Phantom Thread

What a gift to be on your back, helpless and in need of care. Of course, it means you are in pain and immobile. These are the “dangers of falling in love” but also the dangers of letting your ego run amok. Mr. Woodcock knows not what he does or, more importantly, how he does it. One of the first impressions we get is of a man who acts like a three-year-old, and I say this not to libel the guy but to speak to my own experience of walking on eggshells during the hallowed breakfast routine. His lady friend offers him a pastry and he turns it down, quite patronizingly, complaining about its texture similar to how my daughter Flora complains about the soggy cereal that she lets sit. It’s one of many mercurial mood swings that seem to spring from interruptions. Whether he’s aware of it or not, Reynolds is being rude and perhaps his lofty place in the 1950s postwar London couture scene has him convinced that this disposition is a merited roost from which to stare down at the world. That he despises distraction isn’t wrong in and of itself and if I’m being honest, much of his vocational predilections hit a little to close to home. There is something truly monstrous about the way artists/authors/musicians/directors innately neglect the people who have the most personal investment in their well-being. It’s not exclusive to gender, but being pumped with testosterone doesn’t help. Just the other day I was watching Frederick Wiseman’s National Gallery when Tara sat next to me and started to ask me questions about what I was watching. I nearly went Woodcock on the poor lady.

Reynolds meets Alma, a war survivor and immigrant whose history is only implied only through facial cues. Facial cues are the heart and soul of this movie, which doesn’t lack for lavish gestures both of the directorial and thespian varieties (this is a PTA movie). Much has been made of the fact that this is supposedly Daniel Day Lewis’ final movie (and what a magnificent and measured way to leave us) but to fail to appreciate the work done by Leslie Manville and Vicky Krieps would be silly. Anyway, the Alma/Reynolds affair begins with games and power structures as you would expect in that particular day and age. One takes it on the chin while the other floats through life oblivious to etiquette, not of the bourgeois variety, but the way a man of his stature addresses and treats those of a very different caste. He’s not the dictatorial prick you see typically see in films like these, but his superciliousness is almost worse. Alma puts up with it for a while, but after a very existent and hilarious fight she takes matters into her own hands. I won’t spoil it, but it involves a fungal bit of tough love/reawakening.

If the movie were content to settle on this rebirth it’d be great but it’s the backsliding and ultimate acceptance on the part of Reynolds that really got to me. Truth is, you fight and make up. Usually during this squabbling, you see something truly awful in yourself that needs fixing. Then you begin to let those foibles crawl back into your monthly, weekly, and daily customs. We could all be so lucky as to have an Alma in our lives to “feed” us when we need to be fed. We all need to get sick from time to time. To see this power dynamic shift is a thing of beauty. It’s the death of pride and the birth of understanding.

*also, it’s as carefully composed as you would expect. Those lilac socks, the lavender bowtie, and the mauve car really were a feast for my eyeballs.

*my personal favorite scene was towards the end where the doctor was checking Reynolds and he darts a batshit look at Alma.

*  I get the Rebecca comparisons, though comparing Cyril to Mrs. Danvers is lazy and disrespectful to perhaps the only character who tries to add some stability to a house built on pandemonium.

* Sure, Johnny Greenwood deserves props for the score but let’s give some love to whoever chose to add Quebec’s own Oscar “the Maharaja” Peterson’s My Foolish Heart or My Ship, Daydream by the Duke, and Dolly Suite Op 56:1 Berceuse by Gabril Faure, Katia Labeque, and Marielle Labeque to the mix.