The Master (2012)

In “There will be Blood,” Paul Thomas Anderson told the story of America’s greatest gifts -- capitalism and religious freedom –- gone mad. “The Master” does not rise to such heights, but it never could have. It also follows two men -– again representing one idea -– at odds. Joaquin Phoenix plays Freddie Quells, a World War II vet who is violent, perverted, alcoholic, immature, and a drifter, until he literally stumbles onto the yacht of a man close in age, but light years beyond Freddie’s mental reach. Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is a scientist, writer, philosopher, and cult leader of a trillions-year-old self-help religion known as The Cause. (Scientology? Maybe.) Dodd has a family and scores of admirers. Quells wants it all, to be Dodd, but can’t recognize that impossibility. It is clear that Quell stopped maturing at 13. He’s all awkward male poses and farts, a hormonal teenager. Dodd sees Quell as a pet project, and Quell pings-pongs, loving and loathing Dodd as others point out the man’s fakery. Yet, Dodd is convinced of his own powers. So, who truly is the better man? Like “Blood,” Anderson offers few answers, but provides another riveting, fascinating, and endlessly debatable story. A

Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011)

“Martha Marcy May Marlene” left me dead cold. That is a compliment. This Sundance hit is a dark psychological drama-cum-thriller about a young woman (Elizabeth Olsen, younger sister of toddlers-turned-tabloid stars Mary Kate and Ashley) who runs from an upper-New York State cult/farming commune and reunites with her estranged sister (Sarah Paulson of “American Horror Story”) at the latter’s posh lake-front home. There, our girl of many names and pains unravels as a scared, paranoid and wounded woman who will wonder into a bed during sex, and yet fear a falling pinecone. Martha declares herself a “leader and a teacher,” but who is talking? She, or the vile/musician/ rapist/father figure (John Hawkes, again mesmerizingly sinister) who ruled her life for two years? Newcomer writer/director Sean Dirkin leaves no easy answers as his jump editing, changing film stock, and inscrutable screenplay leaves the viewer aloof and, in the final shot, horrified. Its best trick is to equal the rich, capitalist “green” American consumer as a cultist all their own. Ms. Olsen is a phenomenal actress, leaving us unbalanced as victimized (sinister?) Martha Marcy ... A-

The Wicker Man (1973 and 2006)

A police officer arrives at a remote island, searching for a missing tween girl and finds himself a bit lost and well out-numbered amongst pagan followers of an isolated, almost deranged cult. Nothing goes well, at least for the noble policeman.

The 1973 original is a true cult film – insanely weird and scratchy, especially during a musical scene where actress Britt Ekland sings a seductive tune while throwing herself against walls of a bedroom, whilst naked, as the chaste, self-proclaimed Christian police officer Neil Howie (Edward Woodward) practically flagellates himself in the next room. Seriously demented stuff. Howie huffs and puffs, and tears the small Scottish isle apart, looking for the lost girl, and screaming phlegm at the sexually provocative, Earth-worshipping cultists, saving his deepest ire for the group’s kilt-wearing leader, played by Christopher Lee. As Howie digs into his investigation, he digs his own grave: The man never seems to recognize that he essentially is alone on the island. With no help. The ending is horrific, ironic and strangely – against the grain of the rest of the movie – heroic. It’s a shame this “Wicker Man” seems to have been slashed in the editing room, as we know nothing about Howie’s mainland life. Director Robin Hardy has made a doozey of a film, for sure, where even the cherub-faced grade school girls and smiling old ladies can’t be trusted. A wonderfully offensive trip of a film. A-

What can we say about the remake? It stars Nicolas Cage as the policeman, this time on a hunt for the missing daughter of his ex-fiancée (Kate Beahan) who returned to the cultish island where she was born. This is filmmaking made on a dare: How dumb can we go? The answer is deep. Let’s skip over how inept Cage’s cop is -- the man seems not to know where babies come from -- and how ineptly Cage plays him. No, the real brain killer here is how director Neil Labute (“In the Company of Men”) miraculously makes a cinematic island of all-powerful women and enslaved, tongue-less men a place of utter sexless boredom. How hard does one work to pull off such a feat of … limp drama? As well, religion isn't even mentioned here. So no sex, no teeth. Zero reason to exist. If you’ve never seen Cage running around in a bear suit sucker-punching women in the face, then … count yourself lucky. Ellen Burstn's smirk is nice to watch. D-