The Master, or: Falling back in love with Paul Thomas Anderson

The Master (2012)

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

***SPOILERS***

I’ve had a strange relationship with Paul Thomas Anderson over the years—falling in love, almost falling out of love, and then falling for him harder than ever—and it’s a connection that requires lots of egotistical banter during which I indulge myself. It began with Magnolia, which captivated my young film-virgin mind and led me into the bedroom, had its way with me, showed me film techniques beyond my wildest dreams, and even bought me breakfast the next morning. Yes, Magnolia is a dreamlike event for many newcomers to film, sprawling in its narrative and contained in its humanity, and ending with one of the most memorable scenes in recent memory. From there it was Boogie Nights, Hard Eight, and then Punch-Drunk Love. Love, love, and more love. My PTA high was so soaring that I managed to procure one of the few precious tickets for the limited screening of There Will Be Blood in Chicago. Like the critics had been telling me, There Will Be Blood was, indeed, a revelation; a showcase of what Paul Thomas Anderson could achieve when he became more focused on a single character in a contained setting. “A departure!” I constantly read, and I even came to buy into the idea that PTA’s new path was a great one, and one that would catapult him into the “Greatest Filmmakers of All Time” list. A path that had no use for those silly antics on display in his earlier films. And with all this in mind, Magnolia remained—and still does to this day—my favorite film.

As important as it was for the leaders of the French New Wave to watch films, they were also adamant about reading of film. I decided to follow suit soon after There Will Be Blood. Along with reading the history of horror films in Hollywood and an oral biography on Robert Altman, this meant traveling beyond the Metacritics and finding new film outlets for critiques. When the world seems to be on the side of your favorite filmmaker, the last thing you want to read is opposition. But like with any filmmaker, there are haters, and there’s an influx of PTA haters pouring onto the Internet. I would read these detractors, raise my eyebrows, and guffaw at their silliness. “They just don’t get it!” I’d proclaim, scaring everyone in the library, and smile deviously to myself as I posted on various comment boards and threads. But as the years wore on, so did my gumption to play devil’s advocate. As stubborn as I was, I eventually had to accept that Paul Thomas Anderson was, in fact, not untouchable. I tried as I might, but I simply had to bow to certain facts: Hard Eight was a bit unfocused; Boogie Nights oozed style over substance; and fuck me, Magnolia actually wasn’t perfect/a film sent from God himself. Dare I say it: I almost fell out of love with Paul Thomas Anderson. The last few months have been the roughest, to the point where I hovered over my perfect 5-star rating of the film on rateyourmusic.com and just stared—possibly even shaking. I marked it down to a 4-star rating, left the page, and then immediately went back and changed it before somebody (hell if I know who?) called me out on it.

This is a bit of a secret shame on my part, that I’m unwilling to form my own fucking opinion and just love a film that changed my life. I spoke of nostalgia in my Bachelorette piece, and the first film I mentioned was Magnolia. I’m not nostalgic for just about any film, but that warm, fleeting, oh-so-light feeling evoked from nostalgia is one I hold for Magnolia. There are many important people in my life, that have shaped me over the years, and that I love very, very dearly, and I can attach just as much importance to Magnolia as any of those individuals. It’s sad, really, that an extraneous, inanimate object be compared to a living, breathing human being, but for me Magnolia is full of life and filled to the brim with humanity. That day your family bought a dog together; that strong embrace with your dad; that first kiss—and, for me, the moment Jim (John C. Reilly) sat down on the bed with Claudia (Melora Walters) and said, “You want to be with me... then you be with me. You see?” Lying in my bedroom and running my tear ducts dry, I sobbed as the credits rolled all the way to the end, and then sat in silence, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. The line “You see?” was just too much to handle, because while confused, perplexed, and in dire need of human contact, I had, perhaps for the first time in regards to film, seen something.

Now, with all that said…I don’t hold any sort of attachment to There Will Be Blood. Perhaps I was purposefully and subconsciously disallowing myself from seeing it, since everybody and their brother was absolutely gushing over Anderson’s nihilistic, oil-ridden, blood-stained tale, but after five years of evaluating, re-watching, and discussing There Will Be Blood, I have to admit that it’s Anderson’s second-weakest film (outside of Hard Eight). If There Will Be Blood had replaced Magnolia in my personal movie timeline, I may be just as unshakable in my love. But while Magnolia is essentially my own personal definition of humanity, There Will Be Blood owns little to no humanity—mainly in the form of Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis). Well, there is a sense of humanity, as its cleverly disguised under Daniel’s hardened fortress. But while motivations, desires, and a pure gumption to live controlled Magnolia, there seems to be very little pathos in There Will Be Blood. I’m more than willing to admit (without shame) that the Internet nay-sayers persuaded me on this one. If we can’t challenge ourselves, even in regards to our favorite movies, then we’ll never grow as film lovers. I’ve already debated myself through the blogosphere and come out loving Magnolia even more (that’s for another post, however), but this incredibly stubborn reviewer (just ask my friends) was actually forced to bow down and accept defeat: There Will Be Blood (which I once listed as my #2 film of the decade) was not Paul Thomas Anderson’s greatest film.

I know. You’re ready to shun me. Dump me to the side of the road. Call me a snob or pretentious or whatever. I don’t really care. I still believe There Will Be Blood is a great film, easily in the top five for 2007 (a particularly strong year), and definitely in the top 40 for the 2000s. You’ll also be proud to know that I did not—repeat: DID NOT simply follow other critic’s opinions verbatim. When you hate a filmmaker—and I mean HATE—it’s often hard to be fair. And there are plenty of PTA haters out there, mostly because of the comparisons he receives to Robert Altman and Stanley Kubrick, both of whom are name-dropped in these particular reviewers’ critiques time in and time out. I don’t care that Armond White (whom I actually admire) made his classic “the director makes his main character out to be a hero” argument, which has become so common for him at this point that while reading his The Social Network review, I was convinced that he took the same review over and over and simply replaced the characters’ and director’s names. The biggest convincer was Slant’s Ed Gonzalez, who was quick to point out that Daniel’s motivation to obtain wealth—which is pretty fucking key for the brevity of his manic actions—remains unclear.  Although it’s easy to define Daniel—whose soul is seemingly as barren as the endless brown fields surrounding his oilrig—as a character stripped free of humanity, it simply must exist for the narrative to function and deliver its intended emotional punch. Daniel may have left his manners down in that hole where he broke his leg, but he never abandoned his past, or whatever came to fuel his fiery passion that carries the film. Daniel’s contempt for humanity can’t be his only defining characteristic along with explaining his motivations. It’s all cleverly disguised and easy to forgive because of Anderson’s masterful grip over the film’s tick-tock pace and the brooding landscape (and an amazing performance from Day-Lewis), but once stripped of the antics, most of Anderson’s “humanity” simply lies in the visuals.

And while I’m able to (sadly) recognize this rather unfortunate drawback that dampens the power of the film for me, I’m able to recognize certain aspects (as a PTA lover, I sorta have to) that the haters simply won’t allow themselves to see. They can sit around all day jacking off to photos of Altman and Kubrick, but for some reason I never heard the Malick comparisons. Nothing can shake the fact that There Will Be Blood is a technical wonder, beautiful beyond belief in its hues, cinematography, and epic score through Johnny Greenwood. But the moments where the environment dictates the action—whether its the roaring fire of oil enclosing itself around Daniel’s body, or Daniel dipping into water as he contemplates murdering his “brother”, or the infamous moment where Daniel’s son loses his hearing—is very much a reflection of the most powerful moments of Days of Heaven, which itself owned a fair amount vagueness in regards to its characters’ motivations. Malick of course does a much better job, fusing the characters’ personal lives and work lives before integrating into the main bulk of the story, but it must be noted how often Anderson’s filmmaking directly benefits Daniel’s otherworldly contempt for humanity. The only thing missing is a stable foundation—and that’s exactly what makes The Master Anderson’s best film since Magnolia.

As somebody who has been on both sides of the PTA spectrum—both the wide-eyed, mindless follower and the bullheaded, unreasonable skeptic—I feel like I’m looking at The Master through a brand new set of eyes. I don’t automatically believe everything PTA does is incredible, but I also believe he’s capable of pulling off another Magnolia. And because I’ve been a part of both groups, I’ve noticed some troubling consistencies that still persist. For the lovers: they’re all loving it, but hey, it’s not There Will Be Blood, which was fiery and brimming with amazing imagery, while The Master lags in certain areas and is more dependent on long stretches of dialogue. Considering the atmosphere manages to disguise There Will Be Blood’s weaker attributes, it comes as no surprised that The Master, practically stripped of the exotic shenanigans, appears a little less than exciting. And as for the haters—whom are headed (as usual) by the ever-frustrating Armond White—are just simply unconvinced of the central relationship that drives the film. The most common complaint of White is, “I respect him, but his opinions…” which is sort of silly, because his opinions aren’t wrong. But sometimes—as seen in his comparison between Paul ThomasAnderson and Paul W.S. Anderson—he clearly has a one-track mind. A great action analyzer, White always praises great action sequences and bashes other critics’ inability to do so, all the while ignoring the shallow methods these filmmakers employ to establish character relationships. But HEY, when it comes to The Master, the central relationship just makes no sense. “Why are these two drawn to each other?” An important question that didn’t creep up during his analysis of Resident Evil 5…which he evaluated in the same fucking review as The Master.

I now see how incredible There Will Be Blood could have been with Daniel properly established, which would made his various grapples with greed and faith through Eli more fierce. This is why The Master works. Many naysayers have turned a blind eye toward the central relationship of the film, claiming there’s no root or driving force behind Freddie (Joaquin Phoenix) and Lancaster’s (Philip Seymour Hoffman) strange friendship. Slant’s Calium Marsh, along with White, just simply couldn’t find the pathos, dumbing his argument down into a single-point rant that spoke of the relationship listlessly, yet never attempted to find meaning. The beauty of The Master lies in its thick layer of hypnotism, which itself requires a variety of subtle levels. By never providing efficient, convenient answers for Freddie and Lancaster, Anderson wonderfully integrates the finer aspects of brainwashing into the deconstruction of Freddie’s mind and, in turn, very well may have fooled the Armond Whites of the world.

The driving force behind Lancaster and Freddie’s relationship isn’t a definable instance, as White seems to require, but instead a manifestation of their beleaguered state of minds. Freddie, desperate to find some sort of semblance and fit into social norms, latches onto the influential Lancaster, who himself takes a liking to Freddie because of his alcoholic concoctions (note that this isn’t the root of Lancaster’s attraction—more on that later). Freddie, feeling detached from society, clearly finds solace in the fact that this finely dressed intellectual aboard a yacht relishes in Freddie’s strange hobby, which is not only frowned upon by society, but also took the life of an old man in an earlier scene. Whereas There Will Be Blood was content with Daniel’s greed reflected through his pickaxe and his contempt for religion through an oil-painted baptism, The Master utilizes both imagery and human interaction in constructing Freddie’s detachment from society. He’s unable to find answers through the socially acceptable jobs, put wonderfully on display as a woman twirls through the department store advertising her dress, building the banality of this high-class crowd and the fabrication of their demeanors as employees, just before cutting to Freddie, acting as though he belongs. White can complain about how boring this scene is, but he doesn’t realize that this is actually the point, as the last time we cut to Freddie he becomes so fed up with a shifting fat man that he retreats into his childish ways. Attempting to become a proper societal member proved to be useless, and it almost seemed as though he required an environment that allowed him to be himself…

Step in Lancaster Dodd, the prolific entrepreneur whose actions resemble that of a cult leader’s, specifically the real-fire creator of Scientology L. Ron Hubbard (what what?!). And yes, every review you’ve read is true: The Master isn’t about Scientology, but it very much explores the struggle of influence associated with the church, or for that matter, any ideology. If a church is to function it must have a leader, and Lancaster must need people to control. This statement dumbs down the argument a bit, as “the need to control” is about as empty a backdrop as Daniel Plainview’s innate contempt for humanity. What makes it work in The Master is Lancaster’s muted attraction to Freddie, who believes he procured a spot on the yacht by simply making his own alcohol. This establishes the birth of the connection for Freddie, who simply cannot seem to muster a real human relationship, but it’s much more telling for Lancaster. After accepting Freddie aboard, there’s a scene during a wedding reception when Lancaster speaks of a dragon. He wrestles the dragon, makes it his own, and then begins to command the dragon: sit, stay, roll over…play dead. Some stark metaphors to establish the control he will exercise over Freddie, Lancaster’s hypnotic methods are actually more loving than cruel, as he genuinely strives to save a lost soul in the process of recruiting another member to his church.

In this sense, Lancaster is a bit of a tragic figure, receiving just enough treatment from Anderson to keep Freddie the main figure in The Master. That title itself begs the question of “who is the master?” As Modigliani Movie Inquiries points out, the title refers to “self-mastery”, which becomes Freddie’s eventual ticket out of Lancaster’s church. Never providing the satisfaction of mastering Freddie's mind is Anderson’s way of denouncing Lancaster’s ways, as we witness mastery works on a number of levels during a scene where Peggy (Amy Adams) gives Lancaster an old fashioned while demanding something at the same time. It speaks of method in The Master, as Lancaster is methodical and relies on fiery (yet empty) speech to control others, calmly speaking to his family over dinner explaining his commitment to Freddie, while Peggy simply uses sex to master her man. It’s a small moment that doesn’t need to be any larger than it is, as it simply establishes the smallness of The Cause in Freddie’s grand timeline. Lancaster and Peggy’s pathetic methods of brainwashing cannot match the self-mastery Freddie must exhibit to regain control of his life.

Never has Anderson been so committed to a single idea (besides relating just how much Daniel Plainview hates people), which can only be matched by Punch-Drunk Love. The colorful visuals that open Punch-Drunk Love are meant to establish the beauty and ecstasy of an unattainable life, on display just after a shot of Barry’s (Adam Sandler) near-empty warehouse, establishing the mundaneness in this man’s life. His grapple with finding love in the face of societal norms is constantly related through visual wonders and light schemes, and it’s strikingly reminiscent of what occurs in The Master. You could almost say Freddie wants to be controlled, participating gleefully in Lancaster’s experiments, and spreading his message just to remain within a controlled society. It’s then no surprise that such a commitment breaks down until it’s in shambles, when Freddie realizes he is no longer in control of himself, and thus no longer happy. He’s stuck between two worlds: the raging drunk who accidentally took another man’s life, and proper societal member passing out pamphlets to people on the street and taking professional photos. What Freddie really needs is to break free from both sides of influence, and ride away on his own path. Building towards this moment—where Freddie rides listlessly away on a motorcycle—is the ultimate goal.

The first beautiful instance of this alteration is the processing scene, where Freddie sits down and allows his brain to be dissected by Lancaster. It’s in this instance we are provided some hypnagogic visuals that serve as pathos. In this these moments we witness the prodder of Freddie’s mental illness, relating the pressing weight laid upon Freddie that There Will Be Blood owned little to none of. Daniel Plainview is an innately tragic figure for his actions, but with this processing bit, Freddie is shown as an individual who can both express love and run away in fear at once. The manner in which he fiercely rips through the screen window and kisses his lover resembles the way he’d grab a fat man’s tie, depicting a man who isn’t only incapable of functioning in society in his state, but also incapable of romantic relationships. As the movie progresses, Freddie’s addiction to sex becomes more pronounced, to the point where he imagines sequences in his mind. He obviously dreams up the portion of the scene where naked women dance around Lancaster’s diddy, depicting two individuals’ in drastically different states of mind more adeptly than the fiery prison cell scene obviously tries to accomplish. During this dancing scene, it’s clear where Freddie’s mind wants to be, and where Lancaster is fighting to keep it. It’s a beautiful bit of mise en scène that pits Lancaster’s ego against Freddie’s nearly irreversible state—and one that amplifies the process made in the processing session. Told not to blink, Freddie is brought to tears undergoing this processing session in a desperate plea to tell a story nobody has heard. It has the energy of Daniel’s baptism in There Will Be Blood, but its fierceness lies in the tragedy of a man unable to experience a socially acceptable life. While Daniel denounces all people, Freddie seems desperate to latch onto them—through alcohol, through sex, through another man’s church, or any other extraneous method of experiencing intimacy.

The processing scene, the dancing scene, and the prison cell scene also mark a new departure for Anderson, as he integrates not only the environment into his character’s psyche, but also muted imagery that floods Freddie’s mind. The dancing scene is an abrupt way of relating what’s going on in that fucked up brain of his, and it may even seem comical to some, but the naked women of this sequence are just as telling and disturbing as any other extension of Freddie’s mind, which is best put on display during Freddie’s final processing session with Lancaster. Although not labeled “processing”, both this scene and the original processing sessions serve a similar function to Freddie, while also arcing the narrative of his discombobulated mind. This can be seen through a series of events, starting with the processing session and ending with Freddie’s departure on the motorcycle.

Let’s look to the moment where Helen (Laura Dern) questions one of Dodd’s minor changes to his second book, where he replaces the word “recall” with “imagine”. It is, of course, a telling sign of Anderson’s utter contempt for religion, as Lancaster becomes furious and shouts her down. Marsh sees this as merely a “dramatic” moment that only works because of Hoffman’s ferociousness, but once again we’re looking past the subtleties because of Anderson’s tendency for drama and style over substance. In the first processing session, Freddie’s mind is cracked because he recalled a past memory that plagued his calamitous state. During this new session, where Freddie is repeatedly asked to walk back and forth between wall and window, he is asked to imagine his surroundings and go beyond the simple, mundane features of the room. Freddie, desperate for guidance, to become a member of society, and to once again find love—which is his driving force of his and Lancaster’s relationship—this moment marks the transition and hypocrisy of Lancaster’s argument. This confusion is put on display in a wonderfully acted segment where Freddie starts with simple descriptions, and then broken down until the point where he describes the glass as a “glacier”. It’s when Freddie begins to realize these walls and windows go beyond simple objects that Lancaster concludes the exercise—to Freddie’s bewilderment.

The put Anderson’s grip on the muted imagery of the film, let’s review this series of events: first Freddie recalls his past love in a living memory; then Freddie is prodded by Lancaster’s son, told it is all fabricated (“He’s making it all up as he goes along”); in the midst of becoming Lancaster’s puppet (or, errrr, dragon), Freddie continues to experience his fantasies and imagination during the dancing scene; the next series of sessions begin, Freddie is dissected and experimented upon, challenged to think outside himself and the memories of his current life, to the point where Peggy’s eyes (terrifyingly) turn black after a repetitive hypnotism; and then, finally, with his eyes closed (a reflection of the first processing session), Freddie is suddenly experiencing a world outside himself, retreating from reality and allowing his imagination to be controlled. Perhaps Freddie is smarter than he seems, as he soon realizes that this is The Cause’s intention: not to harness the past, but to control the imagination and therefore control the followers like puppets. The next series of events lead to Freddie’s departure from The Cause—an idea innately placed within Freddie’s mind after his exercise. His own inner rage over Lancaster’s hypocrisy is seen when he discusses Lancaster’s second book with a critic, who calls it “trash” and continually bashes his teachings. Freddie calmly leads him outside before beating him on the street in a fit of rage, which only amplifies the frustration of facts Freddie has recently come to terms with. And then in a final display of muted imagery, the vast, empty landscape that Lancaster ecstatically rides into on his motorcycle is indicative of a man ready to take on the expansiveness of the mind. Freddie, riding in the opposite direction, apathetically stares into nothing during his ride, riding and riding and riding until he drifts beyond the horizon, outside the confines of the mind Lancaster wishes to shape.

Perhaps the most unnecessary segment of The Master is during final scene when Anderson cuts away to an earlier moment featuring Freddie with a naked sand woman on the beach. It might just be another jab at Scientology, but it’s also a moment that (perhaps too brazenly) displays the difference between an English woman Freddie makes love with and his former state of mind. Strangely enough, Freddie has The Cause to thank for this, despite the fact he and Lancaster rode in opposite directions. He returns to Lancaster, desperate for one last answer to put the nail in the coffin. Lancaster speaks of the moment he remembers Freddie from, which occurred during the 14^th century in a past life. Peggy walks away angrily from Freddie, claiming he “cannot be helped if he won’t accept help”, which is actually truer than she realizes. Lancaster, in the new phase of his religion, is now able to stretch beyond his own mind and create alternate universes, stretching the boundaries of life itself. Using the naked sand woman as the introduction to his state of mind, Freddie’s own imagination was always limiting his ability to function in society, but it has also always remained contained in reality. While Lancaster needs to go beyond his current life, Freddie is able to make sand into flesh, cope with his own distorted reality and shape the life he desires. This transformation was merely prodded by Lancaster—or cut up, re-arranged, and put back together, if you will. The rest relied on Freddie, who hilariously puts the English woman through Lancaster’s processing session, in a beautiful moment of luminous clarity that signals the place The Cause’s teachings held in his life.

Stretching one’s own thoughts and opinions—and stretching one’s beliefs—is a good thing. I re-watched There Will Be Blood while writing this very review, and each successive scene continually lost the fierce emotional power I experienced the first time around. Sometimes I wonder if Boogie Nights would have been better with fewer characters. And fuck, at one time I considered the possibility that Magnolia wasn’t “the film” for me. I’ve challenged myself and attempted to stretch beyond my own blind love for Paul Thomas Anderson…and then I remember watching Boogie Nights on a lonely summer night, all based on the recommendation from my friend that I “check out Heather Graham’s beaver”; I remember sitting in a jam-packed theater as the audience laughed at Eli’s pathetic attempt to escape Daniel, only for silence to fill the room as Daneil smashed his head in; and I remember sobbing in my room, discovering what I now define as the “power of film”. My ability to critique and analyze movies more deeply never once has to disrupt that way I feel about them. I don’t have to be ashamed in my unabashed love for Paul Thomas Anderson. Discovering how fucking far I’m gone was liberating and allowed me to love films, even if I didn’t like them. With this mentality heading into The Master, it seems as though Paul Thomas Anderson has helped me see things clearly once again.