Unlike most filmmakers of his generation, Anderson is not only technically astute (''I'm still young and I still have to show off''), but he seems to have a larger, moral imperative in his films. They are not preachy, but it's clear that Anderson was reared Catholic, that he believes in atonement and redemption. ''When did you last go to confession?'' I asked him. Anderson paused. ''It's three hours long,'' he said. ''Haven't you seen it?''

After ''Boogie Nights'' Anderson was It, the director of the moment, a sort of baby brother to Quentin Tarantino. ''Pulp Fiction,'' with its huge critical and commercial success, had fused the worlds of mainstream studios and independent film and made Miramax, formerly known for its skill in acquisitions, a brand name for quality production. Every studio wanted its very own Quentin, and New Line, which had always been competitive with Miramax, was eager to get Anderson under its roof.

''Basically, New Line came to me and said, 'Whatever you want to do next,' ''Anderson recalls. ''I was in a position I will never ever be in again. For that moment, I was lucky and I could get the opportunity to make a movie like 'Magnolia.' Truly, truly. I don't want to sound egotistical, but my argument to them was, You didn't hire me to take your trailers and test them in Albuquerque. You hired me to be cool. You didn't hire me to make money -- New Line has Mike Myers and the Austin Powers movies to make them tons of money. If I make a good movie, it will help you get at that cool niche of the world.'' Anderson pauses. He knows the situation: Miramax has Oscars; New Line is the only major studio that has never had an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture. Miramax made its fortune on ''Pulp Fiction''; New Line's first big hit was ''The Nightmare on Elm Street.'' As Anderson puts it, ''To pretend like I'm just this pure artist with no awareness of my position in the world would be a lie.''

He understands timing. In the last year, directors like Anderson, David O. Russell (''Three Kings''), Spike Jonze (''Being John Malkovich'') Sam Mendes (''American Beauty'') and Wes Anderson (''Rushmore'') have created a kind of directorial renaissance reminiscent of the 70's, the last time the studios tried to break away from formulas and embrace a more auteur-oriented approach. ''The first time I've felt any millennium thing is this year at the movies,'' says Anderson, who has trouble watching other films when he is working on his own. (''I see the crew in every shot.'') ''Filmmakers seem to be thinking, What do we have to say?'' Recently, even when their efforts have been flawed, the big studios have focused on an independent spirit in a big-budget context. ''More filmmakers are trying to do their magnum opuses,'' says Michael De Luca, head of production at New Line. ''It's generational. People who grew up on the 70's movies now have power around town. And there are more issues to examine now than there were in the 80's.''

De Luca is Anderson's greatest advocate. He fought for ''Boogie Nights'' and made a blind deal for Anderson's next project, granting the director creative control without even hearing an idea for the movie. After reading ''Magnolia'' (Anderson drove the script to De Luca's house on a Sunday and watched movies in his screening room while he read), De Luca was ecstatic. ''He said, 'Any chance of 2 hours, 45 minutes?' ''Anderson recalls. ''I said, 'No.' He said, 'Really?' I said, 'No.' ''

When Paul Thomas Anderson was 7, growing up in the San Fernando Valley, he wrote in a notebook: ''My name is Paul Anderson. I want to be a writer, producer, director, special effects man. I know how to do everything and I know everything. Please hire me.'' Philip Seymour Hoffman, who, like the other members of the Anderson repertory company, is a close friend, says: ''You get the sense that Paul was always a director. He was born to the job.''

''I did always kind of know,'' says Anderson. It is late afternoon, and he is sitting on the Warner Brothers lot, waiting to approve some special effects that have been shot for ''Magnolia.'' His girlfriend, the singer Fiona Apple, with whom he lives a few blocks from the ''Magnolia'' house, is here, too, tagging along for the day. While Anderson is manic, Apple is still; she is tiny and all face, with long, tangly mermaid hair and moist blue eyes that are trained on Anderson. She watches, she listens, she seems to be absorbing through every pore. Anderson continues: ''I've always been the type to have doubts only after the fact. It's usually a long time catching up with me.''