We all crave success, in whatever form it tends to take – for some, it’s a thriving career, others it’s an enormous amount of wealth (although the two aren’t mutually exclusive), and in some cases, it can be even more abstract. This has often been a source of conversation in the works of Kelly Reichardt, who has spent the past few decades handcrafting a small number of major works, all of which focus on characters pursuing the American Dream in one way or another, existing in different eras and socio-economic circumstances, but being connected by their collective desire to reach some seemingly unattainable goal. This has never been more appropriately explored than in The Mastermind, a film in which Reichardt follows J.D. Mooney, a suburban intellectual who has traded all his potential to lead an ordinary life for the pursuit of a much easier path towards wealth, which comes in the form of a series of heists he and a pair of accomplices put together, intending to steal priceless artworks from galleries and museums in their small town. However, Mooney soon learns that it isn’t possible to run away from the consequences forever, especially when small mistakes lead to the authorities being alerted to the role he plays in these crimes, leading him to retreat from his home and everything that it represents, evading the law but losing everything he cared about in the process. A fascinating character study that sees the director working with some of her familiar themes, while also experimenting with form and content in a way fascinating ways, The Mastermind is a delightfully charming and moving exploration of the human condition, told through a sincere and steadfast depiction of one man’s journey towards self-realisation as he endures the challenges that come with facing the consequences of his actions. Decidedly very simple but nonetheless worth every moment of our time, The Mastermind is very effective, particularly since it represents everything we have come to appreciate about Reichardt and her masterful approach to exploring very common ideas.

The concept of the American Dream has existed since the country’s formation – the idea that this was the land of hope and opportunity has been the lifeblood of the culture since the beginning. However, the reality is that it’s nothing more than a fallacy, a belief built on false hope, and the exploitation of the working class is the only path towards success. Reichardt has often explored this topic in her previous work – we can look towards Wendy and Lucy and First Cow as some of the most prominent examples of this principle in practice, and The Mastermind joins them as the third entry into what appears to be an unofficial trilogy of films that explore the broken promises of late-stage capitalism. We are taken back to the 1970s, where we follow the day-to-day routine of the protagonist as he masquerades as an ordinary family man, but in reality spends his time figuring out ways to take advantage of the system through planning elaborate heists – some may argue his time would be better-served seeking out a more traditional job, until we see the argument that finding a vocation would simply mean officially surrendering to the system he wishes to challenge, making it as poor of a choice in his perspective as becoming just another cog in the machine. Reichardt is not someone who makes her politics known personally, choosing rather to communicate both her fascination and frustration with America and its way of life through her work, which conveys everything we need to know about how she sees the country and its history. There are layers to this film that we only begin to unravel as it progresses, each decision being impactful and carrying a heftiness that is often very difficult to see as anything other than genuinely and wholeheartedly brilliant, both formally and in terms of the underlying themes that propel the narrative forward.

To bring these ideas to life, Reichardt finds a kindred spirit in Josh O’Connor, who has become an arthouse darling, primarily because of his willingness to breathe life into just about any character, regardless of their origins or the role they play in a certain narrative. His performance in The Mastermind is yet another feather in his proverbial cap – a subtle, quiet depiction of a man teetering dangerously close to breaking down, but doing whatever he can to maintain some semblance of sanity, which proves to not be as easy as the character would hope. It’s wonderful work from an actor who is always willing to push himself to new emotional heights, and the film does exceptionally well in using O’Connor’s natural talents. He’s got a certain scruffiness that matches this character perfectly – he’s charismatic enough to be convincing, but also seems to be slightly off-kilter, enough to create a character that is more complex than we initially imagined. He carries himself with the eccentricity and unconventional charm of someone like Elliot Gould (who seems to be an influence on the performance), having a unique swagger and fierce intelligence that could have been contradictory, but proves to be nothing but delightful in the O’Connor’s capable hands. This is sharply contrasted with the rest of the cast, which includes several fantastic actors – Alana Haim fits in perfectly with the setting as the protagonist’s wife, while Hope Davis and Bill Camp are as reliable as ever as his parents. Several bit-parts from several character actors (including memorable performances from Gaby Hoffman and Reichardt regular John Magaro) add to the nuances that exist throughout this film, making The Mastermind incredibly effective and effortlessly charming, even at its most seemingly simplistic, which is a clear sign of a director who works closely with her cast to help them develop complex, interesting characters that are more than just archetypes, but instead fully-formed, compelling people who serve a vital purpose in bringing this story and all of its ideas to life.

However, the attraction here is not necessarily the actors, but rather how Reichardt uses them as components in a film that is much more enthralling in practice than we could have ever imagined based on a cursory glance at the premise. The core of The Mastermind is an examination of America at a certain moment in the past – the people were incredulous towards the government (to the point where the public stood in fierce opposition with the people guiding the policies of the country), and rebellion was a part of the daily vocabulary of anyone with even an ounce of awareness for their surroundings. Thematically, the film is exceptionally strong, but it’s the manner in which Reichardt cobbles the film together in terms of the tone that makes it such a successful, daring work – and it’s all in the subtlety that we find the brilliance of this film. The foundation on which The Mastermind is built is a simple, evocative atmosphere in which everything moves at a deliberate, slow pace – it’s a matter of paying attention to the details, the subtle movements and quiet cues that communicate more than we would expect. Reichardt is driven by the principle of “show, don’t tell”, and this film demonstrates this in its most engaging, enthralling form – deftly daring, complex and steady in its vision, and where the silences often speak louder than the words. It’s masterful filmmaking from a director who can establish such a clear mood, never deviating even in the moments where we think she is going to go in another direction, whether narratively or tonally. Those expecting a more traditionally enthralling heist film will likely struggle with The Mastermind, since, despite revolving around some exciting ideas, it carries itself with a deep sincerity and quiet mercy that is difficult to describe in traditional terms, and instead can only be referred to through the firm command of the emotions that dictate and define this wonderful film.

Reichardt does not merely make films; she crafts experiences, ones that reflect reality and capture the spirit of life in a way that is both stunningly beautiful and slightly unsettling. This does not change with The Mastermind, which does see her tackling a few new ideas, but where everything is filtered through her distinctly brilliant perspective, a subdued and quiet exploration of the human condition told through the eyes of someone who has committed her professional career to observing life and its many peculiarities. It’s subtle work from a director who has made that her entire brand – quiet and resilient, defined less by the obvious traits and more by a steady, poignant examination of life as it is, or rather how it was in the period depicted throughout. Anchored by a masterful performance by one of our greatest young actors, who is perfectly paired with the director (although has there ever been a filmmaker that has not been a good match for O’Connor? His versatility and willingness to go to any lengths to create such a character is nothing short of miraculous), and where the pursuit of some deeper understanding of the human condition helps in creating a film that is poetic, complex and consistently engaging, even when it doesn’t go in the directions we would expect. Another fantastic effort from Reichardt, who continues to take her place as one of the most vital American filmmakers working today, The Mastermind is exceptional and a work of unbridled passion and sincerity. We easily become lost in the many wonderful layers that constitute this story, one of the very best films of the year.