The Mastermind Review: Kelly Reichardt’s Study of Ordinary Failure

Kelly Reichardt’s “The Mastermind” ushers us into the slightlythreadbare reality of 1970s Massachusetts, a landscape of muted browns and an unspoken societal malaise. Here we meet J.B. Mooney (Josh O’Connor), a carpenter by trade but seemingly an idler by nature, husband to Terri (Alana Haim) and father to two young sons.

His seemingly unremarkable existence, however, harbors a rather ambitious, if ill-defined, scheme: the robbery of a local art museum. The film immediately signals its departure from the crisp precision of a typical heist narrative; this will be less about the thrill of the caper and more a meditation on the character undertaking it, a slow burn examination of a man perhaps unequal to his own designs. One gets the sense that the title itself might be the first piece of irony in a meticulously crafted study of aspiration meeting inadequacy.

Anatomy of an Anti-Heist

The planned acquisition of several Arthur Dove paintings unfolds with a distinct lack of élan. J.B.’s “master plan” appears to be a document written in the sand, its details shifting with the tide of his own limited foresight and the (often startling) incompetence of his chosen associates. This is not the realm of sophisticated gadgetry or split-second timing; it is a more homespun, almost tragically earnest, attempt at criminality.

One accomplice, Ronnie (Javion Allen), introduces a volatile element that sends ripples through the already shaky enterprise. The operation, such as it is, derails with an almost predictable inelegance. Consequently, the film pivots, dedicating its energies to the messy aftermath, to J.B.’s increasingly desperate flight from the consequences of his actions.

Sequences like his solitary, clumsy struggle to hide the stolen canvases in a dilapidated barn—a pig his only, indifferent witness—underscore the film’s preoccupation with the graceless reality of a crime gone sideways. The narrative isn’t concerned with the slick mechanics of theft; it is absorbed by the slow, untidy unraveling of a man and his misadventure, a sort of existential pilfering where the thief loses more than he takes.

The Antihero as Everyman Adrift

At the heart of this quiet storm is J.B. Mooney, brought to life by Josh O’Connor with a nuanced portrayal of simmering discontent and profound misjudgment. J.B. is an avatar of the common man, distinguished primarily by his ordinariness and a chasm between his desires and his actual capacity to achieve them.

His motivations remain tantalizingly opaque: is it a yearning for significance, the pressure of financial woes, or simply a misguided stab at asserting some form of agency in a life that feels otherwise adrift? His interactions offer clues: the strained dynamic with his wife Terri, who seems to observe his decline with a weary resignation; the weighty disapproval of his father, Judge Mooney (Bill Camp), a man of stern pronouncements; and the slightly more forgiving, though perhaps enabling, nature of his mother (Hope Davis).

These relationships form a constellation around J.B., illuminating the pressures and permissions that may have shaped his ill-fated choices. O’Connor masterfully conveys J.B.’s internal state—a quiet desperation masked by a frequently failing attempt at composure. As his world contracts, his solitude becomes palpable, a self-imposed exile born from a singular, foolish act. He’s a curious figure, this J.B., almost sympathetic in his haplessness, yet entirely culpable.

Fabric of a Fading Decade

“The Mastermind” is steeped in the very grain of its 1970s New England setting, a feat of atmospheric reconstruction that feels less like period dressing and more like a recovered artifact. Christopher Blauvelt’s cinematography captures this with a painterly eye—grainy textures, an autumnal palette heavy with browns and ochres, and vistas of a suburbia already showing signs of gentle decay.

The production design and costumes achieve an authenticity that is immersive without being insistent. Adding another layer to this chrono-specific melancholy is Rob Mazurek’s jazz score, a nervous, percussive thrum that often works in counterpoint to the film’s deliberate visual rhythm, an improvisational heartbeat beneath the quietude.

And then there is Vietnam, an omnipresent whisper through crackling radio news and glimpses of televised protests. It’s more than background noise; it’s a subtle but persistent echo of a larger national unraveling, a societal disquiet that mirrors J.B.’s own disintegrating personal order.

The Inevitable Descent

The film charts J.B.’s downward trajectory with an unblinking gaze. As his options narrow and his isolation deepens, the narrative eschews conventional dramatic escalations, opting instead for a more observational, almost somber, progression.

This is particularly true as J.B. becomes a man on the run, his journey marked by a series of encounters that only emphasize his increasing marginalization.

The film’s conclusion, when it arrives, possesses a stark, perhaps darkly ironic, quality. It refrains from easy resolutions, leaving the viewer to ponder the quiet wreckage of J.B.’s ambitions. What emerges is a portrait of a man undone not by grand malevolence but by a series of small, ill-considered choices, a quiet testament to the idea that sometimes the most significant events in a life are its most profound missteps.

The Mastermind premiered at the 78th Cannes Film Festival on May 23, 2025, where it competed for the Palme d’Or.

Full Credits

Director: Kelly Reichardt

Writer: Kelly Reichardt

Producers: Neil Kopp, Anish Savjani, Vincent Savino

Executive Producer: Sam Tischler

Cast: Josh O’Connor, Alana Haim, John Magaro, Hope Davis, Bill Camp, Gaby Hoffmann, Amanda Plummer, Eli Gelb, Cole Doman, Javion Allen, Matthew Maher, Rhenzy Feliz

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Christopher Blauvelt

Editor: Kelly Reichardt

Composer: Rob Mazurek