The TV Addict 

A while back in a review I wrote of THERE WILL BE BLOOD, that “I suspect with further time and consideration it may prove to be one of the better films I’ve seen, well, ever. Without any shred of understatement, I feel it is nothing less than a cinematic masterpiece.” The reason I suggested rather than asserted, was because when I first saw the film I was wholly unprepared for the deep wells of thematic explorations the film offered me. It was like stepping outside with an umbrella expecting a light rainstorm but walking into a raging hurricane instead. I absorbed enough of the films ideas to know it was brilliant, but felt I was only tapping the surface of what it was really getting into.

That’s why with the release of the film finally on Blu-Ray I thought it would be a good time to not only enjoy Robert Elswit’s gorgeous Oscar winning cinematography in glorious high definition, but to see if THERE WILL BE BLOOD not only holds up as a “cinematic masterpiece” but to further immerse myself in its rich tapestry of themes and see how far down the rabbit hole I could actually go. So, tapping into my former film student I grabbed pen and paper, turned on my brain for once, and threw myself into the film with analytical zeal to see what I could come up with.

After a second viewing, and a full ten pages of notes, I am certain it’s a cinematic masterpiece. I also began to more fully comprehend the overwhelming flood of themes being explored in the film. I’ll refrain from going into all of them, because it would turn this article into a bigger monster than it already is. But if you’re really interested or just generally curious, feel free to email me about it.

Anyway, amid the flurry of interpretations and analyses that filled my brain as the images on the screen passed me by, there was one that caught me completely surprise.

I somewhat unexpectedly came to realize that Daniel Plainview is not the gleeful sociopath ranting about milkshakes so many (including myself) have initially interpreted him to be. Instead he suddenly appeared to me a tragic figure of Shakespearean or even Greek proportions. Like some of literature’s greatest protagonists he’s a man compelled by forces within himself that unconsciously guide his actions; forces that are drawn from a volatile inner darkness that constantly threatens to consume him. He’s crippled by them, even a victim of them, and on some level one sense he aims to understand them so as to perhaps stifle them. It is, of course, an aim that proves ultimately futile. He’s a sad man, maybe even a pitiable one, who is at the mercy of his own dark instincts which in the end overwhelm him and bring about a destructive series of events that result in the complete eradication of any shred of humanity left in him.

It’d be easy to argue that point with me. In fact, many people would instead suggest him to be – if not just a general sociopath – a man driven by the darkness of capitalistic competition, something he readily concedes to (“I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed.”) However, I feel that his greed, his lust for oil, and his destructive
competitiveness are merely a symptom, not the ailment itself. In the same monologue where he admits to his competitive drive, I believe we get to the actual heart of the matter. It’s one of the most poignant moments of the film, because even though his words (and the sentiments behind them) are immensely cold, it is in Daniel’s own way a genuine heartfelt confession and even a cry for help, just heavily veiled.

Perhaps that is hard to believe given what is actually said. Daniel proclaims that “there are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking” and “I see the worst in people. I don’t need to look past seeing them to get all I need. I’ve built up my hatreds over the years little by little.” It’s in Daniel Day Lewis’ delivery though that one gains the suspicion that perhaps Daniel Plainview is projecting, that as much as he’s genuinely talking about other people (because that’s how his inner demons lead him to see the world around him), he’s also talking about himself. He sees nothing but the worst in himself, nothing worth liking there, and it’s his burden to bear.

The timing of this confession/plea is no coincidence, as it follows one of the most intense, visually striking, and lusciously symbolic sequences in the film. That scene is, of course, when the oil derrick explodes and becomes a light with fire. To give you a break from my words, here it is:

It’s a significant scene because it’s a turning point for Daniel. What has grounded Daniel till that moment, what has held back the tide of his inner demons has been the emotional anchor of family, specifically his adopted son H.W. It’s been the lifeline to his humanity. When the oil derrick explodes we see for the first time that Daniel lets go of that lifeline, and is seduced (or overtaken) by his inner greed. It’s there in the increasingly pounding of the music, emulating an almost violently beating heart, jolted with a new found adrenaline. Most significantly it’s there visually. Because Daniel turns his back on H.W., it’s the first real time the darkness lurking within him truly emerges. As the oil rains down around him, he disappears into the blackness of the night through his oil covered clothes. It is in ways a reverse of the common filmic symbol of rain representing spiritual rebirth or cleansing. Here the shower of oil represents Daniels spiritual darkening. Like the oil emerging from the depths of the earth, here we have his darkness exploding from within the depths of his soul.

There’s a moment when Daniel is staring into the oil (undistinguishable from the dark night around him) and it’s almost frightening because it’s like he’s staring – almost lustfully – at his own soul, or at least at how his ambitions have finally been met and provided for. He’s so consumed, that when his partner Fletcher asks him if H.W. is okay, Daniel emotionlessly replies “No he isn’t,” and never breaks his stare until the derrick has collapsed. Perhaps it’s meant to suggest that much in the way the structure supported the oil drilling, so too was H.W. the structure that supported Daniel’s remaining humanity. Now both have been destroyed, allowing the blackness to flow unimpeded – almost as nature intended.

With H.W. cut adrift from Daniel (their inability to communicate anymore on account of H.W. deafness is pretty symbolic here), he seems to know he’s become unmoored. Sending H.W. away may be as much an act of discarding an ineffective anchor, as it is Daniel removing himself of a constant reminder of the price of his inability to overcome his own faults. It’s why he does confess to Henry, because to Daniel his (supposed) half-brother is his last salvation. In their talk, he sadly concedes that “having you here gives me a second breath of life. I can’t keep doing this on my own.” There is even a hope to be understood, which may be a path to improvement, as he believes “if it’s in me, it’s in [Henry].”

That’s exactly why in my second viewing Daniel’s cold murder of Henry (proven to be an imposter) seemed no longer monstrous, but almost pitiable. All of Daniel’s remaining hope that he could be saved was placed in this half-brother, and with the imposter exposed, it represents all his anchors cut loose, drowning him forever in his own darkness, unhinging him enough to turn him into a murderous, black-hole of a human being. To me in that sense Daniel murder represents not so much the killing of another human being, so much as his finally giving up on hope. In a metaphorical sense Henry murdered Daniel’s hope, and in turn Daniel simply literalizes that with an actual physical killing.

It’s at this point that Daniel is truly lost to himself, to others, and – ultimately – to us. From this point on he becomes an increasingly eccentric character, culminating in that now famous final confrontation. However, with the new perspective I’ve gained I pitied him all the more. To see a man a man reduced to human rubble is heartbreaking. No more so than watching middle-aged Daniel sleeping on the cold floor of his equally cold and empty building, practically drooling with untouched food and empty bottles around him. No more so than watching Daniel – guided unwillingly by the sheer formality of accommodating his inner jerk – deliberately alienate and disown his adopted son, despite the fact that a flashback reveals to us that clearly he did love him and maybe still does.

There’s something equally painful about Daniel’s and the film’s final words: “I’m finished.” Though it does relate to the context of the Daniel and Eli struggle, to me it was also just a final giving up, an acknowledgement that all is lost; that he simply cannot fight his own nature. Seeing him sit there on the bowling alley lane line a sad sack child, uttering those defeatist words, my heart went out to the man; that despite the fact he exhibited himself to be an undoubtedly a cruel and murderous man, subject to bursts of mania.

Yet in the end he was simply victim to his own inner imbalances. Or, in a more literary tradition, he was simply subject to his own fatal flaws. They were ultimately unconquerable, and what is more tragic – whether in art or in real life – than events, or emotions, or personal traits that cannot be overcome, regardless of our best attempts otherwise?