Haha, professional movie blogger.

As I already tweeted and instagram’d about because everyone needs to know what everyone else is doing immediately, I saw Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master at the Ziegfeld Theatre in New York City last night. I bought the $10 ticket over a week in advance, not realizing it would be some legit premiere — although I should have guessed considering how awesome a theater it is. Yeah, there were some movie stars and important people but the coolest part was the free unlimited water and popcorn. I made sure to take advantage of that. My dinner was three small popcorns, and it was glorious. Fuck your paleo diet.

All right, enough about the extraneous garbage: I was there to see a film (in 70mm!) from one of the best filmmakers out there, one whose deliberateness in releasing new films makes the anticipation for each one that much greater. Unfortunately, right before the film started, Harvey Weinstein had to bring up politics because it was 9/11, but it was quickly forgotten once the film started.

The Master is not actually about Philip Seymour Hoffman’s “Master” nor is it about Scientology, despite having some similarities; it’s about Joaquin Phoenix’s broken Freddie Quell, a character in which Phoenix makes himself almost unrecognizable. I haven’t seen I’m Still Here, but I’m guessing that was something of a warm-up for the insane transformation he’s made here. Freddie constantly hunches over, makes unsettling contortions of his mouth and eyes, and slurs his words unintelligibly at times. He’s a violent, unpredictable drunk who cannot assimilate into society after his service in World War II. By total chance he literally stumbles across Lancaster “Master” Dodd (I could see this being a Chris Berman nickname), and a bond forms between the two almost immediately.

I know I said that the film is about Freddie, but perhaps it’s more about the relationship between Master and Freddie. And the performances from Hoffman and Phoenix are pretty much all someone could ask for. It’s an amazingly straight-forward film, especially for Anderson, but these two actors put on some showcases that are enthralling to watch. There’s a devastating scene featuring what Master calls “processing” (this seems like a nod to the Scientology influence) and a jail cell scene where both Master and Freddie absolutely explode. But instead of a climatic scene being the conclusion of the film like There Will Be Blood, The Master chronicles the slow disintegration of their relationship, a process that seems to hurt Master more than Freddie in the end.

If you’ve seen any other PTA films, you know he makes pretty moving pictures. The Master continues this tradition, and being shot totally in 65mm* helps. I cannot recommend enough going out and watching this in a theater equipped for it, but like IMAX, not many people have access to the real thing. Yet while the film is beautiful, I’d say PTA is less showy here than in his other work I’m familiar with (I haven’t seen Hard Eight). Boogie Nights had him aping Goodfellas for that opening tracking shot, Magnolia had raining frogs, Punch-Drunk Love had that scene-transition flair, and There Will Be Blood had the long wordless beginning and the oil rig explosion set piece. TWBB in particular comes across as a showcase for Daniel Day-Lewis, topped off by that final “I’m finished” line. The Master in comparison comes across as a more restrained affair, keeping its hold over the audience for its running time, throwing in a few pieces of comic relief, but leaving many audience members a little empty.

*I know I said I saw it in 70mm earlier, but that’s all I keep hearing, but then I read it was filmed in 65mm. Apparently the difference is the section used for the soundtrack? I really don’t know for sure.

The Master has to be the least entertaining PTA film I’ve seen. It’s not fun seeing Freddie Quell self-destruct, or Master trying to defend his outrageous claims about memory and past lives. There aren’t many surprises or absurdly amusing scenes. Despite the various locations in the film, it’s not detailing the fall of an entire industry, the intertwined lives of a dozen people, or the rise and moral fall of an oil magnate. This is an intimate film that perhaps counter-intuitively coldly keeps its distance. Amy Adams’ character (Mary Sue Dodd) might be the embodiment of that coldness, as she comes across as the true Master in some scenes. It’s a dynamic that shows that she’s helping Lancaster remain Master, stopping him from falling prey to the wildness of Freddie. It’s Freddie’s freespiritedness, undoubtedly fueled by his psychological issues and alcoholism, that draws Master to him. It’s a love story that’s not meant for a happy ending though, unlike the romance in Punch-Drunk Love.

Watching Punch-Drunk Love for the first time right before going to see The Master might have colored my view of the latter, but I enjoyed watching the former so much more. The Master is the work of a more mature, more confident filmmaker, and I’m sure Anderson made the film he wanted to make; it’s just that The Master is not the most fun 160 minutes you could spend in a theater. It plods along at times when it comes to Freddie’s therapy or processing or whatever Master refers to it as. And ultimately, Freddie doesn’t experience much growth, which kinda reminds me of another film that left me cold, Shame. I feel like I shouldn’t even bring that film up, as I think it’s hilariously self-aware about its artistic aspirations. But it came to mind, so I thought I’d throw it in here because I’m not quite sure how critics manage to write long film reviews.

Maybe I need another viewing — this time closer to the screen — to fully appreciate what Anderson has done here. There’s not much to nitpick when I try to critique the film, only the nagging feeling of being somewhat unsatisfied. It could be that I’m jealous of Freddie’s one-track sexual mind, where he’s able to suppress all his dark memories until someone forces them to come out. It could be that we’re all stuck somewhere between Freddie’s compete carelessness and recklessness and Master’s desire to achieve human perfection, despite his own all-too-human flaws. I know that I’ve been lost in my quest to balance the two for my entire adult life.

You were going to see The Master no matter what I said. Go see it.

This is the reason why I took Conan off the header. I love Conan, but this week looks to be a totally awesome one for The Colbert Report. This kickoff episode for his Operation Iraqi Stephen rocked on so many levels.

Man, I love how many shows are on Hulu. It allows me to embed a ton of shit without having to actually write stuff.

FlowingData is probably the least interesting to non-stat geeks. I haven’t even had the chance to browse through the majority of the website, but their Walmart map that shows the spread of that retail virus alone makes the site worth a look. There is a plethora of cool graphical visualizations, covering topics ranging from nation literacy rates to Twitter monitoring to box office receipts.

Scanwiches is probably a more appetizing (I’m sorry) website to most people. I don’t know how the hell one comes up with the idea to post scans of sandwiches from across NYC every day, but I would definitely thank them if I lived in the city.

Badpaintingsofbarackobama.com is just ridiculous. There really isn’t much to say. But after the jump, there is an incredibly mystifying piece not featured on the site. Just a warning, it features the unlikely duo of Mexican food and 9/11.

I see someone has been reading my posts regarding Tom Brady. I’m glad someone was truly able to visualize it. Along with tacos. And creepy ghosts. And Dick Cheney holding a chili pepper. There is not one part of that painting that isn’t unsettling, is there?

But this obviously is not what this post is about, as the title above should imply, it is about how Churchill’s eloquence was on a plane of awesomeness not often seen — or perhaps more accurately, heard — in this world. I just wanted to post an example here, in reaction to the aftermath of Chamberlain’s appeasement of Hitler at Munich in 1938:

All is over. Silent, mournful, abandoned, broken, Czechoslovakia recedes into the darkness. She has suffered in every respect by her associations with France, under whose guidance and policy she has actuated for so long…

I do not grudge our loyal, brave people, who were ready to do their duty no matter what the cost, who never flinched under the strain of last week, the natural, spontaneous outburst of joy and relief when they learned that the hard ordeal would no longer be required of them at the moment; but they should know the truth. They should know that there has been gross neglect and deficiency in our defences; they should know that we have sustained a defeat without war, the consequences of which will travel far with us along our road; they should know that we have passed an awful milestone in our history, when the whole equilibrium of Europe has been deranged, and that the terrible words have for the time being been pronounced against the Western democracies: “Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting.” And do not suppose that this is the end. This is only the beginning of the reckoning. This is only the first sip, the first foretaste of a bitter cup which will be proffered to us year by year unless, by a supreme recovery of moral health and martial vigour, we arise again and take our stand for freedom as in the olden time.

That is bloody brilliant. And I’m sure it seemed even more grand in a British accent.

No, it did not take me an hour and a half to make that. It took me an hour and a half to make that and nine other Obamicons. I’m pretty sure that this site is older than Clint Eastwood, but I just discovered it tonight.

Obamicon.me

It’s something you could cook up in Photoshop fairly easily, but automated things are always better — and more addictive. My other creations can be seen at my profile. Movie references, mostly.

My favorite from the internet wild would be this:

If you don’t get the reference, go watch Die Hard again. If you haven’t seen Die Hard, you better have a good excuse. Like being 3 years old.

I feel like I’m not using the internet to its full potential if uTorrent isn’t active.

I wonder if Cal Ripken Jr. felt like an asshole breaking the record of a guy with a fatal, incurable neurodegenerative disease. He should’ve. Lou Gehrig >>>>>>>> Cal Ripken Jr.

Joaquin Phoenix is a greater comedic genius than Sasha Baron Cohen. If you haven’t realized this already, you will soon know, along with the rest of the world.

The new toolbar for Windows 7 is pretty cool, particularly pinning program icons, which renders quick launch obsolete. Stealing from Apple is sometimes for the best.

I don’t think I “get” Kurt Vonnegut.

You’re supposed to start hating snow as you get older, but I still love every snowfall. Maybe if I lived upstate or in Wisconsin I’d feel differently. But then I’d be an idiot.

I want to rescind my endorsement of Fangraphs, as they now have calculated win values and market value for pitchers, in addition to their values for players. They have Gil Meche being worth more than Johan Santana last year. That is objectively wrong. Fuck them.

They should’ve had the Presidential Inauguration today. I’m not usually a fan of this type of sentimental crap, but swearing in the first black president on Martin Luther King Jr. Day would’ve been pretty cool. If you are black, please comment on this thought. Whiteys need not respond.

I’m just glad I don’t have to hear about the vast majority of stuff listed here ever again: thisfuckingelection.com

I’m glad I don’t have to wait for infomercials to be over before I can watch the last three innings of the World Series.

I’m glad I don’t have to see fucking CHRIS BERMAN interviewing Presidential candidates again.

But yes, most of all, I’m glad that this ridiculously long election is over and that this country can move forward now. Hopefully, Obama can take us in the right direction. He better thank David Palmer in his acceptance speech.

God Bless America, bitches.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fp-pDvhdlwE

I would do whatever you say, Natalie. If you wanted me to murder my parents instead of talk to them, I’d still do it. Just say the words! I’LL BURN MYSELF! I’LL BURN MY PARENTS!!

John Edwards

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uspzrm7AoWk

Barack Obama

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQLnvz66IN8