Phantom ThreadIf obsession is the poison that blots out reality from the heart, is love the antidote? Phantom Thread is a period piece set in England in the 1950, and the protagonists are the fastidious yet beloved dress designer, Reynolds Jeremiah Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis), and a young woman named Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps), who Reynolds takes into his fold as a companion and lover. Reynolds charms her as a gentlemanly (if awkward) suitor from the moment he invites her to join him for dinner. But after she moves into his London home and workshop, their relationship freezes over, leaving Alma to unravel the mystery of Reynolds's personality.
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The primary thrust of Phantom Thread is in the relationship between Reynolds and Alma, which Alma recalls in retrospect through a fireside chat. She describes him succinctly as "demanding"; the truth is that Reynolds is uncompromising in his aversion to any disruption in his life's routine--borderline fetishistic even. His conspirator in this self-imposed lattice of rigidity is his sister, Cyril (Lesley Manville), who shares some of his exceedingly "old English" mannerisms of unflinching refinement and composure. An early scene represents how Reynolds's relationships with other women inevitably end during the monastically quiet breakfast time between him and his ubiquitous sister. Reynolds describes a crisis in his heart to Cyril over dinner, owing to the persistent longing for his mother, who inspired him to take up his profession. Reynolds subconsciously obsesses for his late mother, and that everything he does is done to please her, illuminating his psychological neuroses and mannerisms. This is strongest in his all-consuming obsession for his "work", to which he devotes every waking moment. At the end of his first date with Alma, he asks her to do him a favor and he fits her for a dress. They are alone together in his country house, and she has stripped down to her undergarments. He wraps cloth around her, devoting his attention to the contour of her body, and smiles as he drapes fabrics across her shoulder. In a film which is quieter than many of director Paul Thomas Anderson's previous works, this is an erotically charged moment...shattered when Cyril strides in and assists Reynolds in his dress-fitting process like a nurse in a sterile doctor's office. This scene foreshadows the early days in their relationship, where she longs to spend time with him and "get him to love her on her terms", while she tries to ignore that he is more excited at having a living doll whom he can dress up in the pretty clothes he designs.
When Alma asks Reynolds why someone as sophisticated and well-off as he is has not been married, Reynolds claims it is because it would make him "deceitful". Reynolds is shielding himself from any risk to the perfectly crafted "dollhouse" world he has made for himself, and marriage means that he must relinquish a measure of control--be it in his work or in his heart. Much of what the characters in Phantom Thread communicate is through subtext--through implication or the absence of expression rather than dialogue--exploiting "English manners" as a justification for it; but this also represents a fear of vulnerability. One night, Alma takes it upon herself to send everyone in the house away--against the advice of Cyril--so that she can have time alone with her lover, and cook for him. When Reynolds returns home, he is so disturbed by this change in his environment--his sanctum--that he becomes cruel and petulant, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child. Alma accuses him of playing "games", and when Reynolds presses her about what she means, she cuts right to the quick and describes his whole life as being a game. Reynolds needs to live his life as though it were a game, because a game has rules and one can live without upset under the security of rules. What happened to Reynolds' mother is not explained, but when a manifestation of her appears to a sickly Reynolds, she looks exactly like she did when she remarried in the wedding dress Reynolds made for her when he was a boy. Reynolds tells Alma that his father died when he was young, and the implication is that his mother did the same. Reynolds talks of "curses" associated with wedding dresses; in keeping with his idiosyncrasies, he sows a prayer into the hem of the wedding dress for a lifetime customer, Princess Mona Braganza (Lujza Richter): it reads "never cursed". All of this implies that some tragedy befell Reynolds' mother on or shortly after her wedding, and Reynolds has blamed himself for it, trying to control every element of his life so that no other tragedy can take something from him. But the result of this tyrannical dominance over his life and everyone in it has soured his heart and turned him into a kind of Ebenezer Scrooge, afraid to love anything he cannot control.
The age difference between Reynolds and Alma embodies how these two different people represent two different cultural viewpoints and ideologies. Reynolds represents an old English way of life; everything must be "just so". He lives in a palatial London townhouse, and his staff--entirely comprised of women--are like the servants from the erstwhile landed gentry of Great Britain. Alma is working as a waitress when Reynolds lays eyes on her, and she is an immigrant to England, evidenced by her accent and name. She is polite, but she is more assertive than Reynolds' previous companions--not a wilting violent who will shrink in the face of her lover's passive-aggressiveness. Alma represents the advent of female equality in the 20th century; that she is younger than Reynolds indicates that her worldview will ultimately survive his--and his era's. The difference in age and personality between Reynolds and Alma recalls the relationship between Maximillian de Winter and the unnamed heroine in Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca; Cyril essentially fills the role of Miss Danvers. Furthermore, the obsessive predilection for men to transform women into an "object" of beauty is similar to My Fair Lady. Reynolds views Alma as having a "perfect" body, exclusively because of the opportunities it presents upon which to exercise his artistry. He sees her as a canvas or a lump of clay first, and a lover second, and the audience is left with the unspoken and unsettling question about how closely Alma resembled his mother. As their romance wilts due to Reynolds's fear of commitment disguised as dispassionate stoicism, they argue and instigate petty assaults on one another that brings another film to mind: Ingmar Bergman's Persona. Both films focus on a clash of different personalities that descends into antagonism as sympathy falters. (Coincidentally, both films feature a woman named Alma as the younger and more vivacious woman of each pair of protagonists.) Despite the frigidity and venom, Phantom Thread is a beautiful love story--a profound one that does not obfuscate the grimy moments of pettiness and insanity that lurks within any relationship where values collide in the process of discovering (and overcoming) one another's boundaries.
Recommended for: Fans of a sumptuous recreation of 1950s London and a love story between a controlling yet emotionally stunted older man and a younger woman who tries to awaken his heart. The setting and musical score by Jonny Greenwood--positively verdant with gorgeous piano music--makes Phantom Thread a quiet yet riveting interpersonal drama to which anyone involved in a meaningful relationship can relate.
When Alma asks Reynolds why someone as sophisticated and well-off as he is has not been married, Reynolds claims it is because it would make him "deceitful". Reynolds is shielding himself from any risk to the perfectly crafted "dollhouse" world he has made for himself, and marriage means that he must relinquish a measure of control--be it in his work or in his heart. Much of what the characters in Phantom Thread communicate is through subtext--through implication or the absence of expression rather than dialogue--exploiting "English manners" as a justification for it; but this also represents a fear of vulnerability. One night, Alma takes it upon herself to send everyone in the house away--against the advice of Cyril--so that she can have time alone with her lover, and cook for him. When Reynolds returns home, he is so disturbed by this change in his environment--his sanctum--that he becomes cruel and petulant, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child. Alma accuses him of playing "games", and when Reynolds presses her about what she means, she cuts right to the quick and describes his whole life as being a game. Reynolds needs to live his life as though it were a game, because a game has rules and one can live without upset under the security of rules. What happened to Reynolds' mother is not explained, but when a manifestation of her appears to a sickly Reynolds, she looks exactly like she did when she remarried in the wedding dress Reynolds made for her when he was a boy. Reynolds tells Alma that his father died when he was young, and the implication is that his mother did the same. Reynolds talks of "curses" associated with wedding dresses; in keeping with his idiosyncrasies, he sows a prayer into the hem of the wedding dress for a lifetime customer, Princess Mona Braganza (Lujza Richter): it reads "never cursed". All of this implies that some tragedy befell Reynolds' mother on or shortly after her wedding, and Reynolds has blamed himself for it, trying to control every element of his life so that no other tragedy can take something from him. But the result of this tyrannical dominance over his life and everyone in it has soured his heart and turned him into a kind of Ebenezer Scrooge, afraid to love anything he cannot control.
The age difference between Reynolds and Alma embodies how these two different people represent two different cultural viewpoints and ideologies. Reynolds represents an old English way of life; everything must be "just so". He lives in a palatial London townhouse, and his staff--entirely comprised of women--are like the servants from the erstwhile landed gentry of Great Britain. Alma is working as a waitress when Reynolds lays eyes on her, and she is an immigrant to England, evidenced by her accent and name. She is polite, but she is more assertive than Reynolds' previous companions--not a wilting violent who will shrink in the face of her lover's passive-aggressiveness. Alma represents the advent of female equality in the 20th century; that she is younger than Reynolds indicates that her worldview will ultimately survive his--and his era's. The difference in age and personality between Reynolds and Alma recalls the relationship between Maximillian de Winter and the unnamed heroine in Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca; Cyril essentially fills the role of Miss Danvers. Furthermore, the obsessive predilection for men to transform women into an "object" of beauty is similar to My Fair Lady. Reynolds views Alma as having a "perfect" body, exclusively because of the opportunities it presents upon which to exercise his artistry. He sees her as a canvas or a lump of clay first, and a lover second, and the audience is left with the unspoken and unsettling question about how closely Alma resembled his mother. As their romance wilts due to Reynolds's fear of commitment disguised as dispassionate stoicism, they argue and instigate petty assaults on one another that brings another film to mind: Ingmar Bergman's Persona. Both films focus on a clash of different personalities that descends into antagonism as sympathy falters. (Coincidentally, both films feature a woman named Alma as the younger and more vivacious woman of each pair of protagonists.) Despite the frigidity and venom, Phantom Thread is a beautiful love story--a profound one that does not obfuscate the grimy moments of pettiness and insanity that lurks within any relationship where values collide in the process of discovering (and overcoming) one another's boundaries.
Recommended for: Fans of a sumptuous recreation of 1950s London and a love story between a controlling yet emotionally stunted older man and a younger woman who tries to awaken his heart. The setting and musical score by Jonny Greenwood--positively verdant with gorgeous piano music--makes Phantom Thread a quiet yet riveting interpersonal drama to which anyone involved in a meaningful relationship can relate.