The Master: A Masterpiece Drenched In Manhood and Moonshine

As Ruskin Bond put it deliciously, rum is for the soldiers, gin for women and beer for schoolboys. 

For men, who are as ‘hopelessly inquisitive’ as Lancaster Dodd, the choice of drink could be a pint of moonshine that can make them chortle in delight first and wonder about the contents later. 

Freddie Quell, Dodd’s latest acolyte and- in a crucial touch- the cocky manufacturer of this ‘remarkable potion’, is visibly delighted by his triumph at pleasing his new-found master and, when pressed for the truth, answers back, ‘Secrets’.

And it is this winsome romance that Paul Thomas Anderson’s ‘The Master’ doles out to us in the form of the dizzying, giddily intoxicating moonshine of a tale of two men in mid-20^th century America, a land and a time both unmoored by the end of one shell-shocking World War and nudged towards the paranoia of another one in its possible early throes.

Notable films and books have explored this oft-ignored yet troubling timeline of a nation questioning its own foolhardy heroism, assailed by doubt and mistrust amidst its own people but this is Anderson after all, one of this generation’s most relentlessly probing and incisive storytellers and ‘The Master’ is no different- a narratively spectacular, visually stunning and emotionally absorbing wide-eyed glance at the quietly devastating chaos through the distorted perspective of these two men serving two ends of a dysfunctional leader-follower relationship.

Quell kick-starts the story and not even with a shred of optimism. He is a US Navy veteran on the loose, a man helplessly addicted to sex and alcohol (that is, the alcohol that he makes). Back in the lazy layovers between the gunfire on the beaches, he was desperately carving out and humping sand sculptures of voluptuous women. Now, things are even more unhinged, as he scavenges for both carnal pursuits and a sense of purpose without quite getting to any of them successfully.

Fleeing from what seems like a freak case of poisoning one of his minions at a cabbage farm, Quell seeks solace and, in a bid for escape and freedom, ends up confining himself instead to a burgeoning self-improvement movement at play. Its leader is the charismatic Dodd, a man who gushes with warmth and affability but whose ruthlessly clever eyes twinkle with additional warmth at the sight of the hapless able-bodied seaman in front of him.

The two hit it off immediately and while everything seems hunky-dory for Quell, cracks are already appearing on Dodd’s perfectly manipulated reality-distortion field, called ‘The Cause’. Bonding on a boat trip to the East Coast, on the occasion of the marriage of Dodd’s pretty daughter (who seems to have a roving eye for the edgy Quell), Dodd submits to his fascination with Quell, a man so completely unhinged and utterly indifferent to whatever gospel that this self-proclaimed genius would want to say. You can sense the dissonance early on; while bright, blonde women scribes are listening intently to Dodd intoning that ‘man is not an animal’, Quell is busy propositioning his own hungry sexual advances on one of them. Clearly, what unites them as friends is that delicious moonshine that he makes but then they cannot stay away from each other.

Anderson is an extraordinary storyteller, the kind of filmmaker who warbles with both the spoken word and the visual idiom, to paint his immaculate strokes and ‘The Master’ is a showcase of his pitch-perfect finesse. Shot on gorgeous 65mm film and scored to the whimsical yet intense beats of Jonny Greenwood's score, the film aches with visible, almost organically painful beauty. Cinematographer Mihai Malaimare Jr. shoots visuals that are immersive, hypnotic and grand in their scope and scale- blending spell-binding sun-kissed daylight and majestic lighting to create miracles on the screen as the film’s plot takes its characters from kinky frolic on sunny beaches to the shopping aisles of buzzing departmental stores to foggy fields to drawing rooms and porches where most of the action of the latter half takes place. Anderson uses his images to profoundly poetic effect, lending an elegant long-shot that gazes with wonder at a girl wearing an overcoat simply to sell it to the shoppers in the market and extraordinarily phenomenal close-ups of both Quell and Dodd so that we notice not only the way how they look but also how their faces twitch with both excitement and disillusionment, with both drunk joy and ravenous anger.

He also knows how to button his flourishes- as in the scene where Dodd grills Quell with questions that hurtle up a horde of demons from the latter’s soul before cutting away to a wistfully romantic flashback that brings the emotions to the fore. Make no mistake: for all its buzzing and brilliant mental masturbation, ‘The Master’ is an evocatively human story, a tale of a mutual hunger for freedom and happiness sated only by a mutual grudging love that the rest of the world cannot quite comprehend.

The writing is exquisite, punchy and nuanced- in the midst of a raunchy coupling, Quell’s latest lust- the same girl selling the overcoat- wilfully eggs him more, saying that she has an ‘apricot belly’. Later on, Dodd delivers a charged monologue about a fantasy of wrestling with a dragon, a scene that has deeper cryptic meaning that what one could think. Dodd, left defenceless by dissent and disagreement around him, can only lash out a nasty bit of profanity while Quell, serving as his obsessively devoted servant, pummels the very people who question his ‘master'.  A bit of questioning makes Quell pour out his heart but that relentless self-improvement mumbo-jumbo clearly cannot soothe his pain. We are wondering by now- what exactly makes these men come together again even as they differ so much and even as Quell himself loses faith in what is being taught to him?

The answers come mostly from the twin massive performances bolstering Anderson’s genre-busting ambition and drive. Joaquin Phoenix creates, in Quell, a man so rippling in his taste for violence and sleaze and yet so utterly helpless in his vulnerability and predicament, especially when being asked to surrender his free will to the self-deluding traps laid by nation, love and pop-philosophy. Phillip Seymour Hoffman is even one up, playing Dodd like both a charismatic buccaneer of a broken ship and a charlatan running a losing game. His immaculate words, spoken with a trademark air of his grace and subtlety, serve as a perfect foil to the damaged, trapped man beneath the veneer of the imposing air of superiority that is to be expected of him. On the other hand, Phoenix imbues his mannerisms with the hint of wild-eyed menace beneath which he tries to hide his own baffling insecurities.

And then, there is Amy Adams. Playing Dodd’s quietly domineering wife Peggy, hers is the character that soon emerges as the film’s titular slave-driver. A woman of almost obstinate conviction in the school of thought that her husband preaches, she is also the one who leaps back, with snarling vengeance, at the ones who are likely to burst the bubble. Watch her eyes glimmer with elation when announcing a book launch, watch her count off Dodd’s enemies as his ‘ex-wives’ and watch her look down with steely brutality at everyone who dares to question The Cause- including Quell himself. Adams delivers each stroke with the fierce intensity that only few actresses of this generation can muster up.

It is through the intertwined strands of each of these three characters that Anderson drives home his passionate tale, a film which never fears to play its own game and never, for once, spoon-feeds or hoodwinks its audiences. It might be a tall order indeed, as evidenced by the virtuoso and mind-numbing power of the craft on display here- especially one dream-like sequence of an orgy of burlesque excess that leaves decency and mannerism to its very shreds- but then, some films are worth the intense love that it takes to admire them wholly. ‘The Master’ is after all a ‘master’piece and whenever it commands you to witness its dazzling power, you will surrender gladly. 

My Rating- 5 Stars Out Of 5

Oscars Special: Silence- A Beautiful Meditation On The Quiet Power Of Faith

It takes a special kind of faith to make a film as impassioned and important as ‘Silence’.

Martin Scorsese feels destined to make ‘Silence’ not only because the director has dabbled in the questions of religion, both implicitly and explicitly, in his other films, but also because this is a storyteller who, like a particularly idealistic yet inquisitive missionary on the path of faith, believes.

And belief is what his latest film inspires in us all, though not before it sets out, with customary incisive skill, to probe the very foundations of the extent of our faith in God and religion. ‘Silence’ is no ordinary tale of missionaries and their trials and tribulations in a foreign land that would not succumb so easily to convention; it is a brilliant, breathtaking barnstormer, a film that has the buzz of debate in its raging mind and yet beautiful grace in its execution as it raises important and rattling questions that we would normally try and avoid.

We begin in the misty, murky and medieval Japan of the 17^th century, a land blessed with the boon of Mother Nature and the curse of a trail of bloodshed and violence. This is a land that simply won’t accept an alternate system of faith for reasons that the poor and tortured missionaries as well as their equally hapless followers cannot fully fathom. 

Among the victims is noble Father Ferreira, a man whose eyes are sad and whose heart is shattered over the torture that he and his fellow priests have to go through. He cannot quite understand why a nation so blessed with the miraculous beauty of God cannot really follow the teachings of his Son. 

Scorsese' film, however, is not about Ferreira or his predicament. Rather, it revolves around the two Jesuit priests who are charged, by circumstance rather than command, to find him out. Idealistic Rodrigues and tough-willed Garupe argue that a letter describing Ferreira’s torture and the possibility of him going rogue could be slander and set out to find the truth themselves.

And it is at this point that ‘Silence’ starts feeling as poignant and powerfully intelligent a take on Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart Of Darkness’ as Francis Ford Coppola’s ‘Apocalypse Now’. Like that brilliant novel, Scorsese and Jay Cocks’ immaculate script posits its quest for a missing man as an odyssey into uncharted territory that conceals a greater, more disturbing truth. Like that equally seminal film, this also sets out to explore the real toll of a war on humanity, ideology and faith. The master director achieves both these demanding feats with assured grace and in unexpectedly bold and masterful ways.

We follow Rodrigues and Garupe as they land on the shores of this seemingly hostile nation, where they discover that the reality is far unsettling that what one could imagine. A ragged band of fugitive converts welcomes these two pastors in their midst in a state of elation even as things are dire elsewhere. Their desperate is justified- these are hapless, hunted and outlawed folks who just need the manna of their promised faith as a sign of reassurance even in trouble. Scorsese captures these rituals brilliantly, with a mesmeric, even elegiac pace even as the plot keeps throwing up little nuggets that startle and baffle. When questioned, one of the converts admits that baptism is the only ritual that they know for sure.

Strutting away with deft skill, ‘Silence’ then gazes at the faith and belief of its primary protagonist: Rodrigues himself. Andrew Garfield is a revelation as this well-meaning yet naïve and tormented young pastor who holds an utterly dedicated devotion to his deity but is frequently assailed by the questions of what is right and wrong. It is heart-wrenching to see him imagine the visage of Jesus Christ in his solitude and it is equally devastating to hear him question his idol and God himself on witnessing the harsh fate that awaits the people whose only crime was to heed to his gospel. 

When faced with a disciple who is shaken with the possibility of insulting a symbol of the Christ, he eggs him to do the same, impulsively and impatiently, his own conviction weakened by now. It is a moment of heart-breaking pathos.

It is when Scorsese and Cocks dive in deep and look through his predicament that the film really comes alive and sets out to confront the very idea of faith that becomes the crux of argument. We see hapless converts forced by the ruling chieftains of the land to surrender by denouncing the sacred symbols of the faith and Scorsese recounts these moments of brutality with an unflinching gaze but it is when he mulls over the thoughts, decisions and feelings that accompany these acts of violence and martyrdom that the film really begins to soar. 

Essentially, the film asks us out open: does holding on to a chosen faith or ideology also require a sacrifice of both body and mind? If you renounce a symbol of your faith, have you renounced the whole system of thought itself? These are tough and provocative questions and the film does not answer all of them but it makes way for a strident message that is both stirring and important for our senseless times.

But in ‘Silence’, nothing is even remotely preachy. While paced at an epic length of 160 minutes, there is not a single scene, moment or word that is wasted on redundant plot turns or on any additional sub-text that could make it all relentlessly heavy. Rather, it is a film of lean and mean perspective, a film which sticks with its main thrust of narrative with dedication and also sculpts a starkly balanced parallel between the fledgling status of Christianity and the tough and defiant order of Buddhism in a medieval scenario that is indeed hostile to one faith but tender to another.

Scorsese has always been an extraordinary storyteller and ‘Silence’ sees him depicting the clash of religion and culture as something akin to a brooding Western film, in which the physical beauty of the world around the characters is contrasted with the disillusionment that it holds. 

Rodrigo Prieto’s beautiful camerawork transports us to a land and era that feel vivid and evocative yet utterly credible and authentic. From the coastal villages of Portuguese-occupied Macau to the mesmeric boat trails that are enveloped with the fog of mystery, his vistas of Japan are immersive in their virgin beauty but, most crucially, the visuals compliment the crushing intensity of the story itself. Scorsese and Pieto use the murky mists of the islands to devastating effect, portraying an atmosphere of gloom around the ill-fated characters of the story and, in one shattering scene they let the crashing waves of the sea take the metaphorical form of salvation to the ones who suffer the most for their faith.

Equally effective is the cast of characters that surround Rodrigues and a prudent Garupe (played with serious-minded dignity by Adam Driver) with each of them important to the film’s insightful twists and turns ahead. There is, for instance, Ichizo (Yoshi Oida), the heroic aging leader of the pitiful band of survivors who agrees willingly for the greater sacrifice that his devotion needs, even as others around him squabble for their lives. There is the shifty and weak-willed boatman Kichijiro (a spirited Yosuke Kubokuza) who commits public sacrilege, time and again, in a desperate bid for survival. And finally, there is the cunning inquisitor Masashige ( a sly-witted Issey Ogata) himself, a classic Scorsese villain for ages and a cunning figure of authority who explains his misgivings on a foreign power corrupting his land in the most perfectly believable way ever. 

Rodrigues’ inexorable determination to hold on to his faith leads him on a dark and pre-destined way to a climax where he is finally compelled, and even permitted, to give up his religion and instead embrace the new order of the land. Even as the film shows us little hope for this well-intentioned soldier of God, ‘Silence’ is also a film of miraculous wonder and that heart-stopping open-ended climax leaves us with one universally resonant message: that even in a swamp where nothing can grow, that silent yet passionate voice is always with us to give us hope. We may not hear it always but we need to hold it fondly in our hearts. That will do.

My Rating- 5 Stars Out Of 5

Oscars Special- The Most Deserving Best Picture Oscar Winners

10- The Lord Of The Rings: Return Of The King (2003)

Hollywood is still struggling to come up with one action-packed fantasy epic that would be as extraordinary, as ambitiously intelligent and entertaining as Peter Jackson’s massively monumental take on Tolkien’s immortal swampy fantasy tale. And while the first two films were equally (or, in some ways, even more distinguished) dynamic as the third massive and mesmerising film, one had to hand it to Jackson, his cast and crew for capping off a great saga in truly impressive style. Till date, ‘Return Of The King’ has a benchmark as that rare big-budget Hollywood production that fires on all cylinders with brain and brawn. Even the Oscar juries could not help but join in the celebration and give it a wholly deserving Best Picture trophy along with 10 more wins. Really precious. 

9- Birdman: Or The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance (2014)

Apologies ‘Whiplash’ lovers; in my book, there was no film that year (though if ‘Inherent Vice’ was nominated, that would be a different story) as bold, devilishly inventive and armed with bruising comedy as Alejandro G. Inaritu’s ‘Birdman’- both a masterstroke of cutting-edge technique and fiery storytelling. The seemingly simple narrative- around washed-up actor Riggan Thomson (a superlative Michael Keaton comeback) and his fervent attempts to make his play work at Broadway- was transformed into a rich black satire on celebrity status and Hollywood fads. But there is also a gushing heart of warmth- as Inarritu, with master lens-man Emmanuel Lubezki, brought one-take poetry and humanity to the firecracker dialogue spoken by the great actors around- including a terrific Edward Norton as method-obsessed actor Mike Shiner. 

8- Lawrence Of Arabia (1962)

Sure, it is not really the most perfect biopic ever made; Robert Bolt's simplistic script does streamline a lot of the ambiguity that truly defined British war hero Thomas Edward Lawrence (though Peter O Toole more than compensates with his nuanced and heartfelt performance) and there ain't much politics to talk about. Still, David Lean's penultimate epic had all the qualities of truly grand epic cinema and it was heartening to see it receive love in the form of a slew of  golden statuettes. This was also one of the rare times when the Oscars played it safe and ended up awarding a film that almost everyone could agree upon. Even today, many historical dramas are trying to match the victory of this sensuously shot and superbly acted Middle-Eastern yarn. 

7- Annie Hall (1977)

The greatest rom-com of all time beat fair and square the greatest blockbuster of the era by a wide margin of valid debate. Was it right that Woody Allen's irresistibly charming anatomy of a breakup was more subversive than George Lucas genre-altering 'Star Wars'? The answer lies in the fact that so much of 'Annie Hall' endures in public memory. Long before we all made hilarious memes to caption our imaginary conversations, the write-director gave subtitles to nasty thoughts and suspicions as a couple exchange pointless talk in one of the many iconically comical scenes. The rest is equally cracking in its roaring mirth but above all, Alvy Singer (Allen himself) and Diane Keaton's stunning titular New Yorker made for a really everlasting screen couple. You can almost imagine the jury members with their eyes twinkling. 

6- The French Connection (1971)

Hot on the heels of the fast and furious cop classic 'In The Heat Of The Night' and the censorship-subverting power of 'Midnight Cowboy', William Friedkin's masterful cops and criminals thriller was just the kind of new-age cinematic potboiler that needed to be celebrated. The film itself is still a marvel after all these years- a ruthlessly cut, frenetically shot and sleekly streamlined yarn in which a pair of downbeat New York cops (especially Gene Hackman's lovably raffish pork-pie-hatted Popeye Doyle) took on a sneaky drug cartel smuggling in drugs from France. Not only did it set the benchmark of thrills that none of the action films were unable to match; it was also one of the first moments when the awards circuits were warming up to the new-found parallel cinema.

5- The Bridge On The River Kwai (1957)

Lean's massive Panavision epic 'Lawrence Of Arabia' might have won a lot of fanfare but nearly everyone forgets how special his earlier Oscar triumph is. A war drama that is more of a battle of wits and ideologies than actual explosives, 'Kwai' is the kind of intelligent POW entertainer that directors have forgotten to make. The film's attention to period detail is commendable as always (how can you fault Lean?) but it was its focus on characterisation that gives it the edge. The central conflict- between the inexorable Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa) and the equally belligerent Nicholson (a superb Alec Guinness)- plays out in a tense clash of cultures as the latter insists on building the eponymous bridge in well-aimed defiance. For all the subtext, Lean also demonstrates incredible fireworks in the climax; no wonder everyone was impressed.

4- Casablanca (1942)

I pray for Vishal Bhardwaj's 'Rangoon' to be at least half as good as Michael Curtiz' evergreen WW2 romance that explored not only the turbulence of the ongoing war but also the beating hearts in midst of it. To begin with, it was packed to the brim with unforgettable moments, all servicing a quick-paced and rattling script about twisted love and loyalties and that cast of fine actors- including Humphrey Bogart's spectacularly cynical Rick Blaine- do complete justice to the drama that it requires. Secondly, the romance throbs with purpose and passion and culminates compellingly in one of the best reveals ever. Lastly, in face of such perfection all around, the question is: can Oscar juries ever resist a film so wonderfully romantic and so endlessly enthralling from start to finish?

3- The Departed (2006)

We were all waiting for one moment when a Scorsese film would find its rightful place in the hall of fame and when it did happen, some of us were criminally skeptical. On the surface, 'The Departed' looked a tad conventional in face of the extraordinary work done in the past and even after that. But give it another watch and discover the layers of detail, devilish wit and delirious emotion that Marty packed to pad an ingenious formula of identity. Bolstered with a stunning cast of performances and all the trademark fireworks (blistering profanity, bloody deaths and ballsy rock-and-roll), 'The Departed' was also proof that true masters can remake good films into great ones (as my review further describes it). The master of urban drama had reclaimed the genre for once and for all.

2- The Godfather Part 2 (1974)

It was the tallest order of all time- to make a sequel that would match every bit of the exceptionally high yardstick achieved by that first seminal film. And even the Oscar juries could be initially skeptical when they were considering if they should repeat the same decision that they took a couple of years ago. But even if you are not an awards jury member, the sheer craft and storytelling brilliance on display is all too evident. For not even once does Coppola let the standards dip; in fact, he even raises the bar higher by presenting us a haunting and mesmerising tale of intertwined future and past of the Corleones, played here by two fascinating young actors at the top of their game. In the process was born the greatest sequel of all time. 

1- Schindler's List (1993)

We look back every year at the respective winner of the big Oscar prize and we feel either awe or doubt; we are either elated or skeptical whether the said film really did deserve it or whether there will be always some other film which deserved it more. Over the years, the Academy's own decisions have ranged to being spot-on, safe play and even simply outrageous and they have all left cinephiles wondering whether it was right or wrong. But if there is one film that everyone- from the critics to the audiences to the jury to the film-lovers- could agree upon, it had to be 'Schindler's List'.

It is, first and foremost, a story that deserved to be told and that too by a director as monumental and larger-than-life as Steven Spielberg no less. Sure, equally worthy films had been made about the sorry state of the Jews in the Holocaust horrors before as well but perhaps all we needed was a mainstream director bellowing the same message with truly persuasive force. What came as a pleasantly enlightening surprise was how deft, intelligent and majestic did the final film feel. 

Spielberg has done amazing work all around in almost every genre but he will always have this triumph right up there to be most proud of. A tale of survival against the brutal reality of torture and ostracisation, it is also a film which explores its horrors with unfurnished realism and its heroism with objective accuracy. It is also a film bursting with compelling storytelling, stellar performances (Liam Neeson's flawed Schindler matched by Ralph Fiennes' psychotic Amon Goeth) and such a mastery of narrative that you could forget that it was the man who was only making entertainers a decade ago. Since then, Steve has never failed to surprise us all.