About ten minutes into this film-- that's only one scene in Paul Thomas Anderson's world-- somebody in the audience said, aloud, "We get it, already. Digging oil wells is dangerous."

Anderson never directed a crisp, concise scene in his life. "Boogie Nights" (155 minutes), "Magnolia" (188m), "There Will be Blood" (158m)-- that's 8.5 hours for three movies. And before someone points out that "Punch Drunk Love" was only 95 minutes, I would counter that it felt twice that. At least.

Pascal wrote, "I am sorry for the length of my letter, but I had not the time to write a short one." Amen. It does take time-- and talent and discipline-- to sculpt and winnow an idea down to its most purposeful and powerful elements. But Anderson doesn't winnow, he wallows. He seems to think that if a four-minute scene is good, then it'll be twice as good at eight minutes, and three times as good at twelve. It's a wonder his movies aren't six hours long.

The best way to deal with this endlessly over-rated film is with adjectives, starting with endless and over-rated. Then, of course, bloated. Slow. Fatuous. Loud. Unfaithful (to Upton Sinclair's original satire, "Oil!"). Sentimental. Confusing (Paul Dano's twin characters). Abrupt (the ending). And, finally and crucially, pointless. I didn't care about a single character, and the film introduced no new ideas or even flavors to the oil industry, family loyalties, ruthless ambition, misanthropy, religion, or bowling.