Being emotional is not cool. Especially not these days. If you’re not saying something in an aloof, detached manner, you’re often dismissed as melodramatic, unworthy of others’ time or energy — or being taken seriously. I think this is perhaps why Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson’s sprawling 1999 ensemble drama, is so often written off, even by his fans.

Magnolia is PTA’s most ambitious – and yes, most divisive – work, and it’s certainly not perfect. Is it too long? Sure. Self-indulgent? Absolutely. Overemotional? Definitely. But that’s what makes it so special. It’s the kind of film you either love or you hate, a 3-hour, 8-minute emotional opus that asks you to leave any and all expectations at the door. My theory is that those who hate it don’t necessarily hate it because they think it’s bad; they simply can’t allow themselves to be swept up in the film’s emotion. For many of us, it’s not easy. (For me, it is. I inevitably cry before the film reaches the 15-minute mark. Don’t ask me why.) The glorious soapiness of it all may have been decidedly uncool when Magnolia was released 20 years ago, and may still be so now, but that’s what makes it so singular. Magnolia is magical for all its complete and utter indulgence, blooming with drama and beauty over the course of its lengthy runtime like the flower that shares its name. In a world full of detached tough guys and franchises, Magnolia dares to be itself – salty tears, sing-a-longs, and all, even 20 years later.

If you’ve never seen Magnolia, you probably at the very least know that it boasts one of the most star-studded casts of its or any time; it should have been impossible to assemble a cast including Tom Cruise, Philip Baker Hall, Julianne Moore, William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C. Reilly, and Jason Robards, to name a few, but Anderson managed to do so – and they gave some career-best performances in the process. I truly believe Cruise has never been better than he is as Seduce & Destroy scumbag Frank T.J. Mackey, and the late, great Hoffman’s supporting role as gentle nurse Phil Parma remains one of my favorites. Even with enough cast members and stories to fill several movies, Anderson pulls together something totally cohesive and one-of-a-kind, piecing together a moving mosaic with the ability to speak to us all on some level.

At its heart, Magnolia is a story about the inescapable force of trauma. It’s about how the sins of our fathers shape us — or, perhaps, how our own sins shape our children, how we can’t ever quite let go of the things that hurt us, in spite of ourselves. We’re all connected if you look closely enough, and Anderson never lets us forget it; from the quasi-documentary that starts the film to the film’s namesake, a boulevard that runs through the San Fernando Valley, a seemingly insignificant thread brings together things of great significance. There are no coincidences. These strange things happen all the time, these strange things are all interconnected, brought together by actions and choices and the inescapability of our pasts. Magnolia is, in itself, one of these strange things, bringing together a series of stories that may not all have a link on the surface level, but are bound to each other in the end – like everything else.

Many ensemble dramas – especially ones with this many central characters – can feel disjointed or imbalanced, difficult in nature, but Magnolia flows together like one long, remarkable piece of music, an empathetic opera of sorts. This music-driven epic wouldn’t work if not for its grounding in genuine emotion, its brazen commitment to showing us the heaviest, harshest parts of humanity. Even when it abandons realism for a little bit of magic.

When I tell people that Magnolia is my favorite movie, I’m usually met with one of three objections: the aforementioned length, “the frogs,” or “Wise Up”. I will address the amphibians momentarily, must put an end to this sing-a-long slander. In the hands of many other filmmakers, or in the context of many other films, “Wise Up” might not work. But this is Magnolia we’re talking about, Aimee Mann, Paul Thomas Anderson, an all-star cast that fully commits to every moment. By the time the haunting tune begins and Walters despondently sings along, cringing doesn’t even cross one’s mind. Despite the fact that the majority of the film has been grounded in reality, this sequence makes total sense, feels like the perfect way to express the emotional turmoil being experienced by each individual on screen. These people are connected – we all are – and glimpses of them all singing the same song, both literally and figuratively, only reinforces this idea. It’s a remarkable, courageous act of cinema, one that works better than it has any right to. It’s beautiful.

Equally as courageous, and even beautiful, is the incident that follows shortly after. The frog rain that plagues the San Fernando Valley as our characters’ tales all come to a climax may come as a shock to those with their feet firmly planted on the ground of the film’s reality. It has caused people I’ve watched it with to literally turn to me the moment it begins and exclaim, “what?!”. But it geneuinely fits like the next logical puzzle piece after “Wise Up.” From its very first frame, Magnolia is not subtle, and this sequence is no exception. Anderson goes to extremes to teach lessons, to invoke his parable. The film is dotted by little Biblical easter eggs, referencing Exodus 8:2 on multiple occasions; in weather forecasts, meeting times, apartment numbers, on an audience member’s poster during the “What Do Kids Know?” taping. “But if you refuse to let them go, behold, I will smite all your territory with frogs.” If we can’t learn to let go of our trauma, our regrets, our shame, how can we ever hope for something better? Eventually, the film resorts to this literal act of divine intervention in an attempt to get its characters to “wise up”, and boy, does it.

All of this works because it is story from Anderson’s own heart, written after the passing of his father. It began as something small and grew as he realized what he had on his hands here, what actors he wanted to see tell a story of this magnitude, and the ending result is something that remains unmatched. The film earns every single one of its 188 minutes, totally immersing you in its world of highs and lows, of fervor and despair. There are some 3-hour movies that fly by, that soar through their stories with seemingly minimal effort and make any runtime qualms irrelevant. Magnolia is not one of those movies – but I mean this as a compliment. Magnolia earns every one of its minutes, revels in the emotional weight of them all, engages in an impassioned character study. Every second is important, even when what’s happening on screen is seemingly mundane. This tale is a bold act of catharsis, a piece of art daring enough to wear its heart on its sleeve for the world to see. It’s both a dream and a nightmare for those of us who share this inclination to wear our hearts loud and proud, who resort to waterworks at the first sign of an affecting scenario. These notions of love lost, of life regrets, of inescapable shame, of cruelty to children – it can all feel like too much. But this emotional excess is where the film thrives.

Magnolia is not for everyone, it’s true. It throws subtlety to the wind in a world where many would prefer to sit quietly, asks us to self-reflect a little, to engage in catharsis. But this open, bleeding heart should serve as a lesson to us all, a reminder of our humanity and the things that connect us, of the impact of our actions and words and the way the past haunts us all. Magnolia‘s emotional indulgence, for all its apparent uncoolness, is what made it so revolutionary – and so divisive – 20 years ago. It is also what has brought audiences to it, both first-timers and repeat viewers, in the decades that have followed.

“I think they have those scenes in movies because they’re true, you know?” Phil says. “Because they really happen.” This movie may be a work of fiction, but it’s a story about things – emotions, traumas, losses – that really happen. Emotions are universal, even if they aren’t hip, and Magnolia is not afraid to embrace them. In fact, it celebrates them. <

Jade Budowski is a LA-based freelance writer with a knack for ruining punchlines and harboring dad-aged celebrity crushes. She is also a member of the Television Critics Association. Follow her on Twitter: @jadebudowski.

Where to Stream Magnolia