Whatever you may think of his individual films, I don't think anyone would contest the notion that, in comparison to other filmmakers, Paul Thomas Anderson is working on a completely different level at the moment. He's the rare director who mastered his craft so thoroughly at such a young age that he has continued to evolve and push himself into new and challenging directions, creating some unforgettable films along the way. After the masterful, sprawling one-two punch of Boogie Nights and Magnolia in the late 1990s, Anderson made an oddball romantic comedy with Adam Sandler. And from there, he made a frontier epic that doubles as possibly the greatest American film of the 21st century, a portrait of the 1950s through the lens of an L. Ron Hubbard-esque cult leader, and a stoner comedy about the death of the hippie era. Anderson's uncanny ability to blend the influential styles of famous auteurs with his own eye for character and time has turned him into one of the greats. His films have multiple layers, and they blend craft and theme so effortlessly that it's easy to miss something of monumental importance.
Whenever he decides to make a new film, it automatically becomes an object of desire and mystery for cinephiles. Anderson has made 8 movies and he's already one of the greatest to ever step behind a camera. With that in mind, it feels futile to review Phantom Thread, Anderson's latest enigmatic masterwork of composition, after just one or two viewings. I've barely begun to grasp what exactly PTA is going for here, and in my experience, rewatches usually improve and clarify his immense vision. It's why it took me two times to fully grasp There Will Be Blood, it's why I haven't dismissed The Master after not "getting it," and it's why I still watch Inherent Vice over and over, hoping to find a way to fully crack into its world.
Phantom Thread is notable for two reasons- it's Anderson's first film that takes place primarily outside of America, and it's his second collaboration with Daniel Day-Lewis. If you view Anderson's filmography as a study of the American Dream throughout the decades, Phantom Thread doesn't quite fit into that classification. But as its own thrilling work of uncompromising artistry, PTA's venture into the fashion world of the 1950s is a dazzling, haunting work of genius. It's a twisted love story of the highest caliber, a psychological struggle between two truly awful individuals who just can't seem to stay away from each other. It's a film of impeccable precision, overflowing with provocative ideas and rich characters. What it says about love is horrifying, but it's a cunning, brutally funny film, further evidence of Anderson's multi-faceted, dynamic brilliance. Even as it runs into some problems that would hinder a traditional narrative (Is it even fair to judge his work in that fashion?), Phantom Thread remains magnetic, building its clever sense of tension before delivering an ending that made me cackle with glee. Anderson continues to deliver, and this disturbing and amusing romance is another outstanding chapter in his legendary career.
In 1950s London, Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is one of the most prominent fashion designers in the world. He designs for royalty and the most famous of celebrities, working within the confines of the intricate House of Woodcock (both his house and his brand). Being the most famous dress designer in the world, Reynolds has a routine that must be maintained. He's as fussy and specific and controlling as you could imagine, and he hates disruptions, whether that's a demanding lover or too much noise at breakfast. And as a notorious genius, Reynolds has several enablers, including Cyril (Lesley Manville), his stone-faced sister and prickly business partner. There's a rotating cast of women that come in and out of his life, and Cyril usually phases them out when they become too much of a distraction. Reynolds is like a child, but nobody else can do what he does.
After designing a particularly important dress, Cyril recommends a brief vacation from London for Reynolds. So he retreats to his home in the countryside, readying his next big idea and taking some time for himself. But he meets Alma (Vicky Krieps), and everything immediately changes. "I feel like I've been looking for you for a very long time," he says to the beautiful waitress on their second or third date, and he seems to mean it. Reynolds has found his new muse, and she returns to London with him. We don't know much about Alma, but her fascination and fear is palpable- the House of Woodcock is a strange and wonderful place. However, like all of Reynolds's love affairs, his relationship with Alma quickly goes south. When she asks him why he never got married, he simply says "I make dresses." His work comes first, and Alma's time with him should be coming to an end. But unlike his previous lovers, Alma pushes back on Reynolds, and their relationship becomes a cruel and twisted game. And it gets pretty wild, guys.
If you want to make a simple and diminutive statement, Phantom Thread is a movie about love. If you want to take that statement one step further, Phantom Thread is a movie about just how messed up love can be. One of the major mysteries that I haven't cracked yet is whether Anderson is attempting to make a universal statement about the odd nature of romance, or whether he's merely presenting a very specific, demented case with Reynolds and Alma. Because what happens in Phantom Thread is so thoroughly outlandish that I can't possibly imagine that it's what Anderson actually thinks about love (if so, yikes). Anderson's films are deliberately enigmatic, walking an impossibly thin line that defies simple classification. But I think it's telling that Anderson views Phantom Thread as a comedy, which makes a whole lot of sense when you see just how absurd things get. Don't get me wrong, this movie is as grim and haunting as the trailers have indicated. Yet at the same time, each character tic and plot development is laced with a dash of acidic comedy, making the power grabs and mannered interactions that much more effective.
Anderson knows that this story is far too over-the-top for everything to be handled with a completely straight face, and he leans into that subtle comedic spirit to create some of the movie's finest moments. That sense of comic timing manifests itself in two distinct forms- broad, all-too-real jabs at pet peeves and the nature of relationships, and gonzo, flat-out unbelievable plot twists that kick into gear at exactly the right moments. The former is the stuff that generates knowing laughter from the audience, the kind of sly jokes that anyone who has ever had to interact with another human being can clearly understand. Watching Reynolds get perturbed because of Alma's loud breakfast routine is just a delight, and Anderson's filmmaking instincts make those scenes pop in a marvelous way. But it's those insane final turns that really bring the movie together, unifying its disparate tones and making Anderson's ambitions feel crystal clear. There's a moment towards the end of Phantom Thread that made me burst out laughing with a kind of shocked joy, a moment so perfect that it stands as an instant all-time great finale. And there's no doubt in my mind that it's exactly the reaction that PTA was looking for.
To dilute the movie to its narrative essence, Phantom Thread poses the question of "What if two absolutely terrible human beings happened to find each other?" Well, it takes a while to get to this point. Reynolds seems like an average creative mastermind at first- brilliant, meticulous, maybe a bit arrogant. And when you first meet Alma, she's fairly unremarkable. The film initially executes their romance in a natural way, clearly establishing what each of them wants. To Reynolds, love is a set of measurements, a blank canvas that can be molded to his liking- and Alma fits the bill perfectly. Alma is looking for a much more conventional love affair, and although she's as enamored by Reynolds's genius as everyone else, she needs affection and care like a normal person. And then as the story continues, it becomes more and more obvious that Reynolds is a pretty bad guy. His snippy tone, his lack of emotional attachment, his clearly defined mommy issues (Anderson wonderfully rebukes this as justification for his behavior), his refusal to even acknowledge Alma- he's a nightmare, plain and simple. But just when you think Anderson is going to turn him into the villain, he takes a turn, revealing that Alma has stunning, unexpected dark side as well. I won't dare spoil what happens, but it shifts the tectonic plates of the whole movie.
Suddenly, Phantom Thread becomes a completely different movie. It's no longer about a swoon-worthy love affair, but it also refuses to paint its main character as a straight villain. Sure, I can see the argument made for Phantom Thread's jabs at toxic masculinity and the inflated egos of artists, but that ignores the heart of the movie. At its very core, Phantom Thread paints a picture of love that isn't about nurturing or caring for one another, nor does it really accept the conventional idea of "soulmates" or loving romance. No, in the eyes of Anderson's twisted screenplay, love is all about power, continually taking the other person down a peg through means of physical or emotional torment. And worst of all, it's a game for two. It's a cycle of madness, but for these two maniacs, it's the only thing that works. When people said that Phantom Thread contained a BDSM component, I scratched my head. But once it reaches its climax, the theme of domination becomes very, very clear.
For all the talk of precise tones and intricate themes, none of this would be possible without the three magnificent performances that exist at the center of this gorgeously wicked story. As thrilled as I was to see Day-Lewis and Manville recognized for their work by the Academy, the absence of Vicky Krieps from the Best Actress category is disheartening. She's mesmerizing in this film, holding her own against an acting giant and creating a character that is unpredictable and thrillingly complex. Part of what's so great about Alma is that she's relatively unassuming, but you're never sure what exists under that timid facade. Krieps has to be simultaneously assertive and deferential, and it's such a layered character that few performers could convincingly pull it off. Krieps is up to the task, and her polite niceties and warm smile cover up a shockingly cruel core that slowly reveals itself as the film progresses. She's a marvel, and the film wouldn't work nearly as well without her.
Should anyone be surprised that Daniel Day-Lewis is beyond outstanding in this film? He's known as the greatest actor on the planet for a reason. Nonetheless, even if you go in knowing that Day-Lewis will dominate every scene, his versatility and performative prowess is so thoroughly dazzling that it's still a wonder to behold. The fact that There Will Be Blood's Daniel Plainview and Reynolds Woodcock came from the same man is astounding. Here, Day-Lewis delivers a character that is so richly drawn, capturing each and every one of his mannerisms and character traits without missing a beat. Reynolds is a maniacal tyrant, but he's also basically a child (which is why he needs to be, uh, "punished" as such), and Day-Lewis knows precisely how to play into those wildly divergent personalities without missing a step. His chemistry with Krieps practically carries the movie, and his sparring matches with Lesley Manville are never less than jaw-dropping. As devoted sibling Cyril, Manville is a stern and watchful eye for her brother, both Reynolds's greatest enabler and his fiercest critic. When Manville appears on screen, you can feel it- her screen presence is unbelievable.
And of course, being a PTA film, Phantom Thread is a masterwork of craft and composition. Anderson's attention to detail never falters, and this luxurious period piece feels like an assembly of artists working at the very top of their respective fields. Jonny Greenwood's score is a work of eerie, enthralling beauty, underscoring the film during its most introspective moments and elevating it when the film calls for an extravagant musical boost. I haven't been able to stop listening to it. As for the costume designs, it'd be hard not to have some great fashion in a movie about a fashion designer, but the work here is so perfect that it'll be a true injustice if Mark Bridges is deprived of an Oscar. There was some concern about PTA deciding to serve as his own director of photography for this one, but it all looks so silly in retrospect- should we ever have doubted him? The cinematography here is of such a high quality, capturing an otherworldly, chilly feeling that's very hard to shake. It makes you wonder just how much control PTA had over his cinematographers in the past- after all, his skills behind the camera have never been less than magical.
And from here, I could go on and on and on. I could talk about PTA's effortless style, clearly inspired by Hitchcock and often feeling almost Kubrickian in form, but so distinctly his own that the influences are totally overshadowed. I could discuss the screenplay, which is an astonishing work of escalation and precision in its own right. I could talk about the film's sense of visual symmetry, its atmosphere that is both alluring and horrifying. But I'll stop here. Phantom Thread is surely not without its flaws, and I would be lying if I said I was completely hypnotized by every waking moment. It's a little long, and the middle section is a tad tricky. But Phantom Thread is such a thoroughly staggering work, a singular vision from a creative force in total control of his craft, that all of those complaints feel totally minuscule. It's rare to see evolve so rapidly during the course of 2 hours, but this deeply unconventional romance never makes a single easy or obvious choice. It's a majestic, uncompromising filmmaking achievement, and it's the kind of film that I know will only grow more captivating with future rewatches. A beguiling, mischievous, and mysterious slice of cinema, Phantom Thread is tricky, it's totally weird, and it's a movie that could only come from the mind of PTA.
Which means it's brilliant.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9/10)
Images courtesy of Focus Features
Whenever he decides to make a new film, it automatically becomes an object of desire and mystery for cinephiles. Anderson has made 8 movies and he's already one of the greatest to ever step behind a camera. With that in mind, it feels futile to review Phantom Thread, Anderson's latest enigmatic masterwork of composition, after just one or two viewings. I've barely begun to grasp what exactly PTA is going for here, and in my experience, rewatches usually improve and clarify his immense vision. It's why it took me two times to fully grasp There Will Be Blood, it's why I haven't dismissed The Master after not "getting it," and it's why I still watch Inherent Vice over and over, hoping to find a way to fully crack into its world.
Phantom Thread is notable for two reasons- it's Anderson's first film that takes place primarily outside of America, and it's his second collaboration with Daniel Day-Lewis. If you view Anderson's filmography as a study of the American Dream throughout the decades, Phantom Thread doesn't quite fit into that classification. But as its own thrilling work of uncompromising artistry, PTA's venture into the fashion world of the 1950s is a dazzling, haunting work of genius. It's a twisted love story of the highest caliber, a psychological struggle between two truly awful individuals who just can't seem to stay away from each other. It's a film of impeccable precision, overflowing with provocative ideas and rich characters. What it says about love is horrifying, but it's a cunning, brutally funny film, further evidence of Anderson's multi-faceted, dynamic brilliance. Even as it runs into some problems that would hinder a traditional narrative (Is it even fair to judge his work in that fashion?), Phantom Thread remains magnetic, building its clever sense of tension before delivering an ending that made me cackle with glee. Anderson continues to deliver, and this disturbing and amusing romance is another outstanding chapter in his legendary career.
In 1950s London, Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is one of the most prominent fashion designers in the world. He designs for royalty and the most famous of celebrities, working within the confines of the intricate House of Woodcock (both his house and his brand). Being the most famous dress designer in the world, Reynolds has a routine that must be maintained. He's as fussy and specific and controlling as you could imagine, and he hates disruptions, whether that's a demanding lover or too much noise at breakfast. And as a notorious genius, Reynolds has several enablers, including Cyril (Lesley Manville), his stone-faced sister and prickly business partner. There's a rotating cast of women that come in and out of his life, and Cyril usually phases them out when they become too much of a distraction. Reynolds is like a child, but nobody else can do what he does.
After designing a particularly important dress, Cyril recommends a brief vacation from London for Reynolds. So he retreats to his home in the countryside, readying his next big idea and taking some time for himself. But he meets Alma (Vicky Krieps), and everything immediately changes. "I feel like I've been looking for you for a very long time," he says to the beautiful waitress on their second or third date, and he seems to mean it. Reynolds has found his new muse, and she returns to London with him. We don't know much about Alma, but her fascination and fear is palpable- the House of Woodcock is a strange and wonderful place. However, like all of Reynolds's love affairs, his relationship with Alma quickly goes south. When she asks him why he never got married, he simply says "I make dresses." His work comes first, and Alma's time with him should be coming to an end. But unlike his previous lovers, Alma pushes back on Reynolds, and their relationship becomes a cruel and twisted game. And it gets pretty wild, guys.
If you want to make a simple and diminutive statement, Phantom Thread is a movie about love. If you want to take that statement one step further, Phantom Thread is a movie about just how messed up love can be. One of the major mysteries that I haven't cracked yet is whether Anderson is attempting to make a universal statement about the odd nature of romance, or whether he's merely presenting a very specific, demented case with Reynolds and Alma. Because what happens in Phantom Thread is so thoroughly outlandish that I can't possibly imagine that it's what Anderson actually thinks about love (if so, yikes). Anderson's films are deliberately enigmatic, walking an impossibly thin line that defies simple classification. But I think it's telling that Anderson views Phantom Thread as a comedy, which makes a whole lot of sense when you see just how absurd things get. Don't get me wrong, this movie is as grim and haunting as the trailers have indicated. Yet at the same time, each character tic and plot development is laced with a dash of acidic comedy, making the power grabs and mannered interactions that much more effective.
Anderson knows that this story is far too over-the-top for everything to be handled with a completely straight face, and he leans into that subtle comedic spirit to create some of the movie's finest moments. That sense of comic timing manifests itself in two distinct forms- broad, all-too-real jabs at pet peeves and the nature of relationships, and gonzo, flat-out unbelievable plot twists that kick into gear at exactly the right moments. The former is the stuff that generates knowing laughter from the audience, the kind of sly jokes that anyone who has ever had to interact with another human being can clearly understand. Watching Reynolds get perturbed because of Alma's loud breakfast routine is just a delight, and Anderson's filmmaking instincts make those scenes pop in a marvelous way. But it's those insane final turns that really bring the movie together, unifying its disparate tones and making Anderson's ambitions feel crystal clear. There's a moment towards the end of Phantom Thread that made me burst out laughing with a kind of shocked joy, a moment so perfect that it stands as an instant all-time great finale. And there's no doubt in my mind that it's exactly the reaction that PTA was looking for.
To dilute the movie to its narrative essence, Phantom Thread poses the question of "What if two absolutely terrible human beings happened to find each other?" Well, it takes a while to get to this point. Reynolds seems like an average creative mastermind at first- brilliant, meticulous, maybe a bit arrogant. And when you first meet Alma, she's fairly unremarkable. The film initially executes their romance in a natural way, clearly establishing what each of them wants. To Reynolds, love is a set of measurements, a blank canvas that can be molded to his liking- and Alma fits the bill perfectly. Alma is looking for a much more conventional love affair, and although she's as enamored by Reynolds's genius as everyone else, she needs affection and care like a normal person. And then as the story continues, it becomes more and more obvious that Reynolds is a pretty bad guy. His snippy tone, his lack of emotional attachment, his clearly defined mommy issues (Anderson wonderfully rebukes this as justification for his behavior), his refusal to even acknowledge Alma- he's a nightmare, plain and simple. But just when you think Anderson is going to turn him into the villain, he takes a turn, revealing that Alma has stunning, unexpected dark side as well. I won't dare spoil what happens, but it shifts the tectonic plates of the whole movie.
Suddenly, Phantom Thread becomes a completely different movie. It's no longer about a swoon-worthy love affair, but it also refuses to paint its main character as a straight villain. Sure, I can see the argument made for Phantom Thread's jabs at toxic masculinity and the inflated egos of artists, but that ignores the heart of the movie. At its very core, Phantom Thread paints a picture of love that isn't about nurturing or caring for one another, nor does it really accept the conventional idea of "soulmates" or loving romance. No, in the eyes of Anderson's twisted screenplay, love is all about power, continually taking the other person down a peg through means of physical or emotional torment. And worst of all, it's a game for two. It's a cycle of madness, but for these two maniacs, it's the only thing that works. When people said that Phantom Thread contained a BDSM component, I scratched my head. But once it reaches its climax, the theme of domination becomes very, very clear.
For all the talk of precise tones and intricate themes, none of this would be possible without the three magnificent performances that exist at the center of this gorgeously wicked story. As thrilled as I was to see Day-Lewis and Manville recognized for their work by the Academy, the absence of Vicky Krieps from the Best Actress category is disheartening. She's mesmerizing in this film, holding her own against an acting giant and creating a character that is unpredictable and thrillingly complex. Part of what's so great about Alma is that she's relatively unassuming, but you're never sure what exists under that timid facade. Krieps has to be simultaneously assertive and deferential, and it's such a layered character that few performers could convincingly pull it off. Krieps is up to the task, and her polite niceties and warm smile cover up a shockingly cruel core that slowly reveals itself as the film progresses. She's a marvel, and the film wouldn't work nearly as well without her.
Should anyone be surprised that Daniel Day-Lewis is beyond outstanding in this film? He's known as the greatest actor on the planet for a reason. Nonetheless, even if you go in knowing that Day-Lewis will dominate every scene, his versatility and performative prowess is so thoroughly dazzling that it's still a wonder to behold. The fact that There Will Be Blood's Daniel Plainview and Reynolds Woodcock came from the same man is astounding. Here, Day-Lewis delivers a character that is so richly drawn, capturing each and every one of his mannerisms and character traits without missing a beat. Reynolds is a maniacal tyrant, but he's also basically a child (which is why he needs to be, uh, "punished" as such), and Day-Lewis knows precisely how to play into those wildly divergent personalities without missing a step. His chemistry with Krieps practically carries the movie, and his sparring matches with Lesley Manville are never less than jaw-dropping. As devoted sibling Cyril, Manville is a stern and watchful eye for her brother, both Reynolds's greatest enabler and his fiercest critic. When Manville appears on screen, you can feel it- her screen presence is unbelievable.
And of course, being a PTA film, Phantom Thread is a masterwork of craft and composition. Anderson's attention to detail never falters, and this luxurious period piece feels like an assembly of artists working at the very top of their respective fields. Jonny Greenwood's score is a work of eerie, enthralling beauty, underscoring the film during its most introspective moments and elevating it when the film calls for an extravagant musical boost. I haven't been able to stop listening to it. As for the costume designs, it'd be hard not to have some great fashion in a movie about a fashion designer, but the work here is so perfect that it'll be a true injustice if Mark Bridges is deprived of an Oscar. There was some concern about PTA deciding to serve as his own director of photography for this one, but it all looks so silly in retrospect- should we ever have doubted him? The cinematography here is of such a high quality, capturing an otherworldly, chilly feeling that's very hard to shake. It makes you wonder just how much control PTA had over his cinematographers in the past- after all, his skills behind the camera have never been less than magical.
And from here, I could go on and on and on. I could talk about PTA's effortless style, clearly inspired by Hitchcock and often feeling almost Kubrickian in form, but so distinctly his own that the influences are totally overshadowed. I could discuss the screenplay, which is an astonishing work of escalation and precision in its own right. I could talk about the film's sense of visual symmetry, its atmosphere that is both alluring and horrifying. But I'll stop here. Phantom Thread is surely not without its flaws, and I would be lying if I said I was completely hypnotized by every waking moment. It's a little long, and the middle section is a tad tricky. But Phantom Thread is such a thoroughly staggering work, a singular vision from a creative force in total control of his craft, that all of those complaints feel totally minuscule. It's rare to see evolve so rapidly during the course of 2 hours, but this deeply unconventional romance never makes a single easy or obvious choice. It's a majestic, uncompromising filmmaking achievement, and it's the kind of film that I know will only grow more captivating with future rewatches. A beguiling, mischievous, and mysterious slice of cinema, Phantom Thread is tricky, it's totally weird, and it's a movie that could only come from the mind of PTA.
Which means it's brilliant.
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9/10)
Images courtesy of Focus Features
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