A forgetable movie about a forgetable cult, but great acting and superb camera work.
The K-landnews 'one hit wonder movie critic' insisted on a few hundred bytes worth of posting space, and we agreed because we want our contributors to feel valued and be happy.
The Master is neither Steinbeck nor Scientology, but if fucking a heap of sand was one of your unfulfilled phantasies as an adolescent male, you will be pleased. And right about the time you get bored with the movie, you will be awoken from your stupor by the parade of nudies at the wealthy lady's home.
We agree with the mainstream glowing reviews in that the retro camera work is a feast for the eyes but, honestly, you can get great retro on Tumblr or even Instagram.
The advantage of the latter two is that they don't have to pretend to present a storyline. If I think about it, that is where The Master is closer to a run of the mill porn flick than I previously realized: the scenes that are the lead-up to or the glue between the major cinematographic moments of the film are just like these awkward lead-ups in a skin flick.
Like the two minutes between the pizza delivery hunk ringing the doorbell to the moment the hunk and the door belle do what they do best.
And when the actors in The Master do what they do best, we can forgive them these awkward lead-ins and transitions with the same ease as we forgive the nudie actors.
Still a lot better than Argo.
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