One Battle After Another
⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ (out of 5 stars)
Paul Thomas Anderson has always been a director fascinated by eras of transition. From the oil boom of There Will Be Blood to the synthetic optimism of the ‘70s in Licorice Pizza or the post-war identity seeking of The Master, Anderson captures cultural moments with an almost cynical hope. He never romanticises his settings, but he humanises them, pulling out the best and worst in people, often within the same scene. With Inherent Vice, he dipped his toes into author Thomas Pynchon’s offbeat literary world, tackling paranoia and counterculture through stoner detective comedy. Now, a decade later, Anderson delves into Pynchon once more, this time adapting his revolutionary reaction to Reagon, in Vineland. But where Inherent Vice was hazy and slippery, One Battle After Another is propulsive, incendiary, and ferociously clear-eyed.
Set in a not-too-distant future, the film follows a sprawling ensemble of radicals, military men, and accidental revolutionaries as they collide in a fractured America. At the centre is Bob Ferguson (Leonardo DiCaprio), a washed-up fighter clinging to fatherhood while living on society’s fringes. Opposing him is Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn), a pitiful yet menacing figure of authoritarian obsession. Around them spins the revolutionary collective called “The French 75,” led by Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor) until her sudden disappearance. Then, after 16 years, old foes reemerge, and Bob and Perfidia’s teenage daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti), finds herself at the centre of a new battle. This is Anderson at his most frenetic.
Unlike the long silences of There Will Be Blood or the aching intimacy of Phantom Thread, this film thrives on noise and momentum. The camera darts through rallies, explosions, backroom deals, and family confrontations with a restless urgency. It’s also, surprisingly, hilarious. The absurdity of ideological zealots and paranoid loners allows Anderson to deploy sharp satire without losing dramatic weight. What unfolds is a two-hour and forty-minute odyssey of revolution versus repression, of characters desperately trying to find—or impose—meaning in a nation constantly at war with itself.
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The performances drive the film’s impact. Leonardo DiCaprio is manic yet vulnerable as Bob, embodying the anxiety of a man who distrusts both sides but cannot escape the battle. Sean Penn chews every scene as Colonel Lockjaw, balancing grotesque arrogance with pathetic insecurity—he’s detestable, but you can’t look away. Taylor and Infiniti electrify the screen as two women carrying the torch of revolution across generations, providing some of the film’s most inspiring and sobering moments. And a memorable Benicio del Toro, with his usual sly charm, floats through as both comic relief and subtle truth-teller as Sensei Sergio.
Stylistically, Anderson pushes himself. This is easily his most action-packed film: car chases tear across highways, shootouts spill into crowded streets, and explosions punctuate ideological clashes. Yet, none of it feels gratuitous. Each burst of violence reflects the chaos of a nation collapsing under its contradictions. Jonny Greenwood’s score is key here—pulsing, jagged, and propulsive, it gives the film a heartbeat that keeps the lengthy runtime racing by. The editing, too, is tight and energetic, propelling the audience forward even when the narrative leaps across decades and perspectives.
What’s most striking is how balanced the satire feels. The film doesn’t preach from one political side. Still, it caricatures all extremes, exposing the paranoia, pride, and power hunger that drive them. In this way, it becomes less about politics and more about human nature. Anderson suggests that the real battle isn’t left versus right, but rather fear versus freedom, selfishness versus sacrifice, and chaos versus community. At 2 hours and 40 minutes, it’s a lot to take in, but the scope is the point. Anderson wants viewers to feel overwhelmed because, in many ways, that’s the experience of modern America: too many voices, too much noise, and too many battles to count. And yet, in the chaos, glimpses of humanity and even humour shine through.
Ultimately, One Battle After Another is timely, dynamic, and unafraid to ruffle feathers. It’s Anderson reminding us that cinema can still be a battlefield where ideas clash, where entertainment meets confrontation, and where viewers walk away unsettled yet energised.
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Reel Dialogue: Where does true freedom come from?
One Battle After Another asks its audience: what is freedom? Is it the ability to overthrow, to resist, to fight? Or is it found in the absence of fear, in the choice to trust something greater than ourselves? The film depicts characters who all believe they’re chasing freedom, yet most are enslaved—by ideology, by paranoia, by pride.
As viewers, we’re confronted with the same question. Where do we seek freedom? Politics? Power? Rebellion? History shows these pursuits often lead to further division. True freedom, the film hints (perhaps accidentally), is not found in endless battles but in fearlessness—a condition few of its characters ever achieve.
For Christians, this resonates deeply. The Bible offers a radical claim: that freedom is not found in revolution or repression but in Christ. Freedom comes not from fighting the endless battles of this world but from knowing the One who has already won the ultimate battle on our behalf.
