Recencies van critici

It is a fairly simple observational approach enhanced by Anderson's great eye for composition and the power of the musical performances.

In a sense, Anderson's latest film is another study of cultures in transition, even if some of its greatest insights on the matter arrive via brief shots of drones and laptops instead of monologues and visual set pieces. It is also, simply, the site of some phenomenal music. That these two qualities of Junun don't necessarily complement one another might suggest—especially in light of Anderson's filmography—that it's much harder to talk about the present than the past.

Junun was not the expected next move for Anderson, and he seems to enjoy the chance to sketch out visual ideas—a jerky 360-degree pan during one song, subtle jumps in time and perspective within the ornamental rehearsal space, even the use of a drone camera for the surrounding vistas (as if to pun on the drones used in the harmonies). Anderson's off-kilter rhythms only complement the music's own cascading pleasures.

What Anderson has crafted is one of the most beautiful (and beautiful-looking) tributes to artistic collaboration, which he presents not only as the ideal form of creative expression, but as a microcosm of utopian cooperation.

The interesting and maybe even remarkable thing about Junun is that it's about the invisible of music—i.e. the composing, rehearsing, recording—but is constructed like a stage-bound concert film, free of the frustration and catharsis that defines insider-y behind-the-scenes documentaries.

Junun, in its modest intention to be a crisply-produced, clear-eyed picture of an unusual recording session, will likely only be of lasting interest to those with a lasting interest in the music itself. No one will be arguing for it as more than a minor entry in Paul Thomas Anderson's filmography, one perhaps better bracketed as a short than as a feature. But it may well be looked back on as another small step towards a very different cinematic terrain.

Junun might be hard to classify, it can't be pigeonholed as a music doco or a travel diary, but as a freeing filmic experiment from one of the most interesting filmmakers working today, it's very much worth the hour-long commitment. To quote Jonny Greenwood's first words captured on camera in Junun: well played.

Whether Anderson knew he was planning to document this recording session remains thrillingly ambiguous throughout, as Junun comes across as a ramshackle example of a PTA cine-improvisation, revealing a side of this exacting formalist that's seldom been seen in public (well, maybe in his on-stage Q&As?). Instant gratification is yielded from the amazing music being created; surging, brass-driven cacophonies which pummel the listener into a temporary trance.

Junun may be a minor work from a major director, but it provides plenty of bounce in the step and candy for the ears. It's hard to ask much more of a music movie.

The film feels like a relaxed opportunity for Anderson to play in a congenial, unstressed setting... This non-major-work is an opportunity to revive and revise past styles, a chance to look forward a bit, and a no-pressure space to experiment.