The Master feels, all at once, like the best movie ever made and the worst movie ever made. Almost everything about it, from a production point of view, is perfectly rendered: the acting, courtesy of Joaquin Phoenix, the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Amy Adams, is top notch; the cinematography is spectacular; the music is strange and cerebral; the tone is mesmerising. And yet, for all of that, the movie can't escape "What was the point?" territory because there really doesn't seem to be one. Having watched the movie, the consequences just aren't made apparent. In other words... the story meanders, and gives its characters nothing particular interesting to do, despite powerhouse performances. The film flirts ever so closely with self-indulgence (and maybe even pretentiousness), but just manages to steer clear of those territories on account of its finer points, and yet... what? What do we come away from The Master thinking about? What is it trying to tell us? The fact that the answers to these questions remain unclear even after multiple viewings is a major issue. If there is, indeed, a point, it's dangerously out of sight.
Sam Hill is an ardent cinephile and has been writing about film professionally since 2008. He harbours a particular fondness for western and sci-fi movies.
