Anderson and Pynchon are back—this time with Vineland, spun into a wild, political, comic-book-style action thriller.
The scene, where counterculture and counter-revolution clash, and the whole messy paranoia of American politics is transformed into this ridiculous, almost slapstick form of resistance, is reminiscent of Anderson meeting Pynchon. Jonny Greenwood’s soundtrack, which does not merely play in the background but rather sears through your nerves with its jolting, buzzing, chaotic noise, amplifies the film’s intensity even further.
In addition, the story explores the complex and tense relationships between fathers and daughters on a Freudian level. The stark, realistic pictures of families being split up at the US-Mexico border and children being taken from their parents as if it were a mere policy detail put that theme into stark relief.
Beneath all the comedy, however, the film is serious; it criticizes the nation’s covert power structures and exposes how something as ruthless and cold as ICE roundups can be perceived as routine. A scathing critique of the current wave of nationalism under Trump, this eerie Vichy energy of the modern era, where cruelty is reframed as patriotism, is interwoven throughout.
Anderson runs with Pynchon’s vision of the rebellious energy of the 1960s, only to receive a messy, compromised sequel in the buttoned-up, conservative Reaganite 1980s. However, he also pushes the time gap all the way into the present. He plays with the blurred, more chaotic shift from the late Obama years into the loud, exaggerated spectacle of Trump’s America rather than drawing a clear line between flower-power radicals and Gipper-era conformity.
Interestingly, Anderson avoids bombarding the audience with straightforward references, making no overt references to BLM demonstrations or MAGA rallies, waving no banners, and scrolling no hashtags across the screen. However, there is no denying the vibe. The tension of those cultural changes is simmering beneath everything, like ghosts of recent history that never need to be explicitly mentioned in the movie. It is more important to capture the atmosphere, the uneasiness, and the way those eras blend without obvious boundaries than it is to flash out clear signposts.
Leonardo DiCaprio plays Bob, a scruffy, tired revolutionary who appears to have been through a lot and is only going to get scruffier. He is walking around the streets in his old, dirty dressing gown, sweating and panicking, and whining like a child because his phone is about to die and he cannot find a place to charge it. He has that perfect mix of sad and funny that makes him lovable, even when he is being pathetic.
Bob is officially a member of this militant activist group that attacks migrant detention centers along the Mexican border. However, he is not the brains or the muscle behind the operation. He plays a role that is more akin to comic relief; he is the one who sets off the fireworks, both to cover up the chaos and as a strange kind of celebration that begins after it starts. Bob feels like he is just going along with his teammates.
Regina Hall plays Deandra, who is a total badass and clearly the one keeping things together. Paul Grimstad, a composer and Yale professor, plays Howard, the group’s resident thinker, in a fun little cameo. Bob is more like the hapless mascot of the movement than they are. He is excited, but he is always a little out of his depth.
Bob is crazy in love with his partner and fellow revolutionary, the magnetic and sharp-witted Perfidia (Teyana Taylor). She is not just his partner in battle; she is his whole world. It is easy to see why she has a natural charm that makes everyone else in the room feel like they are moving in her orbit.
Bob is not the only one who is fascinated. Most of the crew looks up to her. Some of it is because she is not afraid, and some of it is because she is the one who can keep things on track when things get crazy.
Perfidia is the one who takes down their biggest prize, the grotesquely reactionary Colonel Steven Lockjaw, when the group storms a military base. Sean Penn plays him with this strange, almost reptilian energy. His head shakes and jerks, his jaw sticks out like he is chewing gravel, and every little move he makes makes him look like a sleazy cartoon villain.
The kicker is that Lockjaw clearly enjoys the whole humiliation thing; the way he reacts is creepy and sexual, which makes him both disturbing and sad. Perfidia, who is very smart, sees this right away and decides to use it as a weapon. She plays with his obsession, using it to her advantage and throwing the military off balance.
However, the movie makes you think about that: Does she go too far with the game? In this wild world of politics and violence, “too far” might not even mean anything anymore. One of the most shocking parts of the movie is when Perfidia, who is nine months pregnant and clearly tired, fires an assault rifle so loudly and violently that it drowns out everything else. This image is both terrifying and triumphant, and it remains unforgettable.
Poor, bewildered Bob’s destiny is to fumble through life as a single father, raising a daughter he believes to be his own. He is entirely different from sixteen-year-old Willa (played by Chase Infiniti), who is piercing, resolute, and already exudes the same level of strength and focus that her mother did. While Bob spends his days slipping further downhill, she learns discipline and resilience through martial arts training under her calm, no-nonsense sensei (Benicio del Toro).
He numbs himself with drugs and alcohol instead of getting his act together, dozing off in front of the television and repeatedly watching Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers as if it were his own sacred text. When he complains about not remembering Willa’s friends’ preferred pronouns, it is a small moment that conveys how out of step he is with the world she is growing up in. His attempts at parenting are a mixture of love and ignorance.
However, the shadows of the past are still with us. When some of Bob’s revolutionary comrades reach out, he is confronted with the reality of how burned out his brain is—he cannot even recall the basic code words he once used over the phone, a failure that feels both sad and somewhat humorous. The same dark forces that haunted his previous life start to resurface.
Willa, on the other hand, must contend with her own confusion. She is left with unresolved, unsettling doubts about her mother’s true identity and, worse, an uneasy suspicion regarding the complicated past between Bob and Lockjaw. She feels as though she is living in a twisted version of Mamma Mia! because of this kind of awkward, devastating realization, but instead of three potential fathers, she is staring at a possibility so terrible that it makes the ABBA-fueled melodrama seem like child’s play.
One Battle After Another is the type of movie that is tugging you in two different directions at once. It is exciting one minute and leaves you scratching your head the next. The whole thing has an electric, jittery buzz that almost fizzes off the VistaVision screen thanks to this strange mashup of tones that somehow works. It is one of those acquired tastes, so that it will not appeal to everyone, but once you get into the rhythm, it becomes strangely captivating, making it impossible to look away, even when you are not sure what you are watching.
Even the title establishes the mood: this is not just about actual fights; it also alludes to a never-ending cultural conflict being acted out like the most outrageous action movie ever. In this spectacular finale, three cars weave and drift across rolling hills in a way that feels less like an action film and more like a fever dream, almost hypnotic in its beauty. It is the culmination of these masterfully choreographed car chases that feel both pulpy and surreal.
Under all the mess, yet, lies this strange, uncomfortable query: Is the whole storyline of the fatherhood-paternity triangle actually an analogy for something more extensive, such as a dirty, unresolved dispute over who actually “holds” the American dream? In this so-called melting pool, past and uniqueness often differ. The movie invites you to explore the inspiration behind the recognition, but it never delivers a precise answer.
Perhaps. Moreover, the whole thing sticks with you in part because of that “maybe.” The concepts the movie explores are not particularly popular in the US at the moment. They feel almost out of step with the general mood, which is why they are so effective in this context. The film plays into that feeling of being out of style, almost with pride, as though to convey that the whole point is to rebel and create a stir when everyone else is silently following suit.
Fundamentally, it is a tale of dissatisfaction and the bravery required to express it when no one wants to hear it. It is about the strange, solitary heroism that results from defying social norms. The movie argues that, despite being messy, awkward, or doomed to fail, not fitting in or conforming can be a brave act in and of itself. Additionally, that obstinate outsider energy feels both necessary and refreshing in a cultural moment that is fixated on fitting into tribes, teams, and labels.
References
- Anderson, P. T. (Director). (2025). One Battle After Another [Film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.
- Aucoin, J. (2025). In One Battle After Another, Thomas Pynchon’s Genius Becomes a Cinematic Masterpiece. America Magazine.
- Greenwood, J. (2025). One Battle After Another: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack [Soundtrack]. (Composer).
- Lei, A. (2025). Paul Thomas Anderson Rockets Thomas Pynchon into the Present. AV Club.
- Pynchon, T. (1990). Vineland. (Referenced/inspiration for One Battle After Another)
- Tallerico, B. (2025). One Battle After Another Movie Review. RogerEbert.com.
- Walsh, D. (2025). One Battle After Another: Paul Thomas Anderson’s Drama of Rebellion and Repression. World Socialist Web Site.
