PHANTOM
THREAD B+
USA (130
mi) 2017 d: Paul Thomas Anderson
Arguably the most Kubrickian film in the post-Kubrick era,
though it appears emotionally inert and not nearly as interesting, lacking some
of that obsessional Kubrickian devotion to detail (for which there is no equal
or comparison, as his curiosity knew no bounds), though it is exacting enough
in its elegant precision, where this will have to do, with an impressive visual
form showing surprising restraint, especially when seen in glorious 70mm,
making this among the more exquisite cinema experiences possible in the modern
era. Given such an exceptional look throughout, balanced with an
equally alluring French classical musical score, moving from Debussy, Fauré,
and Berlioz, as well as Schubert and Brahms, along with a classical score by
Jonny Greenwood, this is all largely a tone poem, a chamber piece getting
inside the internal minds of a high couture house of fashion, as we observe
them go through their regular workday routines, led by fashion designer
Reynolds Woodcock, Daniel Day-Lewis, a pretentiously obsessive and overly controlling
man in East London in the early 50’s who maintains his childhood temperament,
where everything has to be exactly as he wants it throughout his daily ordeal,
as anything out of place will only detract from his creative impulses,
something that bothers him to no end, letting the offending party hear about it
with regularly occurring temper tantrums, all part of a normal day’s work in
the House of Woodcock. Equally austere is his beloved sister Cyril
(Lesley Manville), affectionately referred to as “my old so-and-so,” a stone
cold ice princess who ruthlessly observes every last detail and manages the
financial concerns of the company, always protecting the emotional inner world
of her brother, without which they could not possibly hope to stay in business,
so his every need is catered to like a symphonic orchestra all in unison,
making sure no one ever plays an incorrect note. All of this is an
exploration of British custom and manner, dressing members of the royal family,
film stars, heiresses, socialites, and debutantes, the potential buyers of this
overly personalized, expensive merchandise, as everyone and everything has a
proper place in the working apparatus of British society, where royalty and
nobility routinely ignore the concerns of ordinary citizens, as they’re too
busy preening in the latest fashion designs coming out of these houses, finding
the right festive or somber occasion to exhibit this costumed finery, as
they’re only allowed to wear it around other equally pompous nobility, where
putting wealth on display is what they do for a living. The customs
and manners of the wealthy aristocracy haven’t been examined like this since
Robert Altman’s Gosford
Park (2001), an absolutely gorgeous film that relished in the
pretentious fun of the upper classes, as it was explored through the eyes of
the servants who were serving these prima donnas, so, much to the director’s
own delight, one assumes, it was told with tongue in cheek. Not so
here, as it’s a much more intricate affair, exploring the world through the
eyes of a full-fledged fashion god and his much younger mistress, exclusive
fashion model, and ultimately his wife, Alma (Vicky Krieps, a relatively
undiscovered actress from Luxembourg), a mere commoner whose worldly pleasures
have little in common with the master of the house.
A film of rhythm and routine, where the women of the
seamstress brigade arrive early, gathered outside the door, greeted personally
by Cyril or Woodcock himself as they climb up the narrow staircase on their way
up to their workroom and immediately find their work stations, putting on white
coats, busily hand-stitching each magnificent dress, (where in a film like this
one must recognize the costume designer, Mark Bridges). While there
is order and quiet in their daily regimen, it is clear these women are
overworked, and used to it, constantly working after hours on special orders
that must meet unheard of deadlines, with no complaining or even an ounce of
displeasure uttered, though late in the film we do discover one of the
seamstresses has taken her talents to another couture house, much to the
chagrin of Woodcock, who takes it as a personal affront to his character,
moaning about how unfair everything is, which his sister endures briefly before
telling him to buck up, as these things happen, unfortunately, and there’s
really nothing they can do about it, so get over it and move on. Her
practical viewpoint is the backbone of the organization, as Woodcock himself is
all aflutter, a moody iconoclast who distrusts all, including himself, giving
it all to his profession, leading a monastic life where he rarely sleeps,
rising each day searching for more fashion inspirations, spending most of his
time drawing his latest ideas. Hating interruptions, the man is the
picture of the walking wounded if even so much as a sound is ever heard out of
place, as his all-important mood depends upon complete obedience to his
everchanging temperament. While Day-Lewis seems to specialize in
domineering characters who are used to having things their way, bullying those
around them to get their way, this is reportedly his last role, claiming he
will be retiring from acting, though making himself scarce will only increase
the price of offers to come out of retirement, most likely a shrewd business
decision. Because of all the accumulated aggravation that comes with
the pressure of his chosen profession, Woodcock has been dreaming lately about
his beloved mother, who taught him the trade, believing she is hovering over
him, keeping watch, so his sister suggests a trip to the country would do him
good, suggesting he get a head start and she’ll join him the next
day. This sets the stage for the all-important meeting between
Woodcock and the shy, introverted waitress that serves him, a bit clumsy, but
devoted to his every need. Almost instantly, he asks if she’ll have
dinner with him, introducing her to the opulence of his world, retreating to his
work quarters afterwards where on their first date he dresses her, designing a
gown for her right there on the spot, taking her overall measurements (there
are more than a dozen) while Cyril jots them down in an oddly overstuffed
personalized catalogue, freely intruding into her personal interior space, as
if stripping her naked and commenting upon her physique, though after
expressing some displeasure about her own unconventional form, thinking it
doesn’t fit together well, Cyril reassures her she has the perfect physique for
her brother, as “He likes a little belly.”
The film has doses of humor throughout, but most can be
attributed to the absurdity of Woodcock’s demeanor, an overly fussy
perfectionist who is easily thrown off his game, where the sounds Alma makes
having breakfast in the morning become a prominent theme of the film, as it
grates on his nerves, such as buttering her toast, or stirring her coffee,
stomping off in a huff, with Cyril calmly acknowledging “If breakfast isn’t
right, it’s very hard for him to recover for the rest of the
day.” The underlying dynamic of their relationship, however, is rock
solid, building upon a trust factor established as his leading model, as she’s
completely devoted to him, just like everyone else that surrounds him, where
all obey his every wish, never once stepping out of line. His
demanding nature, however, gets the better of him, as even he needs to slow
down a bit to keep from overburdening himself with all his petty grievances,
which he only addresses through inappropriate tantrums, his way of letting off
steam, which seem to balance the equilibrium and get him back into working
order. These mood swings are quite extreme, with Alma taking note,
assuming an air of quiet rebellion, becoming something we never expected,
discovering her own home grown solution for providing the needed balance, as
only when he’s completely exhausted and off his feet does he turn tender and
appreciative of her care, lavishing him with love and affection. So
Alma, so quiet and reticent most of the time, meek as a mouse, learns how to
push the buttons, dangerously so, pushing him to near exhaustion, resembling
the tactics of extreme sadomasochists who strangle their lovers just prior to
sexual release, increasing their pleasure by dangerously toying with levels of
pain. This allure of toxicity is a dangerous game, yet it’s the only
way to restore any equilibrium to his ill-mannered, overly dominant behavior,
balancing his outlandishness with a restorative remedy, where only she has the
power to bring him down to size, carefully watching over him in the
process. It’s an odd set of circumstances to be sure, but if
anything can be known about the personal eccentricities of the wealthy it’s
that many lead dysfunctional personal lives, at least according to Truman
Capote, a socialite writer who partied with the rich and famous and wrote about
it, both in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and
his posthumously published Answered
Prayers: The Unfinished Novel, suggesting personal habits that are
astonishingly weird, exaggerated beyond extreme, which is why they go to such
extremes to keep them private and out of the public domain. This
film only feigns at what’s really going on under the surface, remaining largely
a superficial glimpse of an obscure world, like Cyril the first time she
discovers the presence of Alma in the house, “And who is this lovely creature
making the house smell so nice?,” moving uncomfortably closer and actually
soaking in her smell, describing the aromas with inscrutable detail. While
Woodcock is a puffed peacock of male arrogance and pride, Alma knows the
pressure points to bring him down to size, relishing that time together, both
drawn to one another like an intoxicating allure, yet those morning breakfasts
still have a way of grating on Woodcock’s every last nerve, but he stomachs it,
relinquishing a smidgen of control, knowing she is utterly devoted to him, a
trustworthy partner, an equal in love, and a lifelong companion who will
continually watch over him like the dead spirit of his mother, only Alma will
be there to greet him every day, serving his every wish. Probably
Anderson’s most accomplished film since There
Will Be Blood (2007), though still missing the fresh potency of his
earlier films, in the end, with a lavish Max Ophüls style set design and
swooning moods out of Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940,
whose wife was named Alma, by the way), this is just another old-fashioned love
story.
Note
Shooting on the film ended the same day as the death of
Jonathan Demme, a fellow film director, close friend and mentor who died from
cancer. The film is dedicated to Demme.
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