Every so often, one comes across something—a book, a piece of art or music, a film—that intimidates and challenges to the point of breaking a kind of mental barrier. The Master, director Paul Thomas Anderson’s astounding new film, undeniably falls into this increasingly elusive category.
Revealing just enough to lure the viewer into the majestic world it creates, this enigma of a film leaves a remarkable amount of space to question its intent; as transfixing as its two central characters are and as compelling as their undefined relationship is, the true subject of the film is never quite clear. Concentrating on exploring questions of theme rather than constructing a tight plot structure of convention, The Master draws its power from a willingness to leave everything open to debate.
The concept of greatness and the instability that is inextricably linked to it frames the narrative. Set in the post-World War II era of uncertainty, the story hones in on the addled mind of Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix). A troubled veteran prone to drunken outbursts of temper, Freddie is on a decidedly aimless postwar path as he drifts between jobs before ultimately leaving each with a bang.
With all the trappings of fable, he mysteriously wanders onto the ship of an authoritative intellectual who takes a shining to him. This is “the Master” in question, a kind of cult leader by the name of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman).
Taking Freddie under his wing, Dodd endeavors to uncover his troubled past through a series of experimental interviews. Freddie thus becomes part of the community built around “the Cause,” a doctrine similar to that of Scientology and taken entirely from the mind of Dodd.
This is the beginning of a long and complex bond between “the Master” and, as he calls Freddie early on, his “guinea pig and protégé.” Of course, it turns out not to be so simple. Phoenix, who is making his big comeback to the screen after a rather ill-advised rapping career, is pure manic perfection in this role. Complementing Hoffman’s chillingly precise performance as the cerebral Dodd, he inhabits his character with feral abandon.
The shifting dynamics between the two—a constant struggle for power muddied by the fact that both men have their own breed of instability—are further complicated by the addition of Peggy (Amy Adams), Dodd’s wife with an ideological bent of monstrous proportions. Still, these politics merely serve as a backdrop for The Master’s majestic visual element.
Shooting on 70-millimeter film—a rare medium in the modern digital era—cinematographer Mihai Malaimare Jr. accentuates every scene with mastery and artfully opens a window into 1950s Americana. Every frame is a veritable work of art, making the atmosphere of tension that inhabits it all the more breathtaking and the drama between its characters all the more pronounced. From the lush scenery to the actors’ superb performances, director Anderson’s meticulous method gives the film an air of perfection.
The Master is a story about greatness and the ways in which it can unravel human beings. Though this narrative is the essence of the film, it merely skims the surface of a much deeper subject; like the metaphorical Freudian iceberg, the bulk of the story lies in an area much darker and more difficult to analyze, and even the repeated shots of turbulent ocean water make allusions to these mysterious depths.
Entrenched in the dialogue between mind and matter, The Master is not only overtly psychological but also a covert exploration of what it means to be human—that is, a vessel of memory and emotion that can be twisted and difficult to discern. And that is the most unmistakable part of its allure.
