Have you ever thought to yourself, “Gee, I wish there were something else for me to do at 6:30 on a Friday night besides talk to my friends and get prematurely drunk?” Yeah, none of my friends have either, which is why I saw The Master alone Friday night. But before you get too upset and start rushing out to the Bookstore to get me a sympathy card, don’t worry: it was awesome. If you’re looking to procrastinate in a more productive way than by teaching yourself yo-yo tricks and watching live baseball streams (maybe those are just me, actually), then head down to the Avon this week and catch The Master. You won’t be disappointed (unless you are, in which case don’t hold me accountable, you ungrateful bastard).
So, what is The Master about? It’s about a lot of things: how weird Scientology (or actually “The Cause,” but we all know what’s really going on here) is; how it might be a fun idea to test how many close-ups of Joaquim Phoenix’s face can be shown in one feature-length film without alienating the entire audience; how director Paul Thomas Anderson really wants an Oscar; how you, the audience member, are clearly not intelligent enough to fully understand the remarkable, important messages at play here. Mostly that last one, actually–this is clearly a film where you realize that there is a life-changing, maybe universe-altering revelation hidden somewhere deep inside, but your puny little brain just isn’t cultured enough to see it.