It became clear with “Magnolia” that Anderson could do amazing things with actors. His screenplays provide dialogue and movement, nothing more, leaving the actors to flesh out an idiosyncratic idea of character, which he supports as they take that idea to the limit. In “Magnolia,” Philip Seymour Hoffman gives a performance of heartbreaking delicacy as a male nurse who just barely asserts his existence by acting as selflessly as possible—a paradox, but Hoffman pulls it off. In the opposite mode, Tom Cruise, pelvis thrust out, stretching his arms in an arc, as if he were a longbow ready to fire, shows up as a bombastic sex guru leading a crowd of hooting young men in obscene pep talks. Just when the film threatens to devolve into a series of exploding arias, Anderson slams the characters into one another and intercuts their noisy dilemmas. As in “Boogie Nights,” his hyperactive camera, rushing up and down corridors, cascading onto the street, tumbling into tunnel-like passageways, pulls the miserable men and women together. Only someone with a deep reservoir of sympathy could order their desperate incoherence into art.