Kelly Reichardt’s ‘The Mastermind’ Deconstructs the Heist Genre, Reflecting on Privilege and Uncertainty
A new film from the acclaimed director, Kelly Reichardt, The Mastermind, marks a subtle departure in genre while remaining firmly rooted in her decades-long exploration of Americana and the individuals caught within its shifting landscapes. Premiering at Cannes this year and now available to stream on MUBI, the 1970-set art heist film starring Josh O’Connor delves into the motivations of a man who seemingly has it all, yet feels compelled to disrupt the status quo.
Reichardt has spent three decades crafting films that observe a nation adrift, returning again and again to characters grappling with economic realities and personal desires. From River of Grass in the mid-1990s to Wendy and Lucy, Meek’s Cutoff, and Night Moves, her work consistently portrays individuals on the periphery. More recent favorites like Certain Women and First Cow further solidify her signature style – patient observation, long takes, minimal dialogue, and a keen eye for the nuances of labor and routine. The Mastermind continues this tradition, even as it ventures into the territory of a genre film.
The story centers on James Blaine “J.B.” Mooney, portrayed by O’Connor, an unemployed carpenter and former art student in suburban Massachusetts. Driven by an undefined discontent, J.B. orchestrates a small-scale daylight theft of four Arthur Dove paintings from a local museum, funded in part by a loan from his mother. However, the plan quickly unravels, and the film focuses not on the execution of the heist, but on its aftermath.
What sets J.B. apart from many of Reichardt’s protagonists is his position within society. As one source close to the production explained, “James could very well be in the centre of society. He has all the luxuries of coming from a middle-class family. He’s a handsome white man, tall, has a skill of woodworking, he’s been educated, his family’s educated, so he has a lot.” This access, and J.B.’s rejection of it, is a central theme. “He could fit quite well in society, but he’s not content there. I think he doesn’t really even know what he wants,” Reichardt noted.
This internal conflict is fueled by a pervasive sense of entitlement. Reichardt believes J.B. operates under the assumption that “things will work out for him,” a confidence that distinguishes him from her previous characters. This belief system drives the film’s moral ambiguities, as J.B.’s crime isn’t born of desperation, but rather a rebellion against his own privilege, even as he relies on it.
The film is deliberately situated within a turbulent historical moment. Visual cues of the Vietnam War, anti-war protests, and instances of police violence appear throughout, creating a backdrop against which J.B.’s insulated existence is challenged. “It’s the end of the 60s, not quite the 70s yet,” Reichardt stated. “I wanted to set it in this kind of murky time where the 60s ideals haven’t really worked out. And so what comes next I guess, is the question.”
The origins of The Mastermind were surprisingly local. Reichardt’s research began with a newspaper article detailing the 50th anniversary of a 1972 art heist committed by four teenage girls in Massachusetts. While initially focused on their story, the narrative shifted as the character of J.B. took precedence. This evolution shaped the film’s relationship with the heist genre, leading Reichardt to actively dismantle its conventions. “I don’t know if I would define the movie as a heist movie,” she admitted, contrasting her approach with the typical genre structure. Instead of building towards the robbery, she presents it upfront, leaving the audience to grapple with the consequences.
The film’s narrative resonated with real-world events, notably a brazen daylight robbery at the Louvre earlier this year, where thieves made off with French crown jewels. In The Mastermind, the stolen artwork is by Arthur Dove, a choice Reichardt made because she “likes Dove’s paintings and they sort of speak to me.” She noted his relative obscurity in the 1970s aligned with the film’s setting and saw a parallel between his abstract style and J.B.’s own ambiguity. “The character of Mooney, he’s a little bit of a blank and you have to project onto him, and I think Dove’s work is like that, too.”
Adding to the film’s distinct atmosphere is the score by jazz musician Rob Mazurek, which Reichardt described as transformative, though initially challenging to integrate. The film’s title itself remains intentionally ambiguous, prompting speculation about J.B.’s true level of competence. “I just like to leave it a bit ambiguous,” Reichardt chuckled. “If you ask Josh O’Connor, he still thinks he’s the mastermind and it’s a great idea.” This humor underscores the gap between J.B.’s self-perception and his actual abilities – a reflection of a “soft, overfed male ego nursing itself on boredom, minor grievances, and the vague sense that life in a small town has somehow failed him personally.”
Reichardt’s own career trajectory mirrors the film’s themes of uncertainty and perseverance. She continues to teach film at Bard College in New York, recognizing the precariousness of independent filmmaking. “I would never give up my teaching job because I don’t really ever have that kind of faith in filmmaking… I wouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket,” she explained. She acknowledges the constant predictions of independent cinema’s demise, yet remains remarkably prolific, creating films about seemingly mundane subjects – “a guy stealing milk or someone with broken ceramics or a hurt bird” – that somehow find an audience.
The Mastermind is a testament to that resilience, a film that defies easy categorization and offers a nuanced portrait of a man grappling with privilege, discontent, and the elusive pursuit of meaning. It’s a reminder that even in a landscape saturated with franchises and spectacle, there’s still space for stories that linger, provoke, and challenge our assumptions.
