Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master is a fascinatingly intellectual film. But, not an emotional one. It washes over you like a tidal wave, knocking, flipping you upside down. Its visual beauty is unquestionable and the performances are brilliant but, his characters hold the audience at arms length.
Silence. The usual suspects have gathered at the mechanic shop. From beneath a large pile of dirt on the back of a truck -- they drag out the dead boy's dirt bike. They dismantle the bike –taking it apart piece by piece- so that it can be dissolved in acid. Obviously, the boy is also concealed beneath that dirt.
A dirt bike bounces across the desert terrain, uprooting rocks and skidding down dusty hills. Soon, the driver stops the bike and removes his helmet. We see it is a young, innocent boy-- maybe 10 or 11 years old. He spies something on the ground. It's a large tarantula. He bends and picks up the arachnid, letting it crawl over his hands and arms.