There’s much to admire in Paul Thomas Anderson’s
Phantom Thread, though I’m admittedly less high on it than
many folks. But it lands in a precarious position of being a movie that, while
I appreciated and enjoyed certain aspects, outside of hardcore cinephiles, I
can’t think of a single person to whom I can recommend this and reasonably
expect them like what they see.
For his latest, Anderson puts a spin on one narrative I’m
about fucking done with: ornery genius uses the fact that he’s a genius to
treat everyone around him, especially the women in his life, like utter trash.
I don’t think it’s quite as subversive a take on the frustrating and
now-threadbare plot as it thinks it is, or as many others appear to believe,
but I’ll give him points for the attempt to change the perspective and power
dynamics.
Celebrated dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis),
a character name that will never not make me laugh—PTA has said it began as an
in-joke between himself and the actor—is the toast of 1950s London. His
fastidious creations adorn the highest of high society. And he’s also a total
prat. Smug and wholly self-absorbed, he leaves a string of women behind who he
romances, moves in, and when he tires of them, essentially ignores their
presence until they get fed up and leave. That is until he has a meet-cute with
Alma (Vicky Krieps), an earnest young waitress who has way more of a spine, and
much less interest in his celebrity, than most of the women he encounters. (He
also orders a heart attack’s worth of food for breakfast, it’s impressive.)
This coupling, of course, changes everything for both Reynolds and Alma and his
neatly tailored life unravels at the seams.
Everyone is losing their damn minds over Daniel Day-Lewis,
fawning over the retiring star—he claims Phantom Thread is
his last film. Honestly, I find him overwrought to the point of distraction—I
get it, I get it, the character is smarmy and affected and full of himself, but
DDL also tips frightfully near those areas himself. It’s the kind of performance
that screams pay attention to me; he practically winks at the audience. People
love the shit out of it, though.
But to be fair, he only gives the third best performance in
the movie. Vicky Krieps simply owns every moment she appears on screen,
entirely overshadowing her vaunted co-star. She’s charming and earnest, a bit
overwhelmed by this new world she finds herself inhabiting, but never out of
her depth or afraid to go toe-to-toe with Reynolds. She’s a delight and a
revelation and comes across as fresh and natural compared to Day-Lewis’ stuffy pretense
and obvious machinations.
And I can barely begin to explain how much I adore Lesley
Manville in this movie. She plays Reynolds’ long-suffering right hand, Cyril.
The consigliere, the one who makes things run. Reynolds Woodcock is busy being
a genius, so Cyril quietly, stoically, takes care of business. She’s the one
who ultimately cleans up his romantic ruination, and she, too, is about done
with it. With a straight, acetic face that belies running emotion below, she
gives a sharp, I’m-sick-of-your-shit turn. Even buried beneath composed
exteriors, her affection and compassion for Reynolds, and eventually Alma,
shines through. It’s a subtle performance that creeps up and devastates.
While the story sounds relatively simple and
straightforward, and in many respects it is, Phantom Thread
is a movie that eschews easy categorization. At times overly droll and somber,
hints of joyful romantic comedy waft throughout; not particularly a crime thriller
(okay, sort of, it’s hard to explain without spoilers), it’s full of
Hitchockian flourishes. PTA is on record calling Phantom Thread
his Vertigo. This seems an odd analogy on the surface,
though thematically, aesthetically, and mood wise, it’s an apt parallel, but in
less flagrant ways than when a film usually garners comparisons to the Master
of Suspense.
Without the services of frequent collaborator, Robert
Elswit, Anderson served as his own cinematographer—though he refused sole
credit, claiming it was a team effort. His usual meticulous framing and purposeful
camera moves are once again on full display. Though while gorgeous at times, it
turns bland and pedestrian at others. Much of the action takes place in the
Woodcock home, a tall, narrow London flat where coiling staircases form visual
motif. An often repeated visual motif. But not one where revisiting a familiar
moment adds thematic weight or narrative insight, one where repeat visits
become repetitive.
The score from Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood, another frequent
PTA accomplice, permeates Phantom Thread—it’s reportedly in
90 of 130 minutes. As the relationship between Alma and Reynolds moves and
evolves, so, too, does the music. Working with a 60-piece orchestra, he mixes
starchy chamber music, classical beats, soaring strings, and jazz riffs to
drive the narrative and underscore the drama. It perfectly matches and enhances
what appears on screen and stands as one of the year’s best.
Phantom Thread is a frustrating movie to
dissect. There’s a great deal I admire and enjoy, but there’s much I don’t. At
times, its self-important and in love with it’s own inflated brilliance; it
can be stodgy and smug and distant, a reflection of its protagonist, some of
which is intentional, some not so much. Other times, it’s lovely and sweet and
inviting; and the romance definitely takes at least one quite unexpected path.
It’s deep and rich at the same time it’s empty and vapid. Daniel Day-Lewis has
been drastically overhyped, while Vicky Krieps and Lesley Manville have most
certainly not.
Phantom Thread certainly sticks with the
viewer and offers much to digest. But like I said, despite what it offers, it’s
hard to picture who I can recommend this to. It feels like a movie made for
critical acclaim, which it’s received in droves, but without much of an
audience beyond a specific niche. And that’s fine. Most of Anderson’s movies
lack four-quadrant appeal; not every movie should appeal to everyone. But of his body of work, however,
this is the most specific and closed off. [Grade: B]
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