Shut in cinema
Phantom Thread
★★★★★
Callum Stracey-Steven
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Release date
Feb 1st, 2018
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1950s haute couture and the dark mystery that is love hardly go hand in hand, but under Paul Thomas Anderson's direction one shouldn't be surprised that they do. This is, after all, a man who validates the historical importance of overlooked and offbeat subject matter, whether it's the decline of artistic merit in late 70's pornographic films in Boogie Nights (1997), or the unheralded, dangerous ennui American GIs' faced post-World War II as seen in The Master (2012).
From the outset, Phantom Thread (2017) suitably primes us for what will be an irregular love story by way of a framing, fireside confessional between Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps) and an unseen addressee, ‘Reynolds has made my dreams come true, and in return, I have given him every piece of me.’ The wide-eyed fixedness of Alma's declaration is as brooding as the silhouetted flames on her face are sinister. Simultaneously foreboding and alluring, at first glance Alma's love for Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day Lewis), a successful and renowned couturier for high-society ladies, suggests cupid's arrow will be piercing the murkier depths of the human heart.
Reynolds - or Mr Woodcock as most people refer to him - first locks eyes with Alma when she is waitressing in a country cafe. She is a migrant of non-specific Germanic background who is probably searching for more than a parochial existence. He, fresh off a completed project, is on one of his rare jaunts to his country abode whilst a disruptive inconvenience that is a past lover can be cleared away from his city home. If their respective intentions aren't clear, their instantaneous infatuation with one another is.
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Initially, Anderson keeps us guessing about the couple's genuineness. After all, as opposed to lovemaking or a roll-around, the culmination of their first is a spontaneous dress-fitting for Alma in his murky attic workshop. The creepy, underlying fetishistic atmosphere is accentuated by the unannounced arrival of Cyril (Lesley Manville), his sister, his "my old so-and-so", his surrogate life-partner and his manager of operations for their family business. Without introduction, she immediately starts to scribe Alma's measurements. This malaise threatens to deteriorate further when Reynolds curtly observes that Alma lacks breasts, but any offense is immediately tempered by the sweet, albeit egotistical, compliment, ‘you're perfect, and my job is to give you some, if I choose to’. She is, in that moment, still an unblemished muse.
"Part Gothic romance, part dark comedy, Anderson's versions of Mr Rochester and Jane Eyre create unease and hilarity in equal measure."
As the story progresses, you realise Phantom Thread is a resolutely fascinating portrayal of the precarious balance involved in sharing your life with another human. Part Gothic romance, part dark comedy, Anderson's versions of Mr Rochester and Jane Eyre create unease and hilarity in equal measure. More often than not at the same time. Pathological reactions (and on occasion actions) are moderated and even nullified by comical overtones. In particular, spirited, witty dialogue endears you to characters even if they are being alarmingly forthright or down right insensitive. Alma's thoughtful surprise of an intimate, home cooked dinner for Reynold's is met with disdain and begrudging compliance that eventually leads to his hilarious, self-absorbed perspective of the situation, whereby he is ‘Admiring my own gallantry for eating it the way you prepared it.’ On another occasion, Reynold's asserts that Alma's harmless toast nibbling is as loud and disruptive as if a ‘horse rode through’ the room.
Reynolds’ snappy eccentricities are perhaps a remnant of an archaic early twentieth century British mindset that purported impossibly noxious standards of self-reliance and occupational commitment bordering on obsessiveness. Reynolds’ reluctance to deviate from routine and his unwillingness to engage fully in a shared life with Alma, which would mean making concessions, is a timeless indictment of how our habits can facilitate success, but may come at the cost of emotional growth. He can lace his inner thoughts cryptically into the dresses he makes but he cannot speak them to another soul. The fluctuations, power-plays and irrationality in Reynolds’ and Alma's relationship stem from him being trapped and defined by his profession.
Phantom Thread is an an elegant and ironic expression of Anderson's recurring themes: the individual's need for human connection and how people can find family in unexpected and unconventional forms.
Even if Shakespeare's line that the "apparel oft proclaims the man" is a truism, Alma recognises - unlike Reynolds - it is no guide for a meaningful life. Her eventual shrew-taming represents the lengths to which we will go in order to protect the people we love from themselves. Phantom Thread is an an elegant and ironic expression of Anderson's recurring themes: the individual's need for human connection and how people can find family in unexpected and unconventional forms.
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There is an inexplicable charm and humour to Lewis' Reynolds: his talents fostering a high-maintenance attitude, which is a mixture of spoilt infant and ceaselessly demanding head-master. If this is to be Lewis' final role, then it is another example of his singular and diverse capacity to make characters spellbindingly real. Conversely, Vicky Krieps’ future performances will hopefully build on the substantial plucky promise she invests in Alma. In Phantom Thread, the talent behind the screen is as meticulous and scintillating as what's on it. Johnny Greenwood's syncopated score mirrors the spiritual climate of '50s London and the characters' tempestuous emotions that their propriety frequently hinders. “Auteur” and “genius” are often misused terms, though Anderson happens to be both. His cinematography, writing and direction in Phantom Thread again reflect his rhapsody for the moving image and a boundless vision which shows the astonishing commonalities between people.
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