MCT

Joaquin Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman in a scene from Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Master"

Ladies and gentlemen, if I say Paul Thomas Anderson is the best filmmaker of the last 15 years, you will agree. This is the director who slapped a thirteen-inch prosthetic penis between the thighs of Mark Wahlberg and made it art. The director behind “There Will Be Blood,” which The Times magazine recently heralded as the second greatest movie of all time. The director who (perhaps most incredibly of all) got Adam Sandler to legitimately act, and do it well, for upwards of 90 minutes. And now, this is the director of “The Master,” easily the best film 2012 has had to offer so far. “The Master” follows Navy vet Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), floundering from temp job to temp job until he stumbles upon and befriends writer/philosopher Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Dodd is The Master behind the suspiciously Scientology-esque belief system known as The Cause. At the heart of “The Master” is the relationship between Freddie and Dodd as The Cause grows in popularity and notoriety.

I was running pretty late for class upon exiting the Tivoli’s screening of “The Master,” so when I was stopped at the door for my opinion by the resident film distribution guy; I responded with a smile, two thumbs up and the alliteratively generous half-sentence, “The awesome acting of ‘There Will Be Blood’ plus the bountiful bare breasts of ‘Boogie Nights’” and hurried out of the theater. If that description for some reason doesn’t sell you on “The Master,” then allow me to expand on that statement. Phoenix, long typecast as the troubled soul, gives us his most anguished performance yet. His portrayal of the alcoholic, sex-crazed and emotionally damaged Freddie is riveting and even uncomfortable. Hoffman is no less impressive; his jovial and charismatic leadership belie the ever-growing subtle suspicion that he might just be an oppressive dictator—or worse, a fake. At one point Dodd’s son suggests that his father is making it all up as he goes along (a comment that is sure to raise a few eyebrows among the contingent of Hollywood scientologists). Dodd’s sincerity is never quite confirmed nor rejected, and this is what makes him such an interesting character. The dynamic between Freddie and Dodd is stunning; they are at once both the best of friends and the truest of foils. There is a palpable sexual tension between the two men that contrasts strongly with Freddie’s womanizing ways. As Dodd’s cultish Cause expands, Freddie takes his place as pupil and right hand man. At the same time, Freddie’s wild, almost savage behavior (indeed, one scene in a jail cell sees Phoenix tearing his cage apart) starts to tread upon the very heart of Dodd’s message: the perfection of the human condition and how far removed man is from animal. The dialogue between the two alternates ranges from dumb hilarity to philosophical gold. The scene in which Freddie first undergoes spiritual “processing” from Dodd alone ought to secure both Phoenix and Hoffman Best Actor nominations, which would make “The Master” the first film to get double-nominations for Best Actor since “Amadeus” pulled off the same feat in 1984. Unfortunately, the distributors are pushing Hoffman in Best Supporting Actor, category fraud of the worst kind. Amy Adams’s performance as Dodd’s wife Peggy is superb as well, but it’s no accident that I’m mentioning her second to Phoenix and Hoffman; Peggy’s role in “The Master” is 100 percent Dodd-support. Peggy is pregnant in literally every scene of the movie, something that reinforces her role as supportive wife, a position that seems less like a role and more like the purpose of her existence. Her deadpan, unwavering agreement with her husband is almost chilling, and she is the concept of stand by your man taken to its unsettling conclusion. Outside of these dominating three characters, the movie is rounded out by characters with roles that are smaller but certainly not insignificant, making this the most consistent in quality cast of any Anderson movie to date.

Anderson and his cinematographer, Mihai Malaimare Jr., make the film an amazing aesthetic experience as well. Certain shots so reflected the characters’ psyches that I literally found myself saying wow out loud in the theater. His use of color is more or less unparalleled among modern directors; this is a beautiful and believable depiction of 1950s America. Radiohead multi-instrumentalist Jonny Greenwood serves as head of the musical score. Greenwood’s music serves the movie well but stays out of the way for the most part. The high points of the film, musically, are actually Hoffman’s rousing renditions of seemingly innocent (but soaking with symbolism) post-war pop standards.

“The Master” is an exceedingly dense movie and making a final judgment after just one viewing seems premature. It is clearly a great movie. I’ll need to see it again (and again) before I decide whether or not it is a perfect one. For now, I’ll recommend seeing “The Master” based on these points: it’s a damn good-looking film, the acting is flawless and the characters are endlessly entertaining and complex. If this is The Cause of Paul Thomas Anderson, consider me a follower.