eli Sunday (Paul Dano) is clean shaven, his hair is slicked back, and he is impeccably dressed. He is put together in every way that Plainview is not.

Before they even speak, we can tell a lot about their situations.

This scene also calls for specific props. Plainview's is eating and drinking in the scene. But he's not drinking from a glass, and he's not eating with utensils.

Plainview chugs alcohol straight from a large, glass jug. And he is eating what looks like a steak, cooked days earlier. You might think a question like, "What should the steak that Daniel eats look like?" is a waste of time.

But watch the scene again. Notice how the toughness of the steak makes his consumption of it more primal and raw. Notice how he has to remove bones or pieces of fat from his mouth. This scene would not be the same without that overcooked and tough steak.

These are considerations that can be made at the script level in a breakdown. When you break down your script, you can be as detailed as you want. And your film will be better off because of it.

Extracurricular Activities

From Fiona Apple to Radiohead

Music has always been a big part of Paul Thomas Anderson movies. His relationship with music is seen and felt in all his feature films. But he’s also spent a lot of time during his career making short form music videos as well.

He’s worked multiple times with Fiona Apple, Joanna Newsom, Radiohead, and Haim. What’s interesting is the lack of any obvious stylistic connections between a PTA movie and his music videos. Why might that be? Give us your thoughts in the comments.

Without further ado, here are some highlights from his music video output.

And of course, Fiona Apple's iconic Beatles cover.

And another one...

Maybe he's a fan?

Anderson stays busy even directing newer artists' videos. 

Not just one, but two...

PTA directs videos from some iconic musicians....

Yes, more Radiohead!

The visuals in the next music video are indicative of PTA's style.