The Master ★★
Rated R, 137 min.
His name is Lancaster Dodd.
He has a fondness for Kool cigarettes, homemade liquor, singing sea chanteys and the sound of his own voice. He describes himself as a writer, a doctor, a nuclear physicist, a theoretical philosopher “but above all, I am a man. A hopelessly inquisitive man.” Dodd leads a small but devoted group of ever-smiling, affluent people in a school of thought called The Cause, which focuses on the importance of discovering past lives through an exercise called “formal processing,” which consists of interrogation and forms of hypnosis.
And then there is Freddie Quell. Recently discharged after serving in the U.S. Navy during WWII, Quell has a penchant for making rotgut liquor out of ingredients ranging from Lysol to jet fuel to paint thinner, a weakness for women, and a seemingly inexhaustible inner rage that leads him into fight after fight and job after job.
“The Master” tells the story about what happens when Lancaster met Freddie and the result is one of the more mystifying cinematic experiences of the year. It’s also one of the most maddening and frustrating because it could have been so much more.
The story goes something like this: Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) is an alcoholic seaman during WWII, obviously stricken with post-traumatic stress disorder. He goes through a series of jobs after being discharged, from department store photo studio photographer to field worker. But due to his inability to control his temper and a compulsion to act out, he gets fired from every job and often gets his ass kicked over his mouth. One night in a drunken haze, he stows away on a small yacht, which happens to be commandeered by Dodd and his disciples, including his devoted wife Peggy (Amy Adams). Dodd recognizes Quell’s need for inner peace (as well as his ability to brew good homemade hooch) while Quell becomes fascinated by Dodd’s charisma and the message of The Cause.
So Quell joins the group and discovers that Dodd has several wealthy benefactors who seek enlightenment through his formal processing tactics and mystical speaking. But soon Dodd goes to jail for fraud, and even Dodd’s own son tells Quell “He’s making it up as he goes along.” But is he?
Many have accused “The Master” of being a thinly veiled biography about Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard, but this misses the entire point. “The Master” isn’t about Scientology any more than it’s about Christianity, Judaism, the Church of the Sub-Genius or any other school of thought. It’s about mankind’s search for inner peace in a world gone completely mad and how any of us—even you—can be duped by charlatans. While the film takes place in 1950 (a tip of the hat to production designer Jack Fisk for perfectly recreating the look and style of airbrushed ‘50s America), “The Master” feels very timely and certainly makes you think about the people we put on pedestals as our leaders and mentors. The name Lancaster Dodd could just as easily be Barack Obama, Mitt Romney, Steve Jobs or Bernie Madoff and the film’s message would still resonate—watch out who you admire and follow because how do you know they REALLY have your best interests in mind?
All of this is fascinating material and Anderson deserves credit for not only creating one of the few thought-provoking American films of 2012 but for once again proving he’s one of the best directors working today. This is a damn fine looking film and even though I didn’t see the 65 millimeter version (the press is making a big deal out of the ratio because it’s the first time since Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” that the process has been used), it’s unlikely there will be a better looking film than this all year.
But despite the timeliness and truthfulness of the material and despite Anderson’s filmmaking genius, there’s still one giant, insurmountable problem—“The Master” is also a crashing, devastating bore that sees its brilliant ideas go unexplored and allows the brilliance of its acting performances to get stuck on a cinematic hamster wheel that simply goes nowhere.
At a fanny numbing 137 minutes, “The Master” is one of those films that’s easy to admire but difficult to enjoy. When it gets down to it, we’ve seen the same themes in “The Master” explored in other films, such as Oliver Stone’s “Wall Street,” a film that was not only a snapshot of its time but also a thrill to watch. The theater audience audibly groaned when the end credits begin to run because there’s no real denoument in “The Master.” It just ends with virtually none of its questions answered. The Coen Brothers can usually make such an ending work but in Anderson’s case, it’s simply the unsatisfying cap on a would-be masterpiece that is brought down by Anderson not knowing when to quit.
The thing is, while “The Master” is unquestionably the weakest and most unsatisfying film Anderson has helmed, there are still almost enough flashes of brilliance to recommend the film. Almost. The good parts—the acting, the set design, Jonny Greenwood’s mesmerizing score, the sight of Joaquin Phoenix cuddling with a sand sculpture of a nude woman —are so good they’re brilliant. “The Master” doesn’t work as a whole, but Paul Thomas Anderson is definitely a master of film craft even if “The Master” is anything but. He may have missed this time, but he’ll swing again. And when he connects…watch out.
