‘Licorice Pizza’ is a playful recreation of California in the 1970s that never fails to entertain

Growing up is confusing. The changes that accompany growth can be fulfilling and joyful, but they can also be mind-boggling and painful. The fleeting adolescence of youth is replaced with the serious expectations and burdens that accompany adulthood. That being said, there’s beauty and pleasure in the chaotic journey that is life, and “Licorice Pizza” is a perfect reminder of that.

While Paul Thomas Anderson’s films may vary in scope and tone, they are consistent in their ability to hook audiences with character-driven stories.

“Licorice Pizza” details the love story of two tremendously endearing – and at times truly frustrating – characters as they conduct a series of misadventures in the San Fernando Valley during the early 1970s.

Welcomed back from a short hiatus with three nominations from the Academy, the highly acclaimed writer-director reasserts his presence with a charming love letter to the place and time of his childhood.

Although Anderson has visited the San Fernando Valley in previous films (i.e., “Boogie Nights,” “Magnolia,” “Punch-Drunk Love,”), this time it’s different and far more familiar.

From everything down to the title “Licorice Pizza” – which refers to a former chain of record stores – oozes 70s nostalgia.

Archaic landlines, vintage cars, outdated fashion choices, and a myriad of period-accurate novelty items are prominent throughout Anderson’s recreation of the Valley. The detailed mise-en-scène paired with perfectly curated needle drops – from 70s icons like Paul McCartney and David Bowie – blend effortlessly to transport the audience to this moment in time.

Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman), a suave 15-year-old hustler, does his best to win the affection of Alana Kane (Alana Haim), an expressive photographer’s assistant at his high school who is ten years his senior. The majority of the film sees Valentine fawning over her as they embark on hilariously absurd business ventures.

“You’re never going to remember me,” Kane says with certainty.

“I’m not going to forget you, just like you’re not going to forget me,” Valentine confidently declares.

Kane’s initial resistance and Valentine’s relentless persistence make for an entertaining back-and-forth between the two characters that spans the length of the film.

Haim dazzles and Hoffman entertains in their respective film debuts, giving two of the year’s best performances, notwithstanding their lack of experience. That being said, Anderson’s decision to cast the two newcomers wasn’t as risky as it may appear.

Neither one of them are strangers to show business and both have direct connections to Anderson. Hoffman is the son of the late actor Phillip Seymour Hoffman, a longtime collaborator of Anderson’s (i.e., “The Master,” “Punch-Drunk Love,” “Magnolia”).

Haim is a member of the Grammy-nominated pop-rock band of the same name along with her two sisters – both of whom also make memorable appearances in the film. She also worked with the writer-director on a number of music videos prior to starring in “Licorice Pizza.”

The two actors share undeniably magnetic chemistry and although Hoffman impresses in his own right, Haim is particularly special on-screen. The latter has already received Best Actress nods at the Golden Globes, Critics Choice Awards, and the BAFTAs for her captivating performance (she was notably absent from this year’s Oscars).

The multitude of subplots that Valentine and Kane experience – and the supporting characters they encounter along the way – are the heartbeat of the film. These include managing a short-lived waterbed enterprise, hopping aboard a political campaign, and launching a pinball arcade.

Anderson’s decision to cast some of Hollywood’s most recognizable stars in minor cameo roles may seem a bit gimmicky at face value, but the end result is anything but. Each of the characters is well-placed within the overarching story and adds personality and depth to their respective subplots. Whether that’s Bradley Cooper as a manic, sex-crazed film producer who is a disgruntled customer of Valentine’s waterbed scheme or Benny Safdie as a secretive, insecure politician who has quite a significant impact on Kane in such a short amount of screen time.

The fast-moving camerawork, much like the characters it captures, is full of chaotic vitality. The camera is predominantly fluid and doesn’t stay static for very long, always following Valentine and Kane as they run with, after, toward, and even into each other. It’s an effective technique that emulates the energetic rhythm and urgent pace of the film and its characters.

Once establishing this precedent, Anderson cleverly subverts it to grab the viewer’s attention to highlight introspective moments. This is particularly apparent through Kane as she constantly struggles with her identity and questions her purpose.

Following an exceptionally stressful and high-octane sequence (of which I do not wish to spoil), Kane has a moment of realization wherein she has a brief existential crisis of sorts.

The camera slows down and keys in on her as she sits alone, and Valentine and his high school friends continue to revel in exuberant shenanigans. It crawls closer to show a visibly dejected Kane and without a single line of dialogue, the viewer understands exactly what she’s feeling.

On one hand, she is at her happiest when she’s taking part in the mischief with Valentine and his crew, but on the other hand, their youthful immaturity is a constant reminder of her lack of progression as an adult.

That’s the brilliance of “Licorice Pizza.”

Underneath all of the lovable characters and exciting moments, lies an incredibly poignant commentary on the pressures that accompany adulthood. It’s just subtle enough not to take away from the delightful nature of the film and just evident enough to add dimension to its already touching emotional impact.