Phantom Thread and the Seams of a Romance
Glancing through the oeuvre of Paul Thomas Anderson, Phantom Thread would appear to stick out oddly. Amid various considerations of particularly twentieth century, American facets of masculinity, Phantom Thread offers something new. Gone are the casinos, the pool parties of porn stars, the psuedo-scientific and all too truly capitalistic cults, and the titans of Western industry. In their place we find a British period piece oriented around a fashion designer. This thoroughly modern director has turned to a deeply classic movie. But it still manages to be modern, and a recognizable P.T.A. film.
In fact, the film is many things. By some ways of looking at it, Phantom Thread could be a romance. And it is. But it could also be a twisty thriller. And it’s a bit of that, too.
Truth be told, Phantom Thread is likely Anderson’s greatest achievement (so far), and the achievement is animated by its successful duality: It is a very classic movie; though also a very modern one. Anderson is still exploring ideas of domination and what it means to be an individual who follows another, but he weaves until a picture of two equals form.
The exquisite duality begins with the lead actors—Daniel Day-Lewis commands his house and studio as Reynolds Woodcock, an dressmaker unparalleled and exacting. To say that Day-Lewis is impeccable is rote by now, but the power of this film resides in Vicky Krieps’ Alma, a waitress that Woodcock turns into employee, protegé, and lover. For all of Day-Lewis’s worthy performances, he is rarely—if ever—this well countered. Krieps brings emphatic personhood to Alma, even in insecure moments, that consistently parry Day-Lewis’ mannered Woodcock. Anderson’s films often have an imbalance of wills, but Krieps guarantees that the film is Alma’s as much as Woodcock.
It comes as little surprise that Alma and Woodcock’s romance begins to sour. As their flirtations take a backseat to a struggle for dominance, it becomes clear where this movie is headed. At least it would seem so, but the film’s greatest move is a final turn that forms it—the movie and the relationship—into something rather unexpected.
If I find it the fullest of Anderson’s tales, it’s not merely because I find it to be the most resolved or most hopeful. Anderson gives both of these characters full, inspired arcs that forms them into incredibly interesting beings.
Meanwhile, Phantom Thread gives Anderson a chance to revel in the flourishing of his meticulous craft—Calling this film gorgeous couldn’t begin to do justice. If the audience isn’t attentive to his lavish frames, their eyes will undoubtedly land on the dresses, the wallpapers, the halls. The lighting is exquisite during interiors, the landscape stunning the few times the movie breaks out into the open. Likewise, Greenwood’s score is beautifully fitting while maintaining its ability to surprise.
