There is a certain art to the off-screen hand job. It is a cavalcade of facial contortions, body movements, odd grunts and breathy dialog. In PT Anderson’s, The Master, the off-screen hand job is perfected by the unlikeliest of pairs: Amy Adams, the ginger flower and Philip Seymour Hoffman, the “fooood” guy from Twister. This year’s Academy Awards feature a singing Wolverine, Ray Charles with guns, and another WTF performance from The Last of the Mohicans. Yet, in a category stacked to the gills with talent, one hand job stands out.
Amy Adams should have had an easy career; Disney Princess in Enchanted, acting alongside Kermit and Sasquatch With Dimples in The Muppets, and teeing up the comic book softball as the new-and-improved Lois Lane in Man of Steel, So why does she keep making it hard on herself? Why join up to adapt an un-adaptable classic in On The Road? Why try to out-Boston Marky Mark in The Fighter? Why wrestle for power with two magnetic pillars pushing in opposite poles in The Master? Stacked in the middle of PSH’s manchild movement-leader, Lancaster Dodd and Joaquin Phoenix’s dark and disabled Windex-swigging Freddie Quell, Amy Adams wrings out every single drop of every scene she’s in. As Peggy Dodd, Lancaster’s behind-the-scenes and supremely pregnant wife, Adams has perhaps the most polarizing pull of all.
In a film about power, power over people, power over self, power over ideas, it’s the physicality that’s at the heart of The Master. The most electric scenes are also the most physical, sometimes violently so. Peggy is not a writer or an overt personality, yet the power she wields is unmistakable. When Lancaster detracts from his spiritual, ideological course, stirred by the carnalities of things like women and alcohol and notoriety, it is Peggy who deflates him back down to The Cause. In many ways, The Cause isn’t Lancaster’s alone - it is Peggy’s equally. The hand job scene, where Lancaster is literally forced to expel such carnal notions at Peggy’s beckoning, is perhaps the most powerful of the year. Amongst all the dreams being dreamed and Hunger Games Dance-Offs, it’s one quiet scene, one “are you going to cum for me?” that is the patchwork that Oscar nominations have been woven from for decades.
This year, I find myself wondering how The Master has been left out of the Best Picture and Best Director categories. The acting nominations for Hoffman, Adams and Phoenix are all well-deserved and expected, but it’s the snubs that prove to be raw nerves in this awards season, glaring and red. Paul Thomas Anderson managed to make a movie that’s for everyone and for no one. The Master walks such an elusive line that if you blink, go to pee or spill your popcorn, you could miss a glance or a movement or a piece of art direction that speaks volumes. The plot itself proves both simple and complex, moving along at this peculiar half-speed that leaves you wondering if nothing has happened or if everything has happened all at once. This foray in borderline experimentation, done so with a masterful grasp on filmmaking as an art form is deserving of not only a Best Director nomination for Paul Thomas Anderson, but also a Best Picture nomination for the producing team, cast and crew, for fearless filmmaking.
Amy Adams has made a career out of slight looks, carefully orchestrated movements, and using her presence rather than her screen time. For that, she will possibly be one of cinema’s class supporting actresses …doing more with less …and always keeping the larger story in tact. In a young career that could be too easy, hers keeps us all on our toes. With her fourth Supporting Actress nomination, she’s cemented her ability amongst the industry’s best …and although we might have to hear buzzcut Catwoman at the podium, Peggy Dodd’s hand job, for me, was one of the best single scenes in one of the best films of the year.
Nick Orsini is a writer and bearded New Jersey guy. His work can be found here.