One Battle After Another is Just What Humanity Needed
The sheer imagery of immigrant detainee rescue missions, bombings of power grids and politicians’ offices, and fiery clashes between rioters and armed guards make Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another an inescapably political movie. It envisions an America of drastic (though perhaps not unfathomable) political polarization, in which an organized anti-imperial liberation front called the “French 75” can coexist alongside a secret society of prominent white supremacists known as the “Christmas Adventurers Club.” It’s difficult to acclimate to its world-building, yet to question its logistics would be a disservice to the film’s intimacy. The central characters don’t function merely as emotionally distant symbols of various ideologies. Instead, they are recognizable individuals with relatable priorities, deep-rooted flaws, and endearing emotions. Yes, it’s about immigration, systemic racism, and political violence, but, most importantly, One Battle After Another is about people—a sentiment often lost in today’s political climate, all too reliant on dispassionate conversations, irreconcilable antagonization, and manufactured personalities.
Colonel Lockjaw, the film’s central antagonist, played by Sean Penn, appears to represent an absurd, aggregate US military zealot, leading sweeping immigrant apprehension campaigns, seeking membership in the Christmas Adventurers Club, and battling a masochistic obsession with Perfidia Beverly Hills—a member of the French 75. A right-wing extremist, he sports a red, spongy face, a dinky haircut, and a G.I. Joe body, oozing sexual repression. He constantly resembles a toddler throwing a tantrum which, deep down, he might just be. Dressed tidy, he earnestly delivers a bouquet of flowers to Perfidia, but upon getting no response at her door, calmly waddles back to his black truck, grabs a battering ram, and breaks it down. Lockjaw smothers his primal desires in anger and aggression, justifying his actions with racist ideologies: When Willa Ferguson, his primary target, tries to escape his grasp, he screams “I am a Christmas Adventurer! I have a higher calling!!” unnervingly, as though he must convince himself of this before he convinces his audience. However, Lockjaw’s long-lost humanity remains intact far beneath his immodest muscles: he is unable to kill Willa, passing her off to a bounty hunter because he’s “too busy.” When you stare at Sean Penn’s face, inflamed with hyper-focused rage, as Jonny Greenwood’s sentimental score guides him to action, you can almost understand the rotted human who’s willing to invade a sanctuary city and deport thousands of migrants for personal gain. Yet, similar to the many xenophobic faces we’re accustomed to seeing on the news, he’s maddening, sickening, confusing, and, perhaps most crucially, tragic. Just because there is a disturbed human beneath the glorified sadism, doesn’t mean he can reconcile his hamartia. Lockjaw never comes close to achieving catharsis.
On the other side of the spectrum sits Bob Ferguson (Leonardo DiCaprio), the humble “Rocket Man” of the French 75, who finds himself in love with the overwhelmingly individualistic Perfidia. Motivated yet responsible, he struggles to balance family and revolutionary life. He spends the French 75’s glory days fending off Perfidia’s reckless sexual advances during missions and prioritizing the care of their daughter, Willa, over his commitment to the insurgency; years later, his hypervigilance persists, as, in an effort to protect her, he threateningly interrogates Willa’s clueless friends picking her up for a dance. Bob is a guerilla war-hero, but he’s also just a dad trying to keep his family intact. Traumatized and afraid, he fits into the overprotective father stereotype while maintaining his revolutionary identity, providing intriguing insight into the personal confusion required to fight for a radical cause. When thrown back into action, from his drug and alcohol abuse emerges a fearful man—DiCaprio’s face radiates angst and his catchphrase becomes “ah, fuck!” as he struggles to recall the French 75’s safety procedures. He’s embarrassingly lost but he’s trying his best, reminiscent of our more senior left-wing politicians. Yet with the help of Sensei Sergio St. Carlos (and Nina Simone), Bob learns that “freedom is no fear” and unwaveringly plunges into danger.
Caught in the crossfire of these polarities sits 16 year-old Willa Ferguson. We first meet her during a karate routine, which she carries out with striking poise and self-assurance while Steely Dan’s Dirty Work contributes humanizing notes of melancholy. The high-schooler comes face-to-face with Lockjaw’s militia as well as her parents’ revolutionary-era demons, but, as she notes decisively, she isn’t afraid for a moment. She grapples with her identity the same way she grapples with Lockjaw himself—ferociously yet thoughtfully—and Greenwood’s piercing motif returns as she gallantly confronts him for the first time. Due largely to a staggering performance from Chase Infiniti, Willa’s crisis feels poignant, but more importantly, her badass vitality delivers the film’s humility. 42 year-old Bob is certainly the film’s protagonist, but central to his journey is realizing that he can’t keep up with his daughter, both on the battlefield, where she chases cars and kills Christmas Adventurers, and at home, where she lectures him on pronouns and selfies. Willa’s spirit grounds the film, reminding us that we shouldn’t take the old white guys too seriously because younger generations inevitably have more to offer—a nonpartisan thesis, though perhaps the film’s only.
Each character in the film contributes a psychological explanation for their political actions: for Lockjaw, it’s the pent-up libido required to attack marginalized groups; for Bob, it’s the anxiety of protecting your family while fighting for a cause; and for Willa, it’s the inspiring self-reliance that emerges from confusion and turmoil. PTA inserts his irrefutable mastery over characters and storytelling into the modern-day political atmosphere, forcing his audience to feel the often neglected psychologies that actually guide our heroes and villains. He doesn’t assertively defend an agenda; rather, he unleashes the individuals protected by our divided, withdrawn, whitewashed parties, asking the audience no more than to consider their stories. One Battle After Another reminds us that in order to save the world, we have to start with humanity.