The Mastermind is Masterful
By Paul Reiley
Kelly Reichardt has a deep fascination with people forgotten by time: those slowly erased by the American imperialist machine. Whether that’s the misleading and oppressive notion of an “American dream” in the emerging capitalist landscape of First Cow, or the navigations of a waning friendship in Old Joy while the Iraq invasion is ever-presently in the background. These confrontations of our political time function as a contextual force, often unstated, yet always present. The correlation between systematic injustice and individual dissatisfaction is a core tension of Reichardt's latest feature, The Mastermind.
This film follows James Blaine (JB) Mooney, an amateur art thief played by Josh O’Connor, as he plans and follows through with his first heist, always guided by the film’s electrifying jazzy score. The music intentionally contrasts with Reichardt's slow cinema sensibilities. It’s a strange film, one that keeps its cards very close to its chest. The first half of this film could initially read as fairly conventional on a narrative level, especially for this director. Yet its presentation sets it apart from other heist films. There are so many moments where Reichardt chooses to hold on, letting us feel the scene’s rhythm and, often, its monotony. The relatively slow pace is a key component of her signature style of evocative filmmaking. It puts us into the perspective of this protagonist, a crucial choice for the themes Reichardt ends up tackling.
However, even with Reichardt’s signature style pouring into the cracks of this experience, there are still many familiar elements initially at work. This very conventionality is what Reichardt is dissecting, mainly through the second half of the film. It builds up your expectations and then forces you to confront them by the end. This notion is brought to the forefront of the film after JB is forced to deal with the repercussions of his robbery. In a subtly crucial scene, we learn the connection between the art he steals and a specific individual from his past, which implicitly informs the audience about his motivations in a moment that reveals so much about his worldview and contextualizes all his actions. The film continues to feel smaller and more desolate after this moment, diving deeper into what JB is feeling and thinking. O’Connor plays his character in a reserved way, functionally de-glamorizing art theft as a whole. More than most of Reichardt’s other films, this is a true character study. JB’s perspective is crucial to understanding what this film is communicating.
A recurring theme of pushed-aside politics consistently pops up throughout the film. Every time the war in Vietnam or protests are depicted or mentioned, they’re subsequently ignored by JB, as well as the rest of the cast. A quiet indictment of American authoritarianism culminates within the film. This theme is built up throughout the movie, rearing its head at every turn. It grows and grows until it explodes in the most hilariously perfect way. This background detail, and what we garner surrounding JB’s motivations, are what informs a major takeaway from the film: the misappropriated channeling of systemically-sparked dissatisfaction towards an individual.
It is so easy to ignore the history you’re living in until you’re swept up by it, leaving you just as forgotten. It is a wonderfully complex little thing that is both electrifying and brilliantly slow. Kelly Reichardt Jazz Heist = Good movie. 9/10.