Phantom Thread

I’ve been thinking about The Master. Which I realise is a weird way to begin a Phantom Thread review, but it’s because I’ve been thinking about them together. Whilst there is very little to link the films together, on the surface level, (aside from the obvious technical similarities, like PTA as a director, or Johnny Greenwood as composer) I now believe that the two masterpieces compliment each other exceedingly well. The first thing that made me link the two Anderson films, rather ironically, was the final shot. At the end of Phantom Thread, just before the titles come in, we see a wide shot of Alma and Reynolds. Alma is stood centre frame, still, whilst Reynolds works around her, fitting and perfecting his work. The Master finishes with a close-up of Freddie, hugging his sand woman, pressed tightly against the mounds of sand that form her breasts. Whilst the framing of the shots are different, the actions of the scene are very similar - both ‘women’ are shown unmoving, with the male lead concentrated around them, arms wrapped around their bodice, but the similarities draw deeper than that. In terms of narrative, both shots represent moments in time that appear earlier in the plot, despite bring new shots. The insistence to return to these moments, suggest that it is these moments that reflect the Todorovian new equilibrium, thus helping us decipher the tone of the endings even further. The Master is often pointed to as being an overtly Freudian film, an assessment I think is justified. The film revolves around a power struggle between three characters, who could each be easily read as one of the 3 elements of the Freudian psyche – Freddie being the most obvious, as the ‘Id’, impulsive, pleasure-driven, and often described as ‘animalistic’ by various characters. In this reading, Peggy Dodd becomes the ‘Superego’, seen whispering morals of what Lancaster ‘should’ and shouldn’t’ do with Freddie. Lancaster Dodd is perhaps an odd choice for the reality-focused, middle ground of the ‘Ego’, as the elaborately lying leader of a religious cult, but truly, I believe he is the most down-to-earth of any of the main three. Philip Seymour Hoffman’s entrancing performance, the character’s costume design, and general attributes all seem to be an intertextual reference to the character of Charles Foster Kane in Orson Welles’ 1941 masterpiece. Both Kane and Lancaster look the perfect images of capitalism, complete with a patriarchal reign over their families and a huge cigar each. Both characters are successful, but ultimately fraudulent, and both seem to exhibit a hollowness that comes from their own loneliness. The scene of Lancaster Dodd’s speech recalls all too well Kane’s famous speech in Citizen Kane, and in both, the great men promise fantastical dreams. Ultimately, Kane and Lancaster are the only characters who cannot buy into their own dreams – they are the most grounded in reality because they are aware that they are frauds. The Freudian psyche behind Phantom Thread maybe less spoken about or evident, but it also revolves around three similar characters, Alma and Reynolds of course, and Cyril Woodcock. Like Lancaster, Reynolds becomes the middle ground, the ‘Ego’ between the two other characters, despite being an extroadinarily eccentric character himself. In fact, though it is not as immediately apparent as the comparison of Kane, Reynolds, too, is quite a similar figure to Lancaster, and it is very interesting to me that PTA decided to create two characters who are so fundamentally similar, in films that are so close in production – eccentric, but fragile, old, white men who perceive themselves as being good at only one particular speciality, and use that skill to create a cult following, in which the central character is incongruous to, but hypnotised by. Which brings me to Alma, the unsuspecting ‘Id’ of Phantom Thread. Unlike Freddie, Alma isn’t prone to violent and sexual outbursts, described as an ‘animal’ or shown to give in to any pleasure-based impulses, in fact, when compared with Freddie, she is a very sophistaced ‘Id’. But importantly, she isn’t sophisticated enough. Alma is ‘othered’ throughout the film, and shown to be completely incongruous to the House of Woodcock, from the way the diegetic sound design of the breakfast scene (by Chris Scarabosio), in which Alma’s knife buttering is highlighted when contrasted with the echoey silence of the House, to the way Lady Baltimore mocks her later on, calling her ‘a toddler’. Baltimore also mentions that Alma is not English, another way she is ‘othered’ from the setting, and a topic that is only brought up once before, in the middle of the asparagus debate, in which Reynolds tells her to ‘fuck off to back where you came from’. By exploring the old culture of English patriotism and xenophobic hostility, PTA shows us that Alma is not welcome here. Much like the ‘Superego’ in The Master, Peggy, Cyril stands behind the patriarch, and attempts to control any personal aspect of his life she can, telling him to break up or stay with girlfriends, managing his business, and advising Alma on how to treat Reynolds. In a way, both films can be read as a battle between the ‘Id’ and the ‘Superego’ over the ‘Ego’, and thus, an inner conflict of the human soul. Through this lens, we can see the films as a back and forth in the psyche, with scenes that switch alternate from a neurotic psyche, when the ‘Superego’ is in charge, and the psychotic psyche, in which the ‘Id’ has control. The battle for which elements of the Freudian psyche controls the ‘Ego’ rages violently throughout both narratives, and to discover the victor we need do no further than return to the final shots of the films. In Phantom Thread, the ‘Ego’ and ‘Id’ are united, Cyril’s ‘Superego’ has lost, explaining the importance of returning to that moment of time at the end. The final shot of The Master is more confusing – there is no ‘Ego’, just the ‘Id’, isolated. From this we can assume that Freddie’s ‘Id’ has lost the battle, but could there be something deeper at play? When she appears to him during his hallucinatory episode, Reynolds’ mother wears the wedding dress that Reynolds describes making for her earlier. We are seeing her how Reynolds has preserved her in his memory, demonstrated through the fact that she is a hallucination and that she is held in a reverse shot from Reynolds’ perspective. Therefore, her costume design shows what Reynolds remembers of her – as a figure, for him, she both showcases his passion and skill in dressmaking, and provides the maternal affection he needs to ‘slow down’, as Alma describes. After he sees her, Alma walks in, and for me, this is the moment where the relationship of the film begins to click. For one shot, and only one shot, Alma and Reynolds’ mother are shown together. Once again, this is Reynold’s perspective, and assuming that Anderson is making use of the Hitchcockian philosophy of Pure Cinema and perspective, we understand that Alma and Reynolds’ mother provide Reynolds with the same thing – Alma, too, showcases Reynolds’ passion and skill in dressmaking. To return to Freudian theory, another of his more famous theories is the Oedipus complex. I’m no psychologist, so my explanation of this theory will be brief and rough, but the theory revolves around the role of the mother to her son, and, infamously, the sexual desire that the son develops for his mother during his infantile years. Freud suggests that there are two steps to becoming a man - first, a boy must grow away from his mother, then he must have sex with a woman who is not his mother. A classic example of this, and one that bears a remarkable amount of similarities to Phantom Thread, is Vertigo. At the start of the film, Scottie, despite being an adult, is still in the Freudian ‘boy’ phase, enhanced by Stewart’s performance, where he can’t help fidgeting, moving around Midge’s apartment, or whining childishly. Midge herself represents the mother figure – there are references to when they were attached in the past, and she enjoys taking care and providing for Scottie; when he needs to childishly whine about something, she is happy to listen and offer comfort. The relationship between Reynolds and Alma is not dissimilar. Much like Scottie, Reynolds has a tendency to act childishly, in fact, Day-Lewis’ performance is at time remarkably similar to Stewart’s – Reynolds also has a tendency.to act childishly, in fact, Day-Lewis' performance is at time remarkably similar to Stewart's, Reynolds also has a tendency to whine and fidget, des pite acting extraordinarily gentlemanly and adult. And, much like Midge, Alma enjoys being the person that Reynolds whines to, and dotes upon the idea of comforting him, to the extent of poisoning him so that she can become his caring mother once more. And there's the difference. Scottie successfully moves away from Midge and has sex with a different woman, becoming a man in the Freudian sense; Reynolds does not. As much as the final shot represents the 'Id' and the 'Ego' unified, it also shows the boy, unable to leave his mother's side. The Phantom of Phantom Thread continues to haunt Reynolds, in a doomed cycle of torture and (literal) toxicity. Really, Reynolds is more Norman Bates than Scottie, perhaps hinted towards in an extreme close-up during the fashion show scene. Reynolds’ presses up against a hole in the door, which cuts to his view – Alma on display, shots that mirror two of Psycho’s shots, which show Bates watching Marion as she gets undressed. But Reynolds may not be the only character who can draw parallels with Psycho’s cross-dressing killer – Freddie could be seen as even more similar. From the beginning, Anderson goes to great pains to show us that The Master is a film that is actively engaged with Freudian psychoanalysis, the topic ties hugely into Lancaster’s ‘processing’, and even before Dodd is introduced, it is brought into focus through Freddie’s overly sexual, Freudian answers to the first Army therapist. Like Reynolds, and in turn, like Scottie, Freddie is presented as childish, representing the Freudian ‘boy’, possibly to the most exaggerated extent of all examples mentioned. He acts rudely and abrasively, cannot maintain the responsibility of a job, loses concentration fast, and, of course, whines about his own position to anyone who stops to listen. Like Reynolds, and in turn, unlike Scottie, Freddie’s Freudian journey from boy to man ends unresolved, he is unable to grow, ending unified with the maternal image, his head by her breasts. However, what happens in between the start and end is different from Reynolds’ story – Freddie does not have a caring maternal figure to take comfort in, or to move away from. Instead, Freddie moves between female figures, from Doris to the Sand Woman (more on her in a minute) to Martha, fulfilling nothing more than childhood fantasies, until he finds Lancaster, his alternative. If Freddie has lost his mother figure, then Lancaster is his found father. Unfortunately for Freddie, he soon discovers, that though his ‘father’ fulfils the lost feeling inside him, the Freudian father does not hold the same values as the Freudian mother. Lancaster works Freddie, and forces him out of his comfort zone, opposite to the comfort that Freddie wants from his lost ‘mother’, and this is something that Freddie tries to tackle for most of the film, until he no longer can, is disassociated from his ‘father’, and tries to resolve his mother issue by going the furthest back he can remember – Doris. But he is too late. Thus the final shot again, Freddie resting by the bosom of the Sand Woman, and, given the sexual desire he showed for her at the start of the film, perhaps it is safe to assume that this is Freddie’s true ‘mother’ – the image of woman, a vision he is bound to keep chasing. In the final scene, this woman is the girl he picks up at the bar, but I believe he is destined to keep searching, always looking for his Sand Woman. Through this reading, the final shots of both films are actually very similar – the Freudian boy, unable to complete his journey to manhood, unified with his mother figure, devoting himself to her. But to reduce the complex character of Reynolds Woodcock to just the role of the ‘Ego’ is ignorant. To reduce the complex character of Lancaster Dodd to just the role of the ‘Ego’ is ignorant. Both characters are manipulative, layered, and important players in the games of control that take place in both films, especially when it comes to controlling their respective ‘Ids’. Whilst Lancaster is the more obvious one, especially in his heavily psychology related ‘processing’ scene, I believe that Reynolds actually does many similar moves to Lancaster, in order to seduce Alma the same way Lancaster seduces Freddie. However, whilst Lancaster’s seduction takes place over that one processing scene, Reynolds’ seems to occur over several scenes, from the cafe in the country to the fitting at the house. Lancaster begins by asking Freddie if he’d like to take part in ‘some informal processing’, inviting him in to a space where he feels welcome, suggesting that Freddie has chosen to take part in this, rather than being forced, allowing him to open up and become more vulnerable. There are other things that Lancaster does before this, which also open up Freddie to that vulnerable state, such as complimenting him on his skill at drinks making. From everything we have seen of Freddie up to that point, we understand that drinking is important to him, and he lacks the affirmation that Lancaster gives him about his skills after he was berated about that due to the poisoning of the old man. Lancaster moves him from Freddie’s personal space, where he feels comfort, to his own professional space, whilst retaining that comfort. Reynolds and Alma undergo a similar transition, if slower, highlighted by the change in mise-en-scene – they begin in the café where Alma works, then move to a restaurant, then Reynolds’ car, then his house, and then his workspace. Like Lancaster, Reynolds is the one to invite Alma into these spaces, making her feel welcome and opening up that vulnerability, and he is polite and admires her work, even going so far as to test her memory with the order. Like any person, Alma appreciates this care and admiration of her skills, and so is once again more likely to open up her vulnerabilities. Suddenly, both men take a different route. Once they have seduced their victim into their professional environment, and open up, they directly attack the vulnerability they exposed by enforcing their professional authority. Out of nowhere, Lancaster refers to the processing as ‘formal’ rather than the ‘informal’ process Freddie agreed to, established the tone of the situation as not a personal one. He then calls Freddie his ‘protégé’, using his experience in ‘processing’ to get rid of the notion that he and Freddie are equals. This directly contrasts the behaviour he just showed, and establishes a new hierarchy in the relationship, something Reynolds also does. In a shocking line of dialogue, Reynolds suddenly tells Alma that she has ‘no breasts’, an objectively rude and out of pocket observation, that takes Alma by surprise, given the original relationship established. Exacerbating Alma’s embarrassment is the presence of Cyril, who comes with Reynolds’ work environment, and immediately literally assesses Alma, watching with a clipboard, and taking notes on her physical attributes. In both cases, the warm, welcoming relationship that had been established between the two is torn down, and Freddie and Alma are forced to suddenly readjust to the new, colder, professional relationship, in which they exist as lesser in the hierarchy. Its an uncomfortable depiction of manipulative people, but the comparisons draw even further. Both Lancaster and Reynolds enforce a focus on staring and eye contact, something that Lancaster outwardly demands as part of the processing, but Alma has to point out the ‘staring contest’ in Phantom Thread. There are several interpretations of this need for eye contact – on one level it is about building relationships with someone, as these scenes have a focus on, and the well-researched fact that heavy eye contact is good for building strong and trusting relationships. However, because of the strange and prolonged nature of the eye contact in these cases, it could be suggested that the relationships and trust being built is unhealthy and strange. This said, I would argue that another interpretation is that it is once again a manipulative tactic by the men to make their victims feel judged, and use their power to put them in their place. The reason that both Lancaster and Reynolds want Freddie and Alma to feel so scrutinised and inadequate is so that they feel like they need them, and are forced to return to them to fix themselves, as becomes clear throughout both films. In a way, through these seduction scenes, Reynolds and Lancaster act as salesmen for their own services, and in both cases it works – Alma’s non-diegetic voiceover that serves as a sound bridge into the next scene describes her feeling that Reynold’s fixes her with his dress, whilst Freddie is so excited by the processing that he asks for a second round and immediately becomes loyal to the cause. The nuance in Phantom Thread (and part of the reason that is my preferred masterpiece of PTA’s) is that Alma eventually understands this method of Reynolds, and uses it back on him, making him ill so that he feels like he needs her. It is this poisoned cycle that keeps their love intact, in a strange way, and means they end up together in that final shot. Freddie, on the other hand, despite Philip Seymour Hoffman’s fantastic performance demonstrating Lancaster’s need for Freddie as his ‘protégé’, fails to see through this tactic, hence why he loses the battle of control to Peggy, and fails to develop, returning him to his mother image of the Sand Woman. I know you didn't read all this, that's okay. I wrote this for me. My only serious essay that requires reading on this app is my Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 one. Would recommend.