Phantom Thread

“I hear your voice say my name when I dream. Then when I wake up there are tears streaming down my face.” Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread depicts a love between an artist and a muse as deeply toxic, often harsh. Yet, Anderson’s visuals speak a different story — each scene is softly curated, and woven with a delicate beauty, it glamorizes this world instead of illuminating the dynamics of intimacy that ultimately muddy love’s idea. Phantom Thread conveys a love that is carefully stitched and bred upon utter perfection; it only becomes ‘idyllic’ once Alma and Reynolds embrace their imperfections, and harness a willingness for love, for growth. This is what love is. Instead of illustrating a traditional love story or arc, Anderson doesn’t shy away from what love traditionally is: a game of extreme, often unhealthy methods to sustain connection. Woven within each triumphant and heart-stilling scene is the idea of grief and remembrance of severed love. Reynolds is still deeply vulnerable about his late mother, he thinks of her, dreams of her almost constantly — his entire work seems to be an honor, or portrait of his love towards her. This idea of restless love — through Reynolds mother — exemplifies the theme of dissatisfaction in life’s scheme. Love (whether it be of an individual, or art, or idea) is un-relinquished, unreachable, insurmountable: there will always be a pursuit for this passion, one that can only be replicated, not grasped. Anderson is imploring to let these passions, these unreachable, formerly present loves, to guide us — to become the basis of our ethics, and drive. Let it shape us, let it ground us, let it hurt us. This is still the most beautiful movie I’ve seen, from that New Year’s scene alone. Happy New Years, everyone!