The Mastermind — A Heist Movie Without the Heist

TL;DR

He thinks he’s a criminal genius — turns out he’s a temperamental amateur with delusions and no grit.

https://youtu.be/BcncY3iYol0

Plot & Pacing — A Caper Moving at the Speed of Bureaucracy

So: 1970, Massachusetts. A museum. Four paintings. Sounds promising, right? Wrong. Kelly Reichardt takes what could’ve been Ocean’s Eleven with hangovers and turns it into a two-hour IKEA instruction manual on existential dread.

The “heist” happens faster than your average espresso shot. The rest? Endless emotional unpacking. It’s like watching Heat directed by your therapist.

You can practically hear her whispering, “But how does stealing art make you feel, Niels?”

Answer: bored.

Criminal Fantasy Fulfillment — The Anti-Heist

If this movie were any less glamorous, it would be paying rent. Our “mastermind,” JB Mooney (Josh O’Connor), is the kind of man who’d rob a museum just to prove he isn’t middle-class. Spoiler-free version: he fails spectacularly.

There’s no glory here. No smooth-talking gangsters, no cool jazz. Just one bloke melting down because the world didn’t crown him special. Reichardt treats crime like a bad marriage — you go in thinking it’ll spice up your life and end up sleeping on a couch of regret.

Even the title’s trolling us. “The Mastermind”? Please. The guy couldn’t mastermind his way out of a parking ticket.

Characters & Performances — Beautiful Losers Anonymous

Josh O’Connor is magnetic — like watching a cat try to play chess. You root for him, but you know it’s not ending well. Alana Haim plays his wife with that same glazed look of someone realising she married a philosophy major.

Bill Camp and Hope Davis are the kind of WASP parents who sip chardonnay while silently judging your life choices — and they do it with Olympic precision.

Everyone’s solid, but the film’s emotional range runs from “mildly disappointed” to “existentially constipated.”

Direction & Cinematography — The Godfather Shot on Xanax

Kelly Reichardt directs with surgical patience. You can smell the indie film festivals from here. Every frame looks like it’s been curated by a minimalist who charges €8 for coffee.

The cinematography’s lovely though — sun-bleached ’70s haze, cigarettes, vinyl, and despair. If Instagram ever made a filter called Art School Divorce, this would be it.

It’s not bad filmmaking. It’s painfully competent. The kind of art you admire and never rewatch.

Writing & Dialogue — Less Tarantino, More Therapy Session

The script is tighter than a mobster’s alibi but half as fun. There’s more silence than dialogue — not that kind of pregnant Tarantino silence, but the “my therapist’s waiting for me to cry” kind.

When characters do speak, it’s in riddles of regret. Reichardt’s allergic to punchlines, so don’t expect any quotable one-liners — unless “...” counts.

World & Atmosphere — Suburbia with Existential Lighting

It’s 1970, but instead of revolution and rebellion, we get beige sofas and emotional repression.

Every house looks like it smells faintly of old furniture and Catholic guilt.

Reichardt nails the vibe — the oppressive normalcy that drives men to steal art just to feel alive. But after two hours of beige, you start to root for the cops.

Soundtrack & Vibe — Jazz for People Who Don’t Like Jazz

The music whispers like it’s afraid to be noticed. Subtle, tasteful, underwhelming — like a hipster cover band playing Miles Davis through a curtain.

The vibe is all cigarette smoke and unfinished thoughts. You’ll want to order whiskey, stare out a window, and wonder if anyone, anywhere, is actually having fun.

Violence & Style — All Emotion, No Explosion

There’s no blood. No bullets. Just bruised egos and one spectacular meltdown. The real violence is internal — which sounds profound until you realise you’re craving even one broken nose.

Still, it’s poetic. The film punches you softly, then apologises for it.

Message — Crime Is Boring, and So Is Privilege

The movie’s main lesson? Ego kills faster than cops.

Mooney steals art because he thinks he deserves greatness. Reichardt spends two hours showing us why he doesn’t.

It’s Goodfellas without the cocaine — a meditation on mediocrity dressed like a heist flick.

If The Mastermind were a car, it’d be an Alfa Romeo: gorgeous, unreliable, and guaranteed to leave you stranded in an emotional ditch.

FAQ

Is The Mastermind based on a true story? Loosely. There really was a 1970s art theft — Reichardt just added more guilt and fewer guns.

Is The Mastermind worth watching? If you like slow burns, artistic misery, and Josh O’Connor’s face — yes. If you like fun — no.

Where can I watch it? Released Oct 17, 2025 in U.S. cinemas. Stream it when it inevitably lands on a service that recommends “quiet, thoughtful films about disappointment.”

Does it glorify crime? Not even slightly. It makes thievery look like tax season.

Would Tony Soprano enjoy it? He’d throw the popcorn at the screen by minute ten.