Dive deep into Kelly Reichardt’s ‘The Mastermind,’ an art heist film like no other, where Josh O’Connor’s ‘artless’ thief, J.B. Mooney, stumbles through a 1970s Massachusetts crime, revealing a captivating study of failure and consequences that redefines the genre for classic film enthusiasts.
From the moment Kelly Reichardt’s “The Mastermind” begins, it’s clear this is no ordinary art heist film. Starring Josh O’Connor as the titular “mastermind,” J.B. Mooney, the movie immediately establishes an ironic tone that sets it apart from high-octane thrillers. Mooney is not the clever, quick-thinking strategist one would expect; rather, he’s an unemployed carpenter and former art student who, despite his lofty ambitions, is depicted as a profoundly mediocre man with a brooding, hangdog sort of anti-energy.
Subverting Expectations: A Heist Without Spectacle
Unlike typical cinematic heists, which revel in spectacular success or failure, Reichardt meticulously strips away all glamour and spectacle. Her approach transforms the genre into a moody, observational tale of a man’s descent into chaos after a single, dumb mistake. This narrative choice, as noted by the Associated Press, makes the film less about the crime itself and more about the spiraling, mundane consequences of unwise decisions and a stunning lack of self-awareness. The pacing is deliberately “slow,” allowing viewers to absorb every detail of this carefully crafted picture of early 1970s Massachusetts.
The film’s setting is rendered with exquisite period perfection, tinted in earth tones that immerse the audience in a world before ubiquitous surveillance cameras. This historical context is crucial, highlighting a time when such a brazen daylight robbery could theoretically occur, as depicted by J.B. having his ill-trained accomplices wait outside in the car “like a dad at school pickup.”
The Anti-Hero’s Journey: J.B. Mooney’s Ill-Fated Plan
We are introduced to J.B. Mooney during a family outing to the fictional Framingham Museum, where he surreptitiously pilfers a figurine, a small test of the lax security system. His home life reveals a stern local judge for a father (Bill Camp, perfectly cast) who questions his son’s job failures, and a gentler mother (Hope Davis) from whom J.B. later solicits funds for his “project.” Reichardt even makes the blandness of a 1970s family meal — meat, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, and dinner rolls — a delicious detail, reflecting the uninspired world J.B. inhabits.
J.B.’s nefarious plotting takes place in his basement. His “simple plan” involves stealing four paintings by Arthur Dove, an artist he studied in school, rather than invaluable Old Masters. His disguise choice for his accomplices? L’eggs pantyhose to be worn over their heads, a detail that perfectly captures the film’s understated, almost absurd realism. Problems compound on the day of the heist when J.B. finds his sons’ school closed and opts to let them loose in a shopping center with cash for junk food, a telling sign of the era’s different parenting norms and J.B.’s own carelessness.
The Unremarkable Crime and Its Spiraling Fallout
The heist itself is, remarkably, “unremarkable.” Reichardt’s observational, almost doc-like style is at its peak here, devoid of typical genre flourishes like a thumping soundtrack or hair-raising chases. The pantyhose-headed thieves grab the loot, but chaos quickly ensues when one goes rogue, holding up a teenage girl at gunpoint. This unforeseen escalation, a result of J.B.’s poor planning and lack of control, signals the true beginning of the film’s drama.
With the artwork stashed in a dirty barn silo, J.B. quickly realizes he has no plan for fencing the paintings, which his unaware father muses might not even be valuable. The story pivots entirely to the consequences. J.B. becomes a man on the run, facing rejection from his furious wife, Terri (Alana Haim), and even friends, and receiving unwelcome visits from “peeved local mobsters.” Haim, though underused, delivers a poignant scene reflecting the family’s plight. As J.B. runs out of cash, his options dwindle, and his alarming lack of self-preservation is highlighted by his failure to even shave his beard or change his hair. Yet, Josh O’Connor’s performance manages to elicit a “tiny iota — tiny, but crucial — of our sympathy,” as reported by AP News.
Reichardt’s Distinctive Vision and The Mastermind’s Legacy
Kelly Reichardt’s previous works, such as “First Cow” and “Showing Up,” are celebrated for their unhurried pace and deep character studies, and “The Mastermind” continues this tradition. The film’s observational style, particularly in its depiction of the mundane post-heist calamity, is what makes it so quietly gripping. It has been compared to other realist art heist pictures like Alonso Ruizpalacios’s “Museum” and Bart Layton’s “American Animals,” but Reichardt’s unique unadorned reality sets it apart, creating a startling sense of authenticity.
The socio-political backdrop of the Vietnam War and its protests is subtly present throughout the film, yet to J.B., this larger context holds no significance. His concerns are purely about survival, even if he seems poorly committed to that. O’Connor’s portrayal of a “depressingly mediocre man” resonates with his previous role as an antiquity robber in Alice Rohrwacher’s “La Chimera,” though J.B. is notably less knowledgeable and physically tougher in that role, as noted in a review by The Guardian.
The film culminates in an abrupt yet satisfying denouement, serving as brutal poetic justice for J.B.’s careless decisions. With a runtime of 110 minutes and an R rating “for some language,” “The Mastermind” (a Mubi release) offers a compelling, albeit droll, exploration of human fallibility. It may subvert all expectations for an art heist movie, but it provides a brilliant observation of time and place, solidifying its status as a distinctive and deeply resonant classic in Reichardt’s filmography.
