The Master is a film that’s either lacking at least one pivotal scene or has grander scheme that will only reveal itself after much scrutiny and multiple viewings. Walking out of The Master conjured memories of initial reactions–for myself and the audience–to PT Anderson’s previous two films. Punch Drunk Love sent the Adam Sandler-crazed college audiences storming out of the theater bewildered. There Will Be Blood left an indelible impression and a nagging suspicion that many layers continue shroud the deeper message. Anderson’s films aren’t easy to penetrate but eventually award those who ponder over them. The Master remains no different.
What I do know is that The Master involves a deep connection, a friendship, between a sullen, drunken, sex-crazed ex-navy sailor Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) and the eloquent, nurturing Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who’s supposedly based on Scientology founder, L. Ron Hubbard. But the film makes no reverent claims on the religion’s validity or even on Dodd himself, who remains an enigma, save for his obvious insecurities and anger that gestates whenever his views are brought into question. When one of his largest supporters, Helen Sullivan (Laura Dern), notes contradictions in Dodd’s second book, he momentarily explodes. Is he a fake? We don’t know for sure.
Yet Dodd’s lessons, his healing procedures, does manage to alleviate the rage of his pupil, Quell–albeit temporarily. The two men meet by mere chance when the destitute Quell stows away on Dodd’s ported yacht. Dodd catches him, but rather than throw him overboard, he allows him to stay. Dodd is enchanted by Quell’s homemade alcoholic–and very toxic–brew. Dodd also sees Quell as a primary candidate for his teachings and nurturing.
The best scene in the film occurs when Dodd asks Quell to subject himself to an interview. At first, Quell answers a series of intimate questions with careful thought. To penetrate even deeper, beyond the lies and deception, Dodd presses Quell to respond to each question fast, without hesitation and or even blinking an eye. If he falters, the process starts all over. As Quell strains to meet Dodd’s demands, he gradually releases his barriers. In one single shot, Phoenix carries his Quell from a moment of levity, to anger, to despair, to remorse–all with a single tear drop. This moment will single handedly carry Phoenix back from career turmoil all the way to the Oscar podium in February.
Quell’s convinced. He soon becomes Dodd’s disciple; following obediently while others, even Dodd’s own son, suspect falsehood. The rest of the film occurs over a series of months during the late 1950s as Dodd wrestles between Quell’s demons and trying to spread his message: The idea that people spawn from various incarnations of former lives that originated since the dawn of time two trillion (that’s trillion with a ‘T’) years ago.
Anderson crafts a series of moments that will remain ingrained in your memory; most involve the capricious whirlwind between the Master Dodd and his subservient patient, Quell. There’s the obvious dichotomy displayed between both men when they’re imprisoned after Dodd is charged with performing medical practices unlicensed and Quell for assaulting the arresting officer. Anderson doesn’t allow either man to comment on his own emotions or the others, but his camera remains fixed with Hoffman in one corner, and Phoenix in other–one calm, the other a raging animal, literally destroying his cell while the other observes. There’s also their final moments together that begs us to question the core of their relationship; whether it was based on love, or need, or obsession or a hybrid of all of the above.
Inevitably, The Master asks us to posit our own answers. But no one, I gather, will find grand conclusions on Scientology. It’s easy to understand why neither the Church or the religion’s critics have been outspoken towards The Master. There really is no cognizant claim for or against the faith’s teachings. (Tom Cruise will do no couch-leaping here).
The Master boils down to the prophet, Dodd, and his loyal disciple, Quell; the friendship between them and their respected need for each other. There are plenty of films that show a fatherly figure advocate growth and improvement, but this is one of the few in which the goal is obviously futile. If there’s some subconscious point to be made about a grander theme–about religion, or about faith, or about science–that’ll have to wait for another viewing.
One things for sure: Anderson continues to make strides in his craft–displaying more faith in the audience rather than holding their hands and guiding us to an emotional and intellectual crescendo. The issue lies in the actual crescendo. The film constantly feels like it will reach far, even opening a discussion on religion or the nature of human existence, but it inevitably falls back on Hoffman and Phoenix, each performing brilliantly within the confines of their own wavelength.
Like many, I was baffled exiting the theater. I had the opportunity to speak to many members of the audience, each of whom offered a cogent viewpoint. We ultimately agreed that the film was missing something. Yet, as the days press on, The Master continues to circulate into my conscience. Today, it feels like a “very good” film that missed a mark. Tomorrow, I could change my mind a brand it a “masterpiece”.
For now, it contains two Oscar-caliber performances by Hoffman and Phoenix. Oh, did I mention Amy Adams gives a dazzling performance as Dodd’s wife. Her part is about…you know what? I give up.
Footnote: The Master is the first film in nearly two decades to be filmed in 70mm. My venue projected at 35mm, which was still remarkable. If you are within reach of a cinema with 70mm projection, it’s highly encouraged.
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