Image Credit: Warner Bros. Pictures
“Perfidia Beverly Hills,” “Steven J. Lockjaw,” “Junglepussy,” “French 75”: at first glance, they may seem eccentric or bizarre, yet each name tells a deeper story, something that goes beyond a simple label.
Take Perfidia, for example. The name itself suggests betrayal, a character capable of hiding her emotions behind a facade of duty or revolution. Lockjaw, on the other hand, carries a sense of tension and rigidity—almost physical—that reflects his authoritarian yet somewhat fragile personality. Bob is deliberately simple, a common name that highlights just how out of place his character is in a world of conspiracies, codes, and secret revolutionaries. Through these names, Paul Thomas Anderson prepares us to read the characters not only for what they do, but for what they represent.
But it’s not just about symbolism. Names become a means of exploring the role of language in the construction of identity. Within the French 75 network, every alias conveys a self-image. It’s not just a name, but a message—a way to establish hierarchies and convey values without the need for explanation. The elegance and evocative power of the name “French 75” suggest a connection to legend, to heroism, to the desire to leave a mark. At the same time, linguistic codes and rituals—such as those Bob must remember to be recognized by his comrades—become a constant test of identity.
The difference between the revolutionaries and the antagonists in the film is stark. The Christmas Adventurers choose names and linguistic rituals that seem harmless, even playful, but serve to legitimize violent and secret ideologies. Here, Anderson cleverly shows how language can be manipulated, ritualized, and used to consolidate power or hide reality. In this sense, the name becomes a mask that can both deceive and reveal.
No less important is Willa’s arc. Her story highlights the contrast between real identity and assigned identity. Willa discovers the truth about her past and the lies surrounding her, and ultimately must confront the fundamental question: “Who am I really?” Here, names, codes, and aliases lose their symbolic weight, making way for action and personal choice. The film reminds us that who we are is not defined by a name, but by the decisions we make and the risks we are willing to take.
One Battle After Another shows how a seemingly marginal detail, such as a name, can hold a powerful narrative key. Anderson invites us to observe, listen, and read between the lines, to grasp how words, how language, can both define and simultaneously elude identity. In a world of codes and conspiracies, the true meaning is never just what you see, but what you try to interpret, day after day, choice after choice, battle after battle.
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