The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2012)

Anderson has vigorously denied that this is the story of the founder of Scientology, probably because no-one wants Tom Cruise taking a contract out on them, and it's true that there are enough divergences from L.Ron Hubbard's life to cover the director's back. Nevertheless it's hard to avoid the parallels, particularly when Philip Seymour Hoffman introduces himself as a master of a host of disciplines, ranging from writer to nuclear physicist.
An explicit biopic would in fact have made for a more interesting film: what we get instead is two superlative actors, Joaquin Phoenix's alcoholic simpleton in the pocket of Hoffman's guru, bouncing off each other over the years of their acquaintance. Phoenix throws all his method tricks into the mix, all tics, mumbling and unpredictable explosions of violence while Hoffman smirks and bullies those who disbelieve in his demented creed. But there is no discernible reason for the preacher to take the troubled disciple under his wing, having no money, talent or wit to exploit, and the only purpose the character seems to serve is to show what a control freak the leader is. This, then is a seductively handsome farrago that constantly hints at substance without actually delivering any. Exactly like the master, in fact.

5/10