Tag Archives: Phillip Seymour Hoffman

The Master | Film Review

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Paul Thomas Anderson has a lot to live up to. By the time he was thirty years old he had Boogie Nights and Magnolia under his belt establishing him as the most talked about new American filmmaker of the 1990’s next to Quentin Tarantino. Five years ago his magnificent fifth picture, There Will Be Blood, was heralded by many critics as one of the finest, if not the finest film of the new decade. He has found himself being compared to the likes of Robert Altman, Martin Scorsese and even Stanley Kubrick as a new titan of American cinema. In cinefile circuits his new release The Master has been awaited with the sort of fan fever saved for comic book blockbuster adaptations. Interest has been particularly stoked since rumours circulated that the film would focus on the early years of the controversial religious sect Scientology and its mysterious founder L. Ron Hubbard. But nothing is ever as it seems. Anderson has sidestepped the obvious headline grabbing to deliver a film that is everything we expect from him; virtuoso, frightening, mysterious and with its heart on its sleeve.

It’s the end of World War Two and things are not right for Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix). An alcoholic Navy Veteran, who has been left psychologically scarred by his experience in conflict and with an unhealthy lust for women, is sent into the civilian population and told that he and his like are now America’s future. Yet Freddie’s bad habits soon find him drifting from drink to drink, woman to woman and utter desolation. One night he drunkenly stumbles across the path of Lancaster Dodd (Philipp Seymour Hoffman), the self appointed leader of ‘The Cause’, a philosophical movement that claims to be able to cure ailments and trauma by recalling the past lives of individuals by billions of years. Dodd is fascinated by Freddie (and his homemade liquor) and invites him along with ‘The Cause’ entourage to spread the word across post war America. Though Freddie finds initial solace in Dodd’s teachings it isn’t long before doubts and scepticism rear their heads and a psychological tug of war begins between the two men.

From its fractured opening it’s clear that Anderson is playing to his own rules. Much talk has been made of the fact that the film has been shot in 65mm film stock and blown up into 70mm as opposed to the industry standard of digital filming and projection. I was lucky enough to see the film in its original stock format and found it well worth the effort. The texture and colours practically radiate off the screen whilst Anderson’s measured direction (in contrast to the frenetic nature of his early work) allows us to soak in the atmosphere in every long, meticulous take. This is once again accompanied by a stunningly unconventional score from Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood that constantly wrong foots expectation yet completely puts you in the characters’ mindset. When it comes to the particulars of the narrative, Anderson is not one to speak down to an audience. There Will Be Blood was discussed as an examination of the birth of capitalism and commentary on America’s dependence on oil yet he never forces those ideas down your throat and he certainly doesn’t do it here. All the build up has focused round the Scientology issue but at its heart The Master is far more about the uncertainty of post-war America, a clash of class ethics (Dodd is the entrepreneur, Freddie the blue collar everyman), the horrors of post traumatic stress disorder and perhaps even a doomed platonic love between two outsiders attempting to find their way in a new world. Anderson has once again used an epic canvas to create a searing intimate portrait.

It is in the clash between Freddie and Dodd that the crux of the drama takes place. In terms of narrative it is the least constricted of Anderson’s work and so much responsibility lies upon Phoenix and Hoffman’s performances and it’s a responsibility they rise to tremendously. Opinion remains divided on Phoenix’s bizarre faux sidestep into being a rap artist but it’s great to have him back channelling the raw, dangerous and oddly charming energy that made his name. He is simply stunning as a man whose sheer facial expression alone speaks volumes about his character and what he has seen. He enters the frame a figure of snarling, contorted anger barely suppressed beneath the surface slurring words out of one side of his mouth refusing to confront the issues bubbling away within him. In one frighteningly surreal sequence, Freddie is brought along to a socialite dinner and physically resembles a wild animal that has somehow been forced into human attire. Brilliant, subtle touches (reaching out to a hostess’s necklace) add layers to the complexion and bring Freddie alongside the other brilliantly damaged souls of Anderson’s filmography. However ‘big’ Phoenix’s performance is, it is matched with a mercurial subtlety from Hoffman, who works as a perfect counterbalance to Freddie’s volatile nature. He manages to make plausible the idea that people can be drawn to such bizarre notions through a stunning portrayal of charming and infectious joie de vivre that make everyone gravitate towards Dodd and his teachings. However far from just a kind father figure (a recurring theme for Anderson) Dodd is capable of showcasing a spiteful darkness when his theories are criticised. His brief outbursts at dissenters are terrifying as they are short. Watching the two actors together is genuinely like watching lightening in a bottle and several scenes between them are as exciting and emotionally draining as any major action set piece from this year’s summer blockbusters. One scene recalls De Niro’s meltdown in Raging Bull as when both men are briefly jailed, they use their separate confines as the opportunity to rail against one another. Freddie hurls accusations of lies whilst Dodd repeatedly taunts him, ‘I’m the only one who likes you!’ For all of the films fractured, episodic nature it builds up to a surprisingly moving tale of a failed relation between the men. Their final scene, which would otherwise sound bizarre on page, becomes almost unbearably tragic. Though the film is dominated by the two male leads we also have a string of effective supporting performances most notably Amy Adams as Dodd’s ever present wife Peggy. Rapidly becoming a firm fixture on annual awards nomination lists, Adams wonderfully subverts her good, All-American girl image for something far more straight faced and even chilling. Though seemingly first merely a supportive arm to support Dodd, Peggy is gradually revealed to be far more akin to a Lady Macbeth of the story driving her husband on, urging him to go on the attack and in one telling (and quite scary) scene, displaying a sexual dominance over her husband before chastising his relationship with Freddie.

Anyone looking for easy or cathartic payoffs may very well be disappointed. There’s none of the raining frogs of Magnolia or descent into homicidal madness of There Will Be Blood. Instead Anderson chooses to end on a quieter and extremely ambiguous note. Dissenters will argue that the film ask more questions than it provides answers and question where it leaves the characters at the finale. I’m personally delighted to be confounded when the questions are this deep and the execution is this flawless. It arguably represents a maturity in Anderson’s style compared to his rapid multi stranded early epics. He is refusing to repeat himself and has cemented his reputation as one of America’s finest mainstream filmmakers. This is cinema at an absolute pinnacle and I cannot recommend it enough. I’m a devotee of The Master.

The Ides of March Film Review

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With the re-election Barack Obama next year looking increasingly unlikely, George Clooney’s fourth film as a director feels more like a bitter lament for the political hope of 2008 than a standard thriller, a noble intention of which it just falls short. It is based on a play named Farragut North by Beau Williamson that was produced at the same time as Obama’s election drive. Not one for hiding his liberal credentials, you could be forgiven for expecting that Clooney would airbrush the portrait of Democratic candidates as crusading do-gooders. Yet here, while there is focus on many topical issues blighting American society today, it is viewed through disillusioned and almost sad eyes.

Clooney appears in front of camera as well as behind it as Mike Morris, a charismatic Pennsylvanian senator and contender for the Democratic presidential nomination in a fictitious U.S. election. He is neck and neck with his party rival and with the Republicans lacking a strong contender the White House is within striking distance for both men. Fighting in Morris’ corner is his chief aide Paul Zara (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) and junior press secretary Stephen Myers (Ryan Gosling). Meyers is a young idealist who is truly inspired by Morris’s policies and determined to see him in the Oval office. Zara is the older and more jaded of the two men, the experience to Meyers’ innocence, yet together their plans of attack have Morris on a seemingly unstoppable course.

Meyers’ is then approached by Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti), Zara’s opposite in the enemy camp who is determined to have Meyers work for him and promises to reveal the secrets behind Morris’ glowing reputation. What then follows is a descent into moral confusion, corruption and betrayal as Meyers’ attempts to keep his head above water and survive in a world of cut throat political ambition.

From its opening dissection of the inner workings of a televised candidate debate, it is clear the The Ides Of March is concerned with what lies underneath the tarp of 21st century politics. If Senator Morris is the general of an army then Meyers and his colleagues are the soldiers down in the dirt fighting hand to hand for victory. Clooney confidently cuts back and forth between debates and television interviews with scenes of aides and interns working tirelessly away behind the scenes with laptops, cell phones and cups of coffee rarely out of reach. In certain scenes he places television sets within the frame of the more intimate moments of drama creating a seemingly inescapable world where everyone’s careers (i.e. lives) are out on the line. It’s very well made indeed with Clooney keeping most of the showy direction to a minimum with one or two notable yet well done exceptions. The merciless vibrating of a mobile phone with all other sound drowned out is a particularly effective moment.

It would also appear as though Clooney’s experience as an actor has left him with the strong ability to get strong performances from his ensemble. Along with Drive and to a lesser extent Crazy, Stupid, Love, Ryan Gosling deserves firm establishment as an A-Lister star. Blessed with astonishingly handsome looks, Gosling delivers on the idea of a youthful idealist steadily crushed under the pressure of back-stabbing and corruption. Meyers is a man desperate to do right for the cause he believes in yet his selfless and single minded vision ultimately blinds him and he becomes everything he has detested in the older characters at the stories outset. It’s an old idea that Gosling manages to make alive through his sheer charisma and penetrating gaze summed up perfectly in the films elegant and haunting final shot. On the seasoned front, Hoffman and Giamatti get to relish in weighty, meaty dialogue set pieces that tie in with the movies theatrical background and could be dismissed as sheer awards season bait were they not so well done. Hoffman hints at years of pent up paranoia and resentment in a powerful monologue about his need for loyalty where Giamatti rallies against the Democratic lack of ruthlessness on the playing field (‘We need to get down in the mud with the donkeys!’) It’s a scene that speaks for the whole movie, with the Republicans given no time on screen and only alluded to it is left to the one side to fight each other and it is given riveting conviction by two character actors at the top of their game.

Unfortunately it is Clooney’s handling of another key character that is the films major downfall. With masculinity running rife through the major plot lines, Evan Rachel Wood has to work very hard to make her character of a confident yet out of her depth intern a voice to be heard. She does a good job with what she’s given; her early scenes with Gosling have an undeniably sexy and arresting charge to them. Yet she is then underhanded by a plot revelation feels so trite and forced that it threatens to capsize the proceedings. Clooney clearly needs a shattering plot device to mark Meyers’ turning point yet it is so out of place and stands out that he feels terribly fumbled. I can’t possibly spoil it yet it’s impossible to miss and reduces Wood to a bland and unconvincing cipher rather than a rounded out character.
Ultimately The Ides Of March feels as though it aspires to something revelatory and worthy yet it can’t help but fall back onto some very typical thriller tropes that hold it back from something more special. It’s a shame really as Clooney elicits some really cracking performances and attempts to take a far more scathing and world weary view of the American political spectrum. If you’re looking for something more substantial then I strongly recommend you revisit Clooney’s Good Night and Good Luck, still his best film by far. This is still fine work and worth watching but you can’t escape the feeling of close but no cigar.