They've done it for billions of years or not at all. A popular mode of thinking in academia is finding contemporary parallel to artists long past, embodying a technique and vision lost were it not resurgent with new faces: Tarkovsky and Malick, or Hitchcock and Nolan. 2007 birthed a Kubrick renaissance in what now deserves no title less than masterpiece. There Will Be Blood featured shots easily compared to 2001: A Space Odyssey, functioning with a Kubrickian coldness and attention to detail otherwise mostly absent in contemporary cinema. The revival continued with a constitution of wild and sometimes alienating ambition, fucking the audience with subverted expectations and unresolved sensualism.

Ultimately, can man escape the animalism commanding human behavior? Processing plays like fucked up foreplay, reducing Dodd's intellectualism to a base eroticism and a yearning of affirmation from his new muse. In contrast, Freddie wrestles to impress him, initiating a mutual addiction that comes to charge the remainder of the film. Like any addiction, expectations of catharsis and release are constantly thwarted, building intimate tension that explodes in key scenes between them-often within the magnificent confines of a single shot. For a film so utterly obsessed with eroticism, either through sexual tension, nudity, suggestive glances and touches, it's nearly always only ever fleeting. It's a remarkable thing to note the film possesses not a single sex scene (other than, arguably, the very end). That too reaches no catharsis, leaving a lingering frustration in the characters, an adequate metaphor for the entire film.

Dodd is aware Freddie is untamed. He knows too, if Freddie stays, it will end badly for him, and his movement. But it is an addiction, it is compulsive, and it will never be resolved. This dynamic is a great filter through which to understand much of the film- an apparently contradictory nature unraveling strained truths difficult to face as a society, and as individuals. We must be led, just as wish to be followed, these two opposing designs hoping still to secure a sense of permanence and identity that a master may refute- a primary contradiction in American culture especially. Anderson exposes the limitations of belief in any form while highlighting the absolute necessity for guidance and emotional grounding, reinforced by the causal relationship between trauma and disposition. Battle and war fuel a rage already burning, in Freddie's case, it's a lasting incestual experience from youth- patriotism enabling and activating the darkest parts of ourselves for the good of the flag. It's here the drifter is born, combing through the crevices of society to find a place you fit.

Highlighted by a friend equally entrapped by the film, the sand woman is incredibly important. On a more superficial level, she reveals his 'quirks' to the audience, but her continued presence in the film, from the opening where he can't tear himself away from her to flashbacks in which he states longingly into her sandy breasts. Any wave will wash her away, making her crumble and fall to pieces, and her continued existence is a risk right at the edge of the tide. Equally, Freddie is fragile, likely to collapse or disintegrate, and just as susceptible to the exploitation of the water. It's not then a coincidence Freddie is seduced by a radiant party, or that it was on a boat (symbol of transference and subconscious) about to travel underneath and through an iconic American landmark.

The Master is a hopelessly inquisitive film, remembering fondly the joy of elusive, enigmatic cinema. Crafted with an unparalleled devotion in every shot, such as the camera unable to stabilize itself as Freddie gallops through a barren field or revealing sweeping vistas in creatively lit facial close ups. It penetrates the subconscious, rattling your core and wreaking havoc, leaving the viewer defeated and simultaneously invigorated, a fitting feeling to be left with from such an utterly singular and audacious film. Paul Thomas Anderson's latest tour de force has much left to be said about it- and perhaps it always will, harkening back to a cherished time where streaks of light and a classical hotel suite are a celebrated invitation for exploration.