Paul Thomas Anderson’s oilman drama is gripping and frightening, with Daniel Day-Lewis making greed feel horribly personal. Later storytelling gaps are a frustration, but the acting, images and music make its 158 minutes worth the discomfort.
There Will Be Blood is a gripping study of a man whose ability makes his cruelty more alarming. Paul Thomas Anderson takes the familiar story of a self-made oilman and allows little hope that success will make him generous. Anderson lets us see how hard Daniel Plainview works before asking us to recoil from his treatment of other people. We understand why people might follow him, which makes watching him harder.
The wordless opening is a good test of Anderson’s confidence. He asks us to watch physical effort closely, letting Plainview’s persistence establish the character before speech can explain him. We felt uneasy before anyone said a word. The effort is impressive, but the concentration Day-Lewis brings to it already seems unhealthy, as though stopping might be beyond him. Robert Elswit’s cinematography makes the work look difficult and the surroundings unwelcoming, giving us little encouragement to admire Plainview comfortably.
Day-Lewis gives Plainview a voice that makes ordinary conversation sound like a negotiation already going badly. He can make an offer seem considered and courteous while leaving us in little doubt about his contempt for the person hearing it. The performance is large, and Anderson is sensible enough not to try to disguise that. Its fascination lies in the control: the aggression is there even when Plainview appears to be behaving reasonably. We found ourselves listening for hostility in the most civil exchanges.
Paul Dano provides useful resistance because he does not try to match Day-Lewis in the same way. His insistence has a different, needling quality, and their contest can be as embarrassing as it is threatening. Dano is most interesting when we can see the effort involved in maintaining his authority. There is something uncomfortable about watching each man need the other’s acknowledgement so badly. These clashes give the film some welcome uncertainty about who will make whom look small.
Jonny Greenwood’s score is crucial to the unease. It makes the drive to succeed feel feverish, and its insistence can disturb a scene before the performances have done anything openly alarming. Jack Fisk’s production design keeps the business of extracting wealth physically convincing, giving Elswit’s images something more substantial to offer than imposing views. The places of work look capable of wearing people out. That matters in a film where making money involves so much visible effort, and where the ability to endure it can seem dangerously admirable.
Dylan Tichenor’s editing is particularly effective in the opening, where the absence of dialogue never becomes an excuse for slackness. Later, the storytelling skips over connections we would have liked to see made. Plainview remains compelling, but some of the people around him seem to exist chiefly to confirm what we already know about him. That matters in a film of 158 minutes. Anderson has room for more of those people, and sometimes seems impatient to get back to Plainview.
As a drama about money and power, it preserves the familiar pleasure of watching a capable man get ahead long enough to make our interest uncomfortable. The film does not assume that we will dislike Plainview simply because we recognise his greed. Anderson lets Day-Lewis make the hostility increasingly difficult to overlook, without pretending that this makes the man any less fascinating. Give it an uninterrupted evening, and do not expect much relief from the company.
