Kelly Reichardt sobre El Maquinista: “Cuestiona por qué deseas lo que deseas”

      The characters in Kelly Reichardt’s films often meander and roam. Her protagonists navigate the world, grappling with poor impulses and worse choices, in search of community, comfort, or tranquility. They typically represent the working class on the fringes of society, not particularly distinguished except for their ability to maintain a solitary lifestyle. In The Mastermind, James Blaine “JB” Mooney—played brilliantly and moodily by Josh O’Connor—struggles to find stability or achievement. Consequently, he devises a scheme: to steal four Arthur Dove paintings from a local museum.

      Taking place in the 1970s, Reichardt's ninth feature film explores the consequences of JB’s robbery. As a family man with two children living in the suburbs, JB is ultimately just bored. He is mired in mediocrity, lacking both a job and projects. His lofty ambitions starkly contrast with his current reality, leaving him feeling deserving, yearning, and in need of more. O’Connor joins the ranks of Reichardt's drifters and schemers, with the director dressing him in pastel sweaters while a jazz score plays in the background—uncharacteristically more music than typically found in Reichardt's independent works.

      The Mastermind finds Reichardt operating within a genre, mixing comedy and mild tension before, as always, concluding in melancholy. The cast features some familiar performers, including an exceptional John Magaro as JB’s brother, with Bill Camp, Gaby Hoffmann, and Alana Haim also delivering strong performances in this intimate heist narrative. Reichardt remains a unique director, unwilling to rush through scenes and dedicated to creating films that challenge audience expectations. The Mastermind is no exception, and the film benefits from this approach.

      I spoke with Reichardt about the pervasive surveillance in our daily lives, the secret AMC screenings of The Mastermind, and her perspective on filmmaking as a source of enjoyment rather than merely a career.

      The Film Stage: Let’s discuss some uncharted topics.

      Kelly Reichardt: Where did the inspiration for this film originate? [Laughs] Which heist influenced you?

      I’m currently reading a book titled The Art Thief by Michael Finkel, which focuses on a man who steals a significant amount of art due to inadequate security.

      I think I’m familiar with it. Is it fictional or non-fictional?

      It’s non-fiction, and it came to mind while watching your movie. There seems to be a significant lack of security around these supposedly valuable or significant pieces of art, prompting me to question why we don’t ensure better protection for the pieces we care about.

      It was simply a different era, right? Yes. These art heists were more like snatch-and-grabs rather than elaborate heists. I started collecting newspaper clippings about them long ago and was astonished at how much art gets stolen. It’s like retirees are running security. The Gardner Museum had people who seemed less than competent managing security. They even had these great circular drives out front, which were convenient. We shot in Cincinnati, where you can still find good locations for period pieces. However, there were elements we had to digitally remove in post-production, primarily security cameras. Forget museums; cameras are everywhere on every building, everywhere you look. Once you start observing the buildings, aside from cell towers and air conditioning units, you realize there are cameras all over. Now on platforms like YouTube, you see how people have cameras installed throughout their homes.

      Do you think tighter security devalues the art in any way?

      I believe it’s less about devaluing the art and more reflective of the times. How old are you?

      I’m 29.

      You’re young, so you might struggle to envision a world without constant security. While there are benefits to not being filmed every second of your life, the norm is now that you are. For me, the more concerning aspect isn’t the lack of security in museums in the ’70s, but rather how much you are recorded everywhere you go nowadays. That seems far more unsettling.

      I agree. I’ve heard you mention that the film begins with a heist and examines its aftermath, similar to Night Moves. I find it intriguing how the movie starts with JB in a community, surrounded by family, and then transitions into themes of isolation and loneliness. How do you navigate that significant tonal shift in writing and directing a feature?

      It’s always a lengthy process involving trial and error. There are rarely quick resolutions to these challenges. It involves experimenting, becoming immersed in the details and occasionally losing your way, then figuring something out and finding yourself lost again. Eventually, you share it with a trusted friend to see if they perceive something you might overlook. Each day, you return to it, and at some point, it starts to take shape, but it’s not through any sort of magic; it’s just daily work.

      How do you recognize when it feels right?

      It suddenly