The Unnecessary Topping on Licorice Pizza
“Is it weird that I spend so much time with Gary and his 15 year old friends?” 28 year old Alana asks her sister, referring to her teenage counterpart. The two main characters in Licorice Pizza share more than an attraction to each other; they share a whopping age difference of more than a decade. Despite Paul Thomas Andersons’ incredible gift of storytelling, Licorice Pizza seems to completely skip the discourse that is essential for portraying a romance between a minor and an adult, to such a drastic extent that it stopped me from fully experiencing the vibrant colors and sounds of the film. PTA is fully capable of portraying dysfunctional relationships (i.e. Phantom Thread), but this one seemed too glamorized. While their relationship remained platonic for the majority of the film, the ending made it clear that beneath PTA’s ability to turn a film into a warm fuzzy time machine taking us back to 1973 San Fernando Valley, its relationship politics also seemed to travel back.
Alana Kane (Alana Haim) is a 28 year old woman floating through life searching for some direction, and Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman) is an old soul in a 15 year old’s body. They meet on Gary’s high school’s yearbook photo day where Alana is working as a photo assistant and he attempts to ask her out on a date. Aware of their troubling age difference, Alana repeatedly refuses Gary’s advances. She laughs off his efforts at flirting and seeks out other relationships, until finally the chase wears off and she realizes she wants him the same way. They start up a soon-to-be-successful waterbed business and navigate their journeys together, as business partners, best friends, and at times (platonic?) lovers. The two eventually discover that when they are down and alone, they will always chase after one another to find each other (figuratively and literally).
Their relationship is heavily characterized by Alana’s immaturity and Gary’s unusual independence. Alana lives at home with her parents and two sisters who still shame her for staying out past dinner; she has a major adolescent leave-me-alone-dad moment as she closes the door on her yelling father, falling onto the twin size bed in her room that resembles one of a teenager. She has no clear passion or vision despite being surrounded by artists in the heart of Hollywood – she only grabs what drifts by, dreaming of leaving home one day. Gary brings a big change in pace for Alana. Unlike her, he only knows how to take initiative, whether it be hitting on Alana, traveling the country for his career as a child actor, or starting up multiple businesses. In fact, he spends so much time alone from his absent parents that he asks Alana to chaperone him on one of his jobs. He is the next big shot, and Alana fears she is only a pitstop for his long journey ahead. The film strongly attempts to justify the age gap by juxtaposing their stages in lives with their ages, but it forgets to note that there is no amount of experience or emotional maturity that will bridge 15 with 28.
Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of ways to portray age disparities in relationships while acknowledging its complications. The “maturity opposites” age dynamic in Licorice Pizza is somewhat reminiscent of the 1971 film Harold and Maude, an absurd dark comedy depicting a romance between an elderly woman and a recent high school graduate. The two share a similar juxtaposition to Gary and Alana – Harold is a 19 year old graduate obsessed with death, attending funerals and staging his suicides for his emotionally neglectful mother’s attention, and Maude is a 79 year old ready to fearfully experience life. The two become literal partners in crime while sharing their own perspectives on life; Harold learns the beauty of being alive and Maude learns to accept that her time is limited. Despite Harold’s affection towards her, Maude’s sexual and romantic relationship with him is exploitative and consequential. But the thing with the extreme age difference in Harold and Maude is that it is so incredibly absurd that it works. The audience is fully made to be aware of the great dramatic irony of their age dynamic, and no one is made to think it is a pure romance (I would hope…). The film ends as Harold peeks over a cliff where he attempted to fake another suicide by driving over a cliff, ending in a hopeful tone suggesting that this is only his beginning.
The Reader (2008) adapted from the book of the same name also critically deals with a drastic age difference between an older woman and a younger boy. In 1950s Germany, 15 year old Michael develops a sexual relationship with 36 year old Hanna, who he reunites with as an adult only to find out she is convicted of war crimes for her role in a Nazi concentration camp. Though there is discussion on whether the film attempts to evoke sympathy for Hanna due to her extensive characterization, the depiction of Michael’s inability to develop healthy relationships as he matures, despite his marriage and love for his daughter, is an indicator of the long lasting damage their relationship had on him as a teenager. Hanna’s depiction as being sensitive and emotional is not the film’s attempt to defend her, but rather a reflection of how Michael sees her; obvious from her role in the extermination camp, she is a manipulative monster who does not take responsibility or any consideration for his future.
Perhaps the discomfort that is felt with Licorice Pizza is that it was too mundane, too ordinary, for it to even be a satirical portrayal of a romance between a teenager and an adult. Though there is no explicit sexual relationship between the two of them (besides when Alana flashes Gary her breasts), the choice to end the film as they embrace and kiss each other broke down the only wholesome boundary that was left between the two. Their relationship seems too plausible as some men are watching this and relating it to their own adolescent experiences. “A movie for anyone who’s ever been in love or had a really hot Jewish babysitter” – one of the highest rated reviews of the film notes on Letterboxd. According to an attendee of one of PTA’s Q&As, PTA himself even mentioned that the film was based off of him witnessing a kid hitting on a woman at a photoshoot. If this kind of romance is one’s fantasy, that is one thing, but the film’s ending turns it into a reality. Maybe that’s even what makes the film so attractive, as it presents the opportunity for some viewers to live vicariously through Gary to fulfill their lost fantasies, without the depiction of the possible future repercussions.
One may argue that just because a film portrays a subject that does not mean they are condoning it. I wholeheartedly agree. However, without implicit criticisms or exaggerations made to better understand its implications, it is difficult for us to judge the intentions behind the films. Yes, a subject can “exist as is” without critique, but what purpose does it really serve when the audience simply ingests it with laughter or pleasure?
The lack of evaluation of this age difference definitely plagued my personal understanding and appreciation for Licorice Pizza, as I found it difficult to root for their relationship despite the stunning soundtrack and cinematography that precisely embodies the vintage West Coast ambience. I don’t expect everyone to share these sentiments, but what is true is that there are people who felt uncomfortable (i.e. my friend who dramatically called Alana “a serial groomer” for her continuous pursuits of child actors). This discomfort is not unprovoked; it comes from a place of concern for those who glamorize their relationship. Licorice Pizza can be enjoyed, but not without acknowledging its faults.
