2018 Top Ten List #10 Phantom Thread

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. 

There Will Be Blood

 

Director Paul Thomas Anderson on the set with actor Daniel Day-Lewis (left)

    

THERE WILL BE BLOOD              A                    

USA   (158 mi)  2007  ‘Scope  d:  Paul Thomas Anderson

A big, sprawling epic movie that works as a treatise on capitalism and ambition, on the compulsive drive to make money, where eventually greed becomes the singular driving force, there’s an emotional disconnection from this film that remains hard to describe, that may be due to a screen full of despicable characters, but there’s a palpable force pushing us away from them throughout this film, perhaps the feeling is one of inherent dislike and distrust.  These are not characters we can easily put our arms around and embrace.  Like John Wayne’s crude frontiersman Ethan Edwards in THE SEARCHERS (1956), this is as raw and ugly a portrait of the personification of evil as American filmgoers have seen for quite some time, an example of one of the seven deadly sins exhibited through rapacious land and money-grabbing.  Similar to Terrence Malick changing the overall tone of James Jones’s popular war novel The Thin Red Line, actually rewriting the entire dialogue to become an ensemble piece of interior voices, Anderson remains faithful to the first half of Upton Sinclair’s 1927 novel Oil, a cautionary capitalist warning about the perils of greed published just before the historic stock market crash, but invents a new second half, avoiding any overt political reference while matching an overwhelmingly political tone from the original book  to reflect the amoralism of the Bush years, the idea of wealth being the power shield behind which unmentionable crimes are committed.  Anderson’s film is simply a dramatic recreation of what’s already happened before our very eyes on the world stage. 

While the film defies categorization by writing an epic, near 3-hour film without a single likeable character, there are other major artistic contributions, as it’s beautifully shot in ‘Scope by Robert Elswit, capturing the stark emptiness of the endless Texas landscapes near Marfa, the identical location of GIANT (1956), also featuring a dazzlingly inventive soundtrack from Radiohead member Jonny Greenwood, much of which has a pulsating rhythmic drive of unsettled psychological anxiety.  From the outset, Daniel Day-Lewis seems to have forged a pact with what lies underground, a Mephistophelian deal with the devil where he will pay any terrible price in order to take freely whatever he wants from beneath the earth.  Like a grizzled prospector from THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE (1948), the film opens with a man working alone in a darkened mine, chipping away at what he hopes will be silver.  After a dynamite blast reveals his treasure, he slips on a fragile wooden step and falls down into the shaft, breaking his leg.  He’s fortunate to get away so easily, as he crawls into town and stakes his claim.  Barely noticeable, what’s interesting here is that for the first 15 minutes or so, the story has been advanced without a single word being spoken.  Set during a time period of 1898 to 1927, this film is set to coincide with the era of silent films, so the beginning is an interesting homage to the period, while also reflecting a monetary and industrial shift from mining silver to crude oil, which becomes the new gold standard out West.  When Daniel Day-Lewis finally opens his mouth and introduces himself, one can’t help but think of Mick Jagger’s words to “Sympathy for the Devil”:

Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste.

I’ve been around for long, long years I’ve stolen many a man’s soul and faith.

I was around when Jesus Christ had His moments of doubt and pain.

I made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate.

Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, but what’s puzzling you,

is the nature of my game.

Day-Lewis may as well be a similar charlatan, ingratiatingly introducing himself as an oil man and a family man, a man that can be trusted, but he’s a snake oil salesman introducing himself as Daniel Plainview, a name that has a multitude of metaphoric ramifications—all of them misleading, but the most interesting is the name of Daniel, taken from the book in the Old Testament which means “Judged by God.”  At his side is a young boy he calls his son, H.W. Plainview (Dillon Freasier) but he’s simply a child who’s father died in a mining accident that Plainview decided to raise as his own —another falsehood.  Yet initially, there’s a good deal of sympathy for this Plainview character, as he’s obviously worked hard and sacrificed in order to put himself in a position where he can stand in front of a community of dirt poor California farmers and ask for the oil rights to their land, expecting to get it, and he does.  He comes off as a sound businessman whose shrewdness is being in the right place at the right time.  Yet he’s still floundering, an oilman who’s used to as many disappointments as successes, who understands perfectly well how a calculated risk can be exploited by others for profit.  Then Paul Dano introduces himself as Paul, the name of one of the Apostles, the only one who never met Jesus, yet he was the one who witnessed the vision of His resurrection, so perhaps wields greater influence in Christian theology.  For a small finder’s fee of $500 dollars, Paul introduces Daniel to the area just outside his father’s barren goat farm where oil is literally spilling out onto the land.  What happens next is history.  Daniel Plainview becomes a very rich man.  By 1910, the state of California produced 70% of the world’s oil.  Times have changed, but California continues to reflect the immense gulf depicted in John Steinbeck novels between the poorest workers who continue to toil for some of the richest business operators in the world. 

Paul Dano has a dual role, as he also plays Eli, a name that means “the highest” in Yiddish, which is a stunning eye-opener, as he is the identical twin brother of Paul, a young man who has the calling, who weasels a deal out of Plainview to build him a church, with the promise of more money to follow.  Eli wishes to bless his oil wells so that neighbors might associate him with the prominent signs of economic revitalization, but is rudely shunned by Plainview, who comes to one of his services which is threadbare country fundamentalism forecasting the doom of Revelations, where he witnesses a religious exorcism, calling it “one hell of a show.”  But unfortunate accidents seem to go hand in hand with success, accidents that Eli preaches are the wrath of God, believing they could have been prevented if more of the workers came to receive his services instead of spending their spare time drinking and carousing.  This clearly gets under Plainview’s craw, as he wants nothing standing in the way of his workers and his business operations.  He bullies and intimidates Eli, whose sin seems to be that he is as conniving and unscrupulous as Plainview himself, a doppelganger, perhaps a mirror image of himself working a different angle.  This film reveals some of the accidents that interrupt the road to progress, each a grotesque horror story in their own right.  One of the most visually explosive scenes in the film, one with Revelations apocalyptic proportions is an uncontrolled oil well that catches on fire, where the initial blast is so violent that H.W. is thrown off his feet and permanently loses his hearing, which is also one of the pivotal scenes in the film, as all Plainview seems to care about is the oil under the ground, chortling in his own joy, completely immune to the consequences of mishaps as he gleefully sends in dynamiters, where only the force of yet another explosion will cap the well.  

Plainview ruthlessly sends his son away in an angry act of deceit, believing his disability is unacceptable out in the open plains where he refuses to become a laughing stock or allow others to exploit his son’s condition as a sign of weakness.  In time, Plainview builds an empire, but his eccentricities become more apparent, especially in a scene where he stands down a rival’s business proposition with a merciless threat to cut his competitor’s throat, another apt metaphor.  When a man professing to be his long lost brother arrives on the scene, Plainview is obviously distrustful and openly suspicious, but he curiously opens up to this man revealing his most intimate thoughts: “There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking.  I want no one else to succeed.  I hate most people.”  This moment is beyond strange or socially awkward, the magnitude of this man’s contempt borders on megalomania to the point of sheer lawlessness.  The wealthier he becomes, the more his humanity is sucked right out of him, becoming an alcoholic recluse retreating into the isolation of his wealth, a fortress protecting him from the world outside that matters little to him or not at all, filled with what he repugnantly calls “these people.” 

Anderson titillates the audience throughout with this feeling of enormity, this epic feel that something big is happening, which is intentionally meant to offset the director’s intent to focus more and more on the internalized dynamic of the Plainview character, continually making the film smaller and smaller as the character grows more and more despicable.  Daniel Day-Lewis saves his best for last, as by the end, he is an abomination, as merciless a creature as ever walked the face of the earth, a hideous mutation of THE GREAT DICTATOR (1940) who thinks money gives him the right to be above the law, that the rest of the world can go to hell, that he can do anything to anyone for any reason that pleases him.  The final scene is very much in the Stanley Kubrick manner, as all bets are off, Day-Lewis is finally free of any and all restraint, and he turns into Jack Nicholson in THE SHINING (1980), only much much worse, as he’s a rich and powerful man, so he can get away with anything.  With drool literally spilling from his mouth, man regresses to the Stone Age where once he crosses the line of lawlessness and criminality and gets away with it, what’s to stop him from developing an unquenchable thirst for blood and power?  The final sequence only punctuates what Plainview got away with earlier.  The game is over.  The deal with the devil is done.  Still chortling, his earthly soul has been completely snatched away from him at last, leaving him a staggering fortune, but also soulless and alone.  Unlike Magnolia (1999), there are no emotionally transcendent revelations where the film simply soars into a previously unexplored stratosphere.  Instead, this is a more traditionally grounded, classically made film featuring a gigantic bravura performance from Daniel Day-Lewis, literally one for the ages, as powerful a performance as many of us will likely see in our lifetimes, featuring a horrifying descent into abject amoralism, an uncompromising, startlingly bleak reflection of our times.