Magnolia: Already Outdated?

This review originally was posted on cinekklesia on August 13, 2005.

Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia (1999) was a mild disappointment. I remember the accolades it received when it was first released, and I know that it still enjoys both critical and commercial acclaim (it currently resides on IMDb's Top 250). Thus, when I finally got around to watching it recently, I did so with unreasonably high expectations (always a dangerous thing). Magnolia isn't bad, but it certainly is not the four-/five-star masterpiece that so many fans made it out to be; if cinekklesia used a star system, then I would give it three: a solid piece of cinematic craftsmanship but nothing life-changing. (Perhaps it deserves a spot on Bill Stevenson's list of most overrated films.)

Why was I disappointed? The reasons partially stem from the frenetic pace of Anderson's story. Set in Southern California, Magnolia follows the lives of a myriad of characters who have a connection with each other in some (often tangential) way. There is no need to recount the specifics of the plot; in fact, the plot is largely inconsequential since Anderson could have written about a myriad of characters living anywhere in the globe, engaged in any sort of endeavor. The point of Magnolia is not so much the specifics of what the characters do but rather, how they bump into—and interact with—each other.

Unfortunately, the characters are a very sad lot experiencing extreme emotional stress and existential crises. They spend a lot of time crying, screaming, analyzing how they have wasted their lives, etc. Simply put, Magnolia is exhausting. I would have had a less positive reaction to this film had it not been for Anderson's brilliant release of emotional tension about two-thirds to three-quarters of the way through; I won't give it away, but if you are one of those rare moviegoers who like spoilers, then check out this page for a hint.

So what does Magnolia have to say? At first, Anderson hints that his main theme is coincidence and destiny. Right at the beginning, before the main characters are introduced, he presents us with a couple of vignettes of uncanny events that could have been coincidental but (in Anderson's eyes) are surely not. He implies that the rest of the movie is going to serve as an exploration of how something or someone beyond the hurly burly is putting all of the pieces together, connecting us in a massive tapestry too large and complex for us to notice during the day-to-day. While he does address this issue throughout the film (as I mentioned, the entire movie follows a myriad of characters as they bump into each other), he doesn't analyze it beyond the initial vignettes, and it is unclear whether he has anything more to say about it.

Perhaps that is because Anderson really just wants to talk about forgiveness. If there is one message that Magnolia beats over the viewer's head, it is this:

1. People are bad.


2. People treat each other badly.


3. Our lives are disrupted, even ruined, by the bad things we have done to others and vice versa.


4. We need others' forgiveness, and we need to forgive others.

That's basically it. There's nothing wrong with that, and in a forum such as cinekklesia, forgiveness is a theme we should discuss. However, I didn't find Anderson's presentation particularly insightful or noteworthy. Rather, it was bland, producing in me nothing more than a slight nod.

So why did this movie generate so much buzz? I mentioned this perplexity to my wife and, ever the sociologist, she recommended that I ask myself why a movie about forgiveness would produce such a strong reaction from viewers. What is noteworthy about the theme of forgiveness in a particular time and place?

I hypothesize that, unfortunately, we see forgiveness as a luxury, an act to perform when our basic needs have been met, when all of our ducks are in a row. When Magnolia was first released, the United States was still living the 1990's dot-com dream. Our public life was full of stories about new companies, new gadgets, new ways of communication and entertainment. The U.S. was relatively secure, and our biggest political crisis revolved around whether President Clinton lied about fellatio. (Let's face it: when a nation's biggest news story concerns whether a politician got frisky with an intern, it is clear that our public life is pretty easy — even inconsequential.) It was into this environment that Magnolia was released. Americans were doing well, so we had time to be introspective, engage in a bit of navel-gazing, and consider letting go of the past and forgiving our enemies. When life is going well, a little psyho-babble catharsis is allowed.

The question now, of course, is whether Magnolia's message would resonate just as loudly, if it were released today. Our current public discourse doesn't have much patience for wimpy ideas like forgiveness and reconciliation. We either want to exact revenge on enemies abroad or political foes at home. (Whether the United States is as socially and politically "divided" as it appears is, of course, an empirical question. However, I find that the rhetoric of our social and political elites is often filled with pettiness, hatred, and vitriol.) Because so many groups feel they have so much to lose if America's social and political life doesn't go "their way," forgiveness is no longer seen as a realistic course of action. Today's social and political climate encourages conflict, rather than reconciliation (or, at the least, just letting others be).

In truth, of course, forgiveness is not a luxury. For the Christian, it is both a requirement and a spiritual necessity. We constantly must interrogate our zeitgeist to see whether it lives up to the timeless truth of Christ; as such, if we live in an era in which forgiveness is rare, then we need to be even more mindful of our obligation to forgive. Perhaps Magnolia is not an outdated film but rather, a timeless one. Perhaps I just need to step out of the zeitgeist more often!