What a Tangled Web We Weave. . .

Perhaps the end of something very special. . . that is, if Daniel Day-Lewis does follow through and retire from acting after his most recent lauded performance in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Academy Award Best Picture nominee Phantom Thread. It is this nuanced role that will bookend a career that has consisted of six deserving nominations and three well earned Oscars (four, if he wins this year).

At the heart of this tale of gothic romance (Anderson’s narrative and classic visual aesthetic reminiscent of movies like Rebecca), Reynolds Woodcock (Day-Lewis) is a renowned dressmaker (circa the 1950s), a man who, like his flawlessly tailored clothing (he hides secrets in the work), expects everything to be just perfect. He is peculiar in his cleanliness and rigidity – every hair in its place, absolute quiet at breakfast (his entire day ruined if his stringent routine interrupted). . . obsessive in every which way, including in that he is still haunted by the death of his mother. An example of this fiefdom of rules and attitude – after tea is brought to him at the wrong time, he exasperatingly exclaims, “the tea is going out; the interruption is staying right here with me”.

Living in a high end London townhouse that features a beautiful staircase (the manor feels like it is right out of a 1940s feature), he is managed by his unmarried sister, Cyril (Lesley Manville); she indulges every one of his fantastical quirks, though she does wield quite a bit of power in her own right.

Taking a drive in the countryside, Woodcock becomes infatuated with the look of a foreign waitress, Alma (Vicky Krieps) – looking a little bit like a young Meryl Streep, he asks her out for a date. . . after which, he brings her back to his home, where he takes her measurements and has her try on a number of garments, an unusual first date to be sure. Moving into the family home, she becomes his muse, giving him newfound inspiration.

Also playing the part of his assistant and lover (as the man has long declared that he will remain a confirmed bachelor), she is enthralled by his charisma and talent, though is driven to push the boundaries of their outlandish relationship (gaining some power in the lopsided affair) – something that will attempt to break the very stiff mould that is Woodcock’s life.

Leading down a path that amounts to a cyclical dark love power struggle, the pair fence back and forth – weakness, control, passion, and loss up for grabs. Alma drives his work forward, but also has the power to hinder it. It is a thrill that Woodcock has never experienced before, someone with such determination and strong-will, able to force him to do things that he would have never done in the past. Alma in Spanish and Portugese means soul, symbolic of the changes that are brought forward by her arrival in the home.

With a hauntingly eerie atmosphere bubbling to the surface, the work is reminiscent of the literary greats in the Gothic genre (Edgar Allan Poe; M.R. James). Alma’s controversial methods may bring a soul to a house decaying from an extended staleness, yet she also breaks down the barrier between living and dead – an uncanny sequence set in a dark room where Woodcock sees his mother in the wedding dress he designed for her second union. The tone, from a colour and cinematography perspective, transitions over time, from vividly coloured dresses on a white/cream coloured backdrop, to a sequence that is so Grimm-esque, dark and morose, that it literally sucked the air out of the theatre (a visceral reaction shared by those sitting in the audience). It is at this point where the unorthodox game of love really takes a turn, with both leads enveloped by their darkest impulses of what love means. Another moment that breaks from the structure of the movie finds Woodcock leaving the confines of his home to track down Alma after she has unceremoniously left him to go to a New Year’s party (the garish, liberal event a wonderful counterpunch to the stiff upper lip British aristocracy). The score, written by Jonny Greenwood, is driven forward by classically leaning piano, and fondly mirrors the subtle changes from romance to something with a more darkish tone. It is one of the more powerful compositions to be found this year – Greenwood fully deserving of the Best Original Score nod.

The fascinating slow-burner environment is further enlivened by the rich portrayals of the three main players. Day-Lewis’ every movement, that of a controlling perfectionist, has him living the role, each step that of Woodcock’s just as much as it is his own. It is a sublime match for Krieps, whose tendencies clash with his like two boats colliding on the ocean – intertwined in a cataclysmic embrace. She channels a passion, an obsessive woman who deviously deviates his routine to not only toy with him, but further ingrain herself into his life. . . and Krieps never feels dwarfed by Day-Lewis, and no greater praise is needed. Manville (nominated for Best Supporting Actress) finds a groove somewhere in the middle, coldly controlling the day to day life of his business, while finding a solace in the muse’s counter-cultural rebellion. She walks the fine line, playing her own game to perfection.

With an intoxicating aura, Phantom Thread weaves romance, drama, comedy, and old fashioned suspenseful horror elements to create a motion picture that cannot be denied. It is like it has its own atmosphere, like a poison that leaves you in a stupor, yet wanting more. So, ingest this palpably fascinating feature film, it is sickly romantic.