Films for Breakfast

The Mastermind is a “heist film” in the same way Meek’s Cutoff is a “western” – sure, the setting and story fits the label, but at the end of the day, it’s first and foremost a Kelly Reichardt film. Just as Meek’s Cutoff sidesteps grand shootouts and sweeping vistas, The Mastermind avoids the elaborate cons and slick ensembles of the Ocean’s trilogy. Reichardt is far more interested in a quiet character study into the kind of man who would devote his life to stealing art from museums, and the unglamorous reality of what that actually looks like.

The film follows James Blaine Mooney (Josh O’Connor), a married father of two who moonlights as an art thief. His wife, Terri (Alana Haim), appears blissfully unaware of his double life, though she can sense that he always seems to have one foot out the door whenever the routines of suburban responsibility come calling. When one of James’s heists goes sideways, he finds himself scrambling for a way out, both from the law and from the quiet dissatisfaction of his own existence.

O’Connor continues his remarkable post-Challengers streak here, once again proving how deftly he can balance charm, melancholy, and self-inflicted chaos. Reichardt, always a filmmaker attuned to the internal rhythms of her actors, crafts a character perfectly suited to his sensibilities. In The Mastermind, O’Connor channels the same disarming charisma and anxious energy that made his Challengers role so memorable – but here, that charisma curdles into delusion. He’s a man desperate to feel capable, even if his only talent lies in breaking the law.

What makes James such a fascinating figure is his contradictions. By any outward measure, he’s a failure; a stay-at-home dad who can’t manage to pick up his kids on time, perpetually unemployed, still leaning on his parents for money. Yet in his secret life, he’s oddly competent: not a master thief, but good enough to have evaded capture for a bit. He’s finally found something he’s good at – he just can’t tell anyone about it.

Reichardt’s film finds poignancy in that tension. James is a man who keeps making the wrong choices – as a father, a husband, a son, and simply as a person fumbling through life. But O’Connor’s performance makes him oddly sympathetic. He doesn’t quite know what drives him: is it ambition, boredom, privilege, or just the thrill of getting away with something? The film doesn’t offer neat answers, instead letting those questions simmer as James stumbles through one misjudgment after another.

For all its quiet tone, The Mastermind is also one of Reichardt’s funniest films to date. The heist sequences, far from being elaborate setpieces, have a dry absurdity to them – there’s something inherently amusing about a man this unassuming walking into a museum and walking out moments later with priceless art under his arm.

Technically, the film is exquisite. Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Christopher Blauvelt lenses the story with warmth and texture, evoking the late ’60s and early ’70s period with effortless authenticity. The modest political undertones of the setting hum beneath the surface, never overstated but always felt. Composer Geoff Maxwell’s low-key, jazzy score lends the film an offbeat rhythm, perfectly complementing its breezy, melancholic caper tone.

Ultimately, Reichardt transforms what could have been a slick genre exercise into something far more human and bittersweet: a film about a man who mistakes transgression for purpose – if he even thinks that deeply into it. In its own modest way, it’s one of her funniest and most empathetic works, anchored by a beautifully lived-in performance from Josh O’Connor. All around, this is one of my favorite works of hers’ in quite sometime.