Master

Master ★★

Nearly turned it off at the Mo Bamba drop. Regina Hall holds this thing together like Spider-Man with the Staten Island Ferry, and for what? A few scattered ideas about race and identity that have been stomped on for about a decade or so and a twist that may make it impossible to stop rolling your eyes. It all feels just way too blunt, as if the themes are being announced from a PA system throughout the film, but there's also these moments of grating coyness in service of the film's ever-collapsing final third. And I never got the feeling that any of the ways this irritated me was a purposeful decision on the part of the filmmakers to get under my skin, at least not in the specific sequences where I was really struggling to engage with it. A deflating experience overall.