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Classic Film Review: The Master (2012)

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Classic Film Review: The Master (2012)

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

Written by Paul Thomas Anderson

Produced by: JoAnne Sellar, Daniel Lupi, Paul Thomas Anderson, Megan Ellison etc.

Main cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, Laura Dern, Jesse Plemons, Ambyr Childers, Rami Malek, etc.

Cinematography by Mihai Mălaimare Jr.

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Of late, I have been watching, as research to develop a feature film concerned with religion, faith and complex human behaviour, many religious themed films. Indeed, I especially love films and documentaries about cults. Especially where religion is used to control human beings and make them do crazy things. What possesses another person to want to control others? Power, lust, greed or all of the above?

Cult leaders are often extremely charismatic and talented people too. Further, they can be dangerous people who use their influence to make money, commit crime, manipulate and abuse others. Thus from a human and dramatic perspective, cults and religious characters are always fascinating to write about.

In Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master (2012), he explores the relationship between a lost soul drawn to a movement that may or may not be a reflection of Scientology. Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), a World War II veteran is pulled toward Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a commanding leader of a cult known as “The Cause”. But, arguably, not much happens other than Quell having a series of breakdowns amidst post-traumatic stress and alcoholism, before taking his chaos and violence into Dodd’s church and family. Anderson is one of the great humanist and existential filmmakers working today, but The Master (2012), having watched it at least twice, I found it too impenetrable and alienating for me.

Yet, in my filmic research I have watched The Master (2012) a third time and have now identified a number of reasons why I have not connected with the film. They are both structural and thematic. My expectations were that this film would be a deep historical dive into the establishing of L. Ron Hubbard’s creation of Scientology. Albeit, it would be a veiled one to avoid the ire of the Scientologist organisation, who are known to attack people or companies that critique their ways. So, I am complicit there because ultimately one should not judge a work before watching it. Anderson’s choices and approach are way more personal than a traditional biopic and I should not be so arrogant to expect him to make a film just for me.

So, with my expectations on an in-depth analysis of the cult of Scientology quelled, structurally The Master (2012) further jars with me on a story level. Such narrative cracks appear all through the overall character arc of character Freddie Quell. If the film, as the first act establishes well, effectively delivered a character study of a sex-addicted, alcoholic, PTSD suffering, angry World War 2 veteran struggling to cope with existence, I could certainly have been compelled by that. Ultimately, The Master (2012) is a dramatic two-hander facing Quell’s out-of-control, human car-crash versus Lancaster’s intelligent and controlling patriarch. Anderson also once again, as he did in Hard Eight (1996), Boogie Nights (1997), and There Will Be Blood (2007), explores the father-son power dynamic between these two characters.

Yet, introducing Lancaster and “The Cause” to Quell’s character development has little or no effect on him. I understand Anderson may be saying Quell is a lost soul, but what emotional impact or feeling can the audience to take from this? Quell finishes the film relatively unchanged by Lancaster’s auditing, “spiritual” advice and fatherly tutelage. Yes, in real life, people often don’t change and behave the same throughout their lives committed to the same self-destructive behaviour. However, I felt that if Quell could not change for the better perhaps he could have gone even deeper into despair within his religious experience.

To conclude: Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master (2012) is, on a purely cinematic level, close to technically perfect. It contains some of the finest acting ever committed to screen, particularly from Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lancaster Dodd. Hoffman manages to make Dodd charismatic, ridiculous, paternal, threatening and strangely vulnerable, often within the same scene. His performance is matched by Joaquin Phoenix’s extraordinary physical transformation as Freddie Quell, but it is Hoffman who fascinates me most: the booming confidence of the public performer repeatedly giving way to flashes of insecurity, anger and desperation whenever his authority is challenged.

Technically, the film is equally remarkable. Mihai Mălaimare Jr.’s 65mm cinematography gives the images an extraordinary richness and clarity, while the colours, period detail, compositions and use of light make virtually every frame feel meticulously constructed. There are moments when The Master (2012) is simply one of the most beautiful American films of the twenty-first century. And yet, for all that mastery, I have never enjoyed the film as much as its critical reputation suggests I should.

Its central problem for me is the almost broken-backed, water-and-oil combination of Freddie Quell’s under-nourished emotional journey and the film’s tantalising but ultimately limited exploration of Dodd’s movement, “The Cause”. The parallels with Scientology are obvious and fascinating, yet Anderson seems reluctant to investigate the psychology, mechanics and seductive power of cults with the depth the material promises. Instead, the film repeatedly retreats towards the relationship between Freddie and Dodd — a relationship performed magnificently but one in which Freddie’s emotional development can feel frustratingly elusive.

BFI, Cinema, Classic Film Reviews

Classic Film Review: Woman in the Dunes (1964)

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Classic Film Review: Woman in the Dunes (1964)

Directed by Hiroshi Teshigahara

Screenplay by Kōbō Abe – Based on The Woman in the Dunes
by Kōbō Abe

Produced by Kiichi Ichikawa and Tadashi Ono

Main cast: Eiji Okada, Kyōko Kishida, Kōji Mitsui

Cinematography by Hiroshi Segawa

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

I’d never seen Woman in the Dunes (1964) before, but after watching the director’s cut on the BFI Player, it has now catapulted into one of the best films I have ever seen. This could be first-watch bias, however, thematically, emotionally, philosophically and stylistically speaking, it absolutely touched upon, connected and spoke to me greatly about my life’s experiences and the human condition.

Niki Junpei (Eiji Okada), a frustrated schoolteacher and amateur entomologist from Tokyo, travels to a remote coastal village in search of rare insects. After missing the last bus home, he accepts an invitation to stay overnight with a young widow (Kyōko Kishida) who lives alone in a hut at the bottom of a vast sand dune. He soon learns that her husband and daughter were killed in a sandstorm and that she spends every night shovelling away the endless sand that threatens to bury her home. Though Junpei initially sees himself as a temporary guest, strange comments from the villagers hint that something more sinister is unfolding.

The following morning, Junpei discovers that the rope ladder leading out of the sand pit has been removed. Trapped by the villagers, he realizes he has been chosen to become the widow’s permanent companion and labourer, helping her dig sand that the village secretly sells for profit. As he struggles to escape, Junpei learns that the widow is also a prisoner of the community, both of them controlled through dependence on the villagers for food and water. What begins as an accidental overnight stay becomes a nightmare of confinement, survival, and the gradual erosion of freedom beneath the relentless weight of the sand.

Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Woman in the Dunes (1964) is one of those rare films where image, character, theme and performance become inseparable. Shot in pristine black and white by cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa, it is visually astonishing: every grain of sand, bead of sweat and shadow across a human body is rendered with an almost microscopic intensity. The beauty of the photography is deliberately juxtaposed with the darkness of Niki Junpei’s predicament. What begins as an innocent expedition to collect insects becomes an existential prison, as he finds himself trapped by commerce, a surrogate marriage and, most powerfully, the natural wall of sand that pins both him and the unnamed widow to their strange subterranean existence.

The sand is both physical and metaphorical. It shifts, pours, consumes and rebuilds itself, turning Junpei’s captivity into a distinctly Sisyphean struggle. Every attempt at escape merely seems to return him to where he started, yet what makes Junpei such a compelling character is his absolute refusal to surrender. He builds ladders, devises increasingly ingenious escape plans, attempts to train crows to carry messages and continually tries to outwit the villagers who have ensnared him. Each failure intensifies rather than diminishes his determination. Like Sisyphus pushing the rock back up the hill, Junpei is condemned to confront an obstacle that endlessly renews itself.

Yet Woman in the Dunes (1964) is far more complicated than a straightforward story of imprisonment. Junpei is trapped by the villagers, but also by economic necessity, social expectation and an enforced domestic relationship that gradually begins to resemble a marriage. The villagers need the sand removed; the widow needs a man to help her survive; Junpei needs water, food and eventually human companionship. Teshigahara transforms this bizarre situation into a miniature society in which freedom itself becomes increasingly difficult to define. The more Junpei fights against his surroundings, the more deeply he becomes connected to them.

The relationship between Junpei and the widow, played with extraordinary physical and emotional commitment by Eiji Okada and Kyōko Kishida, gives the film its human core. Their intimacy moves between hostility, dependency, tenderness and desire without ever becoming conventional romance. Although sex is an important element of the film, Teshigahara rarely needs explicit imagery. Bodies appear as silhouettes, fragments and outlines; Kishida’s naked form is often suggested rather than displayed. A shoulder, a curve, a shadow or sand clinging to skin can communicate more than an explicit image ever could. One sees more from less throughout.

That principle extends to the entire film. Teshigahara makes the smallest details monumental. Sand resembles water, skin resembles landscape and the walls of the pit sometimes appear infinite. Extreme close-ups turn grains of sand into an entire universe, while wider compositions emphasise just how insignificant these two people are against the enormous shifting landscape surrounding them. The immaculate monochrome photography makes the film simultaneously beautiful and suffocating. The sand can look almost luminous in one shot and utterly threatening in the next.

There is also a wonderful irony at the heart of Junpei’s predicament. He arrives as an entomologist searching for insects, only to become a specimen himself: captured, observed and contained within a pit from which he cannot escape. The collector has become the collected. Teshigahara never labours the metaphor because he does not need to. It exists naturally within the imagery and situation, allowing the audience to discover its implications rather than having them explained.

Woman in the Dunes (1964) is virtually flawless in character, theme, cinematography, direction and performance. More than sixty years after its release, it remains startlingly modern and visually unlike almost anything else. Its central image — two human beings endlessly shovelling away a mountain of sand that will simply return tomorrow — is cinema distilled into an unforgettable metaphor for existence itself.

The only negative? Why didn’t I watch it sooner?

Mark: 10.5 out 11