THE MASTER: P.T. Anderson’s Enigma of a Man Decoded

But this has its upsides. Without a doubt, the viewer feels that they are not being fed something made in haste; they feel appreciated when they receive a film that is visually and narratively polished in every aspect. This is how a recognizable brand is created, and Anderson’s name has undoubtedly become one.

Paul Thomas Anderson is already a classic. If anyone had doubts after Boogie Nights or Magnolia, they surely reconsidered after watching There Will Be Blood. Without question, we are now looking at a director worthy of soon being included in the canon of world cinema. Once, Anderson was compared to Robert Altman and Todd Solondz as a keen observer of American society. Nowadays, he is spoken of as the successor to Stanley Kubrick himself, with a love for meticulousness, long takes, and a specific sense of humor.

It is no surprise, then, that every time a new masterpiece signed by his name is expected, it is accompanied by great emotions, bordering on growing excitement. I was sure Anderson would once again show his class and not disappoint. And perhaps it was this certainty that killed me because my reaction to The Master was at least inadequate to my expectations. Yes, I knew I was dealing with something extraordinary, but for the life of me, I couldn’t process it in any way. And I think that’s still the case. Partly for this reason—but also due to the lack of thorough texts about then Anderson’s latest work—I decided to take a closer look at The Master. Maybe this review will help me—or you—sort out my thoughts and evaluate it properly.

Let’s start from the beginning. When the first rumors suggested that the screenplay for the successor to the genius There Will Be Blood was loosely based on the life story of L. Ron Hubbard—an author of fantasy and science fiction stories but known primarily as the founder of the Church of Scientology—there was an uproar. After all, making a film about any religion carries a high likelihood of controversy, especially when it involves a very influential and destructive cult, as Hubbard’s creation is undoubtedly considered. This organization, which calls itself religious, is dedicated to promoting the development of the human spirit, along with counseling and rehabilitation programs. Many members of this organization claim that Hubbard’s teachings (known in Scientology terminology as “technology”) freed them from addictions, depression, neuroses, mental illnesses, and other troubles.

The offerings of such courses or Scientology practices are not free—the road to “salvation” is long and very costly, which is why Scientology is called the “religion of the rich.” Since its inception, Scientology has been the subject of many controversies, attacks, and criticism, mainly from the Catholic Church and medical circles, particularly psychologists. Its activities have been entirely or partially banned in some European countries (e.g., France, Germany). Moreover, it has been accused of economic crimes, psychological terror, and human rights violations. The penalties for those who try to leave the teachings and membership are very severe. It is also a sect hostile to those who dare to criticize it.

The fact that a film referencing Scientology in any way was being made was likely enough for the production to be halted at a very early stage. Anderson did not have it easy. Scientologists are described as very influential in Hollywood, leading to speculation that the sect might have blocked the production of the film out of fear that the creators would portray its founder in an unfavorable light. Thus, for “unexplained” reasons, Universal Studios refused the director the promised $35 million. Fortunately, someone unafraid of Scientology’s blackmail stepped in and had no problem funding the start of filming. That investor was Megan Ellison, heiress to the fortune of Larry Ellison, billionaire and head of Oracle, the world’s third-largest software vendor by revenue, after Microsoft and IBM.

Ellison had recently become interested in cinema, as she is the founder of the production company Annapurna Pictures, which funded the Coen brothers’ True Grit, Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty, and Andrew Dominik’s Killing Them Softly. So all that was left was to wait and bite our nails in anticipation.

And it worked out. The film premiered at the Venice Film Festival, where it was included in the main competition almost at the last moment, which didn’t prevent it from being considered a frontrunner for the Golden Lion. Of course, as expected, the Church of Scientology condemned Anderson’s film, which unintentionally became a good marketing ploy. Audiences flocked to the film in droves. However, the crowds at the screenings did not translate into a heated discussion about the film itself. The first voices were very muted, if not cautious. For such a highly anticipated work, things got too quiet around The Master. Anderson’s films have never been easy to digest, but with The Master, the director outdid himself.

And it’s no wonder. Maybe if he had openly admitted that this was a film about Scientologists, people would have known how to categorize it. Once again, we are dealing with a film that can be understood in several ways, but perhaps for the first time in Anderson’s career, with a film that is so hard to comprehend.

Let’s start, however, with the connections between *The Master* and Scientology, which are so palpable during the screening. I mentioned earlier that the character of Lancaster Dodd, brilliantly portrayed by Philip Seymour Hoffman, is loosely based on the real L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the Church of Scientology. There are quite a few references. For instance, Dodd, like Hubbard, was married multiple times (and later these wives spoke out against him), traveled to England where he spread his ideas mainly through books, enjoyed creating his works at sea, and had a strong penchant for speed, which ended in a motorcycle accident that caused him severe bodily injuries. Like Hubbard, Dodd presented himself as a writer, doctor, and nuclear physicist.

And here’s an interesting fact: the real Hubbard actually fabricated his claim to being a nuclear physicist. This was important since his religion was supposed to be based on science—to develop Scientology (which must be translated as “the science of science”), he needed the authority of a scientist with deep knowledge. However, the reality was much more modest. While Hubbard did attend nuclear physics classes at George Washington University in Washington, D.C., he struggled with the material and was eventually dropped from the class list. Today, of course, Scientologists deny that their guru had educational problems. The film also gives us signals that Lancaster Dodd is not really a well-read man, and certainly not someone with any academic degrees.

However, what stands out the most is the method of investigation, a sort of experiment in which the main character participates. The investigation is somewhat reminiscent of an interview. Freddie answers a series of repetitive questions, aimed at provoking a desired reaction from Dodd. Anderson was inspired here by the controversial practice known as auditing. The process is supposed to help people rid themselves of the burden of certain traumatic events, or rather their records in the mind (called engrams in Scientology), which are often related to painful past experiences but are so repressed that the person is unable to recall them, yet still reacts emotionally to similar situations. The auditor, someone like Dodd in the film, asks the audited person questions or gives commands designed to trigger a “return” to a specific event (and thus recall it) and relive it multiple times until the emotional responses disappear.

The final emotional state is relief, sometimes even euphoria, and a full understanding of one’s previous irrational behaviors. Auditing is currently a lengthy process and can cost many thousands of dollars. In his film, Anderson, while altering the form of the questions somewhat, referenced early techniques developed by Hubbard, which the guru tested on new recruits to his church. In the film, we also see the use of hypnosis and frequent mentions of reincarnation, which also appear in Scientology. Of course, Anderson does not explicitly say that Scientology is bad, harmful, or in any way foolish, although one can sense that he is winking at us from the screen. This is a skill few creators possess, and Anderson undoubtedly deserves praise for it.

However, The Master is not merely a film about the creator of Scientology, nor is it simply a film inspired by his biography. When crafting the script for his next production, Anderson was also influenced by John Huston’s documentary Let There Be Light, which deals with the critical effects that World War II had on American soldiers and their psyches—a phenomenon akin to the contemporary “Gulf War syndrome,” more formally known as shellshock. In this regard, The Master can be considered an anti-war film. From the very first scenes, we witness the extensive damage caused by war—not in terms of ruined landscapes filled with destroyed buildings, but rather the devastation inflicted on the human psyche.

In these initial scenes, Anderson skillfully captures the spirit of post-war America by showing drunk soldiers and their lost expressions upon returning home. The film also touches on the issue of alcoholism, portrayed through the stories of Jason Robards’ experiences with alcohol, which the actor shared with Anderson during the filming of Magnolia. Therefore, from the very beginning, this latest work defied easy categorization.

It wasn’t until after several viewings that I realized The Master is, at its core, a typical Paul Thomas Anderson film about human relationships and how these relationships inevitably affect one another. Once again, the creator of Magnolia presents us with the collision of two vastly different worlds, drawn together by some inexplicable force. Once again, we witness the confrontation of two extraordinary personalities—a battle of male characters. However, Anderson throws everyone off by complicating matters and emphasizing in interviews that his primary intention was to tell a love story. Is that really the case? I don’t rule it out, but more on that later. Initially, I thought I wouldn’t be easily swayed by the director’s assurances.

Yes, the relationship between the main characters is based on mutual fascination, but undoubtedly, their closeness can be examined on many levels. There is a mix of the student’s fascination with the master, as seen in Hard Eight, but also the desperation of a son rejected and seeking the approval of an all-powerful father, a theme familiar from There Will Be Blood. There is also a religious conflict, where simple, almost crude, secular thinking clashes with inspired intellect. Let’s take a closer look at the main characters to try to understand their complex relationship.

One of them is Freddie Quell. Left to his own devices along with his war-induced nightmares, which he tries to drown out with alcohol, Freddie cannot find his place in ordinary life.

Everything he touches falls apart—due to his outbursts of aggression and constant drunken binges, he keeps losing jobs. He is a lost man, unfit for life, dehumanized by the war, and enslaved by addiction. Freddie desperately seeks closeness, understanding, and, above all, solace for his restless soul. In his search, he seems so desperate that he is willing to trust something he doesn’t fully understand. And at this moment, a glimmer of hope appears—someone extends a helping hand. That someone is Lancaster Dodd, the founder of a scientifically-religious organization called The Cause.

Freddie meets his Master just in time. Any later, and he might have hit rock bottom, drowning in his alcohol-induced stupor. Despite initial distrust and the absurdity of the whole The Cause affair, which he doesn’t fully comprehend, he simply goes along with it. He is so eager to grasp this elusive thread of connection, to believe in the illusion of familial warmth or simply in his own usefulness and sense of belonging, that he overlooks the brainwashing Dodd subjects him to in his “tests and exercises.” Loneliness and the war have twisted him to the point where he assumes the role of a kind of guinea pig. Yet, this dubious therapy stimulates him. Freddie opens up to the Master, and although he cannot name it, he also begins to open up to himself, externalizing his sensitivity and starting to express his emotions. And here, a kind of fascination develops between him and the Master, although each is fascinated by something different.

Freddie is captivated by what he doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t grasp the words Lancaster says, but the effect they have on him brings him solace. Moreover, Dodd appears to him as a successful man, with a vision of his own image, capable of creating an illusion of authority and an aura of mystery that hypnotizes and attracts. His charisma enables him to win people over, making them believe every word he says, even if it raises doubts. And this is likely what fascinates Freddie. On the other hand, what draws Dodd to Freddie is his individuality. Quell represents a different type of person, someone Dodd has never encountered before and doesn’t fully understand. Freddie embodies an animalistic nature and wild freedom, which Dodd’s teachings deny.

He is independent, capable of breaking all rules, enjoying simple pleasures, and following his instincts rather than suppressing them. For Lancaster, Freddie is the perfect research subject, a blank slate on which to rewrite everything anew.

And here is where cracks begin to appear in their relationship. Their fascination is based on a misunderstanding that is bound to surface eventually. These are two different worlds that met by chance and, instead of stopping, should have continued on their separate orbits. Moreover, the deeper Freddie delves into himself, the more he engages with The Cause, the more questions and doubts arise in his mind. He begins to see the validity of the criticism directed at Dodd, which he himself reacts to aggressively. He notices that his Master is not entirely respected, especially by his son, who appears to Freddie as a duplicitous figure. And, most importantly, the Master begins to appear as a giant with feet of clay, a perfect image that starts to show cracks.

The more Dodd tries to open Freddie’s eyes to his truths, the more he opens them to his own flaws, his helplessness in the face of criticism directed at him. He exposes his weakness. We don’t see this clearly—Anderson doesn’t lay everything out for us, doesn’t draw anything in bold strokes. Everything is based on subtle nuances that play out between Dodd and Freddie and in the decisions the characters make. There is no gradual buildup of tension here, like in Magnolia, where the tension practically exploded, leading the viewer to a grand finale. Here, the countdown to the most important moment in the film happens in whispers. However, we won’t see a rain of frogs or a bloodbath here. Catharsis comes quietly, almost shyly.

At the climax, during another “exercise,” Freddie simply gets on a motorcycle and rides away. Just that, and yet so much more. Independence wins. And in the aftermath of this event, the Master once again reveals his weakness. At their next meeting, this great visionary admits that he needs Quell and that, in a way, Freddie is his master. Moreover, he fears their separation to the point that if Freddie leaves, he doesn’t want to see him again. Dodd envies Freddie’s freedom and needs to feel that independence, even if only through his presence. He also craves the sense of power he thought he had over Freddie, as evidenced in the final scene when Freddie lies with a naked woman, asking her the same questions the Master once asked him, parodying his “process.

” This shows that he no longer needs Dodd, that he has freed himself from Lancaster’s influence, but it also testifies to the lasting impact this relationship has had on him and that, in a sense, he will never forget it.

Paul Thomas Anderson suggests something similar in interviews: They go through a lot together, but they start and end the same way. Perhaps that’s what this film is about—the struggle with life, both one’s own and someone else’s, with all its problems. Despite the hope, it ultimately leads to no resolution. Unfortunately, people are capable of ending any relationship in a cloud of unspoken words or misunderstandings. Just like that, without any explanation. Simply because we subconsciously feel that something is off or that something has burned out. And this happens even if we think that this relationship will undoubtedly change our lives, that it will be the one that lasts forever. And in this way, our relationships with others ultimately lead to nothing.

Is this what the director wanted to tell us? Did Freddie feel that something was off, or did his fascination simply fade? Or perhaps much deeper emotions are at play here. Maybe this is where the love story Anderson hinted at comes into play?

And what about this love story? Instead of searching for homosexual undertones, I would rather see it as a complex relationship between God and man. Why do I mention this in the context of love? Because Christianity is fundamentally based on love—love for one’s neighbor, but also love for God, who is also called Love. God is love: whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them (1 John 4:16b). The idea that God is love expresses the deepest essence of who God is and what He is like—this is what the Church teaches us, right? Love is not just a characteristic of God: God doesn’t just love; He is love. Love originates from Him, from His very essence. At this point, many might smile condescendingly, but let’s try for a moment to detach ourselves from the scientology nonsense and imagine that the face of Philip Seymour Hoffman is the face of God, whom the lost Joaquin Phoenix encounters.

As crazy as it sounds, Anderson’s film is, in a sense, an attempt to examine the condition of a believer, more specifically, someone searching for their faith. In the character of Freddie, we can see a person living without God, but consumed by emptiness and the lack of meaning in their existence. Such a person seeks God, wants to believe in something, but when they finally find Him, they cannot fully surrender or trust. Yet there are always difficulties, doubts, questions that can’t be answered, dogmas that can’t be questioned, and certainly no dialogue can be initiated about them. Suddenly, faith becomes a limitation of freedom. Certain things are forbidden because they are written in the commandments.

Because love for God requires complete devotion, trust, and submission to something incomprehensible; it requires the unquestioning acceptance of teachings and commandments that are supposedly for our salvation. This is why a person’s love for God is never perfect because they must believe in something promised to them, something that is uncertain, and undoubtedly incomprehensible. In fact, the Bible even states that humans are not capable of such love. And often, people distance themselves from God, not realizing that He will always, in some way, remain present in their lives. This is exactly what happens with the film’s Freddie, who seeks his place, understanding, and finds it in the person of Lancaster Dodd.

He accepts Dodd’s teachings, although he doesn’t fully grasp his words. He tries to trust him, as Dodd promises him relief from his troubles. However, Freddie begins to doubt, to feel constrained, because he feels like a puppet on strings, being told to walk from wall to wall. He rebels and ultimately turns away and escapes from his Master, all the while being aware that, in some way, Dodd’s teachings—or perhaps even Dodd himself—will always be present in his life.

The Master is undoubtedly one of Paul Thomas Anderson’s most challenging films. It certainly contains elements reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick’s cinema (I would point to the effortless sense of humor, bitter and requiring understanding), but also a certain kind of enigma that reminds me of Terrence Malick’s films, and perhaps even Andrei Tarkovsky. The above interpretation is, as I suspect, just one of many possible ones. Perhaps someone else has noticed something more in this work? This is not a closed text. Here, everyone can add something of their own, their own interpretation. Or perhaps I’m overthinking all of this.

Maybe it’s because I’m blindly devoted to my Master of  and am desperately searching for any interpretation. Even if that’s the case, it’s worth it. The name of the creator of the brilliant Magnolia or There Will Be Blood certainly guarantees cinema of the highest level. For me, The Master is one of his most important films, and I didn’t even need to write about it. Anderson is simply my Master. And this film is simply a masterpiece.

Written by Andrzej Brzezinski