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Phantom Thread

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Reviewer: Philip Price

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson

Stars: Bern Collaço, Camilla Rutherford, Daniel Day-Lewis, Ingrid Sophie Schram, Jane Perry,Lesley Manville, Lujza Richter, Pip Phillips, Richard Graham, Sarah Lamesch, Vicky Krieps

Released: February 2nd, 2018

Phantom Thread, the latest film from auteur Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, There Will be Blood) that once again stars Daniel Day-Lewis (in what may very well be the actor’s final on-screen performance, but probably isn’t), centers around Day-Lewis’s renowned dressmaker, Reynolds Woodcock, and his sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) who are at the center of British fashion in 1950’s post-war London as Woodcock designs for royalty, movie stars, heiresses, socialites, debutants and dames alike. The appearance of Alma (Vicky Krieps) in Woodcock’s routine then tends to upend every aspect of his life in slow, methodical, and often times even conniving ways. This is an odd movie, but it wouldn’t be a Paul Thomas Anderson movie if it wasn’t mostly off-kilter and if it didn’t go into the numerous layers of meaning and substance coated in what is a seemingly simple and straightforward narrative. This short summary is more or less what the plot of Phantom Thread entails, but Phantom Thread of course concerns itself with more than just the toppling of the structure that is Woodcock’s life made relevant by the appearance of Alma, but more it is about the inner-dynamics of a relationship, the give and take that is necessary if even able to bring one’s self to compromise in such a way. This is a question the film and Woodcock ponder endlessly as our protagonist is someone who seemingly knows what he wants and what he expects out of himself in his life and by living according to that standard never lets himself down and fulfills each of his expectations. This lifestyle also allows for his focus to lie solely on what he desires and to not be distracted by the passions or interests of another. In essence, Phantom Thread is about that struggle that naturally takes place in all of us that pulls between what society and tradition tell us we should want out of life that can often times be opposed by our more personal desires and ambitions. That is, of course, unless your sole desire in life is to find a mate and pro-create. It is true that often times our ambitions and desires remain a certain degree of selfish in that to solely give them their due would result in a life of satisfaction and maybe even one of great legacy, but one that lacks a certain meaning while fully giving over to what we’re naturally pulled to accomplish in life leaves a greater sense of meaning if not as grand a legacy as one might have imagined for themselves. Either way, the meaning is what the individual makes of it and Phantom Thread is the journey of Woodcock having to learn that balance for the first time in his life as Alma is apparently the first in a long line of muses that challenges the meticulous and powerful mentality that Woodcock has effortlessly exuded over those in his life up to this point.

The canvas on which Anderson paints in this instance is maybe the most interesting facet of Phantom Thread as what Anderson is looking to discuss draws no obvious correlations to the fashion scene of 1950’s London, but this is part of what makes the film ultimately so fascinating. The players and their personalities are established rather immediately-at least the sense of who they are and what their ultimate happiness or place of peace is, but the direction in which these personalities will take the film is largely up in the air and therefore what makes that different aspects painted across the canvas all the more enticing. That said, Anderson is exploring a lot of themes and unpacking a lot of stuff in the process of Phantom Thread that are done in such subtle and slight fashions for the majority of the runtime that it’s hard not to roll your eyes a little bit. That is to say that this is something of an indulgent movie. Not that what it is attempting to tackle isn’t tangible and real because the more specific it becomes the more precisely it will hit individual viewers, but as much as it may seem to be it is not the pretentious or conceited slog it might seem is implied. No, Phantom Thread is inherently about a pretentious person, but the film itself is deconstructing what makes this man tick and what makes this woman who desires to care for him and love him feel the way she does. Furthermore, it then addresses the assuredness of this pretentious protagonist because he would typically stand to put his new muse in her place by letting her know in obscenely dismissive ways that as much as she feels she may need him and want him that his life will go on perfectly and as planned without her. He doesn’t need her. This mentality, this personality even-has conditioned both Woodcock and Cyril (a Saint in her own right) to be set in ways they are comfortable with to the point their routine is disrupted even at the sound of Alma’s buttering her toast too loudly at breakfast. That Alma positions herself as more of a constant than any muse that has come before her is already altering the expectations of Woodcock as well as in Cyril, but the two come to adapt (or not adapt) in very different ways. It’s clear that though these two have grown up together and are very much aware of one another’s tendencies that they are not the same type of person and to see these paths diverge when the fork in the road that is Alma appears may not be the main point the film stays focused on as it progresses, but is certainly utilized to compliment the evolving dynamic between Woodcock and Alma. More, it highlights the wonderful performance from Manville who, as much as Krieps goes toe to toe with Day-Lewis, plays Woodcock’s equal the majority of the time if not becoming this matriarchal figure Woodcock needs in times when the man assumes his worth outweighs others. Playing what could be figures the audience already feels it knows such as the tortured artist or the muse, Phantom Thread quickly overcomes such presumptions by way of Anderson’s unique approach to story and the way his conflicts unfold.

To step back from the film for a moment and inspect it from something of a more personal standpoint, my mother’s side of the family-meaning her mom, my Nanny, and her parents as well as all five of her brothers-were British. I lived in England for a few years near the beginning of my life prior to moving back to the U.S., but my Nanny still resided near us, five minutes down the road in fact. That British influence never wavered and continues today through my own mom who returns every couple of years to England to visit her cousins and extended family and friends that remain there as her mother was the only one to ever leave with my grandfather. Near the very beginning of Phantom Thread as the seamstresses file into Woodcock’s building for their shifts there is a shot where two of them assist our protagonist in dressing Gina McKee’s Countess Henrietta Harding and the age, the haircut, and style of one of these seamstresses glasses allowed her to look shockingly similar to a picture of my Nanny’s mother that is my only reference to who this woman was. Suddenly, there she was; moving around the screen and operating in society in the years she would have been alive and potentially in a role similar to what she might have done on a day to day basis. Not only did this open up the idea of who this lady might have been other than a picture in my grandparent’s house, but it provided genuine insight into how detailed every aspect of this world Anderson and his team re-created for this film. It is to this point that, while Anderson’s ability and desire to explore basic human emotions through even more interesting and unexpected avenues is the main objective of his creating art in the form of feature films, there is a joy and a dedication outside of the story elements that make the whole of the experience of watching a Paul Thomas Anderson film all the more enthralling. As if the set were a sacred temple, the costumes the fabric of the characters as much as they are their outer layer, and the performers a conduit not only for the words Anderson has impressed upon the page, but individuals in their own right who might bring their own presence and persuasions to these interactions, small conflicts, and the push and pull that helps them to chip away at their characters as the narrative progresses. In other words, it is clear how much Anderson loves making movies and the idea of making movies and what they can possess or represent in a defined package the multitude of feelings and ideas that might spring about at certain stages in our lives and development. It is an interesting, dare I say even fascinating, way in which to approach the viewing of a movie as well, but the approach to the craft that is apparent in the presentation of Anderson’s films is something that cannot be ignored. This isn’t because the techniques or choices are obvious or take one out of the story being told either, but more they are so unique and personal it is impossible not to notice them. This is more evident than ever in the way in which Anderson continuously unravels layers of his characters and who they are as the film goes on in ways that serve Phantom Thread the same way an action sequence or obvious dramatic sequence might serve a different kind of film.

It is this type of storytelling that might lead one to determine that Phantom Thread is rather boring or contains no plot in the traditional sense and while I found myself checking the clock on my phone a time or two throughout the course of the film this was more out of curiosity as to what point in the film we were or should be at and how much time Anderson had left to let unfold what he wanted to say. Any film that elicits the questions and thoughts about such precise feelings and moments of interaction between yourself and other human beings that makes rise for bigger questions about who we are in nature and why we are that way and on and on though, is certainly not a boring movie as it is the opposite of an empty chronicling of events. Phantom Thread is a meditative character study where one’s reaction to the material will largely depend on whose perspective you see the events of the film from, either Woodcock’s or Alma’s. That is, until the last ten or so minutes of the film when it becomes apparent that the two have found the right measure of one another in each other’s lives. It may all initially feel like executing so much to say something so exact and finite, but with such exactness comes a greater sense of substance and understanding. Phantom Threaddoes this in an exceptional fashion as I can’t help but to want to watch it again as soon as possible to discover things I might have missed on my first viewing. It is a film that will initially leave you bewildered, unsure of how to feel or what there is to say in response to it, but as it settles the movie resonates in countless ways; venturing down avenues one might not have even been aware it dipped into. There is no need for me to tell you how great Day-Lewis is in his role of Reynolds Woodcock or how committed he was to the role of this fastidious fashion designer. There is no need for me to echo the praise of Jonny Greenwood’s elegant and intimidating score that lingers over what feels like nearly every frame of the movie or how Anderson’s cinematography seems to expose every caveat of the facade by lingering on the cracks and crevices of the human body that we cover with beautiful fabrics, but this is all part of the package and it is all as great as one may have heard or expect it to be based on reputation and/or previous credentials alone. Day-Lewis is undoubtedly the lead in the film and his presence is intoxicating as his face feels consistently ripe as if wearing the freshest coat of oils and lotions while the close-ups on the worn skin at the tips of his fingers as he pieces together dresses hint at the cracks to come in his strong facade. That he has fantastic hair and his face is as sharp as ever with its condescending arches-in his eyebrows, his mouth, and all only emphasize how transformative the actor is in every role. All of this is true, no question, but Manville and Krieps are the real stars of the piece. Krieps crafting Alma over the course of the narrative into someone who wants to get to know Woodcock in a way no one else ever has and in turn not only become a preserver of the Woodcock legacy, but a person, a presence he must rely on. Someone he needs in that delicate routine and that he wants to be a part of his time.

I love movies, simple as that. I watch them with an intent to write about them and have always enjoyed discussing the latest news and releases with others. I received a Bachelor of Arts in Writing and Mass Communications/Digital Filmmaking and combined those interests when I began writing about cinema. Hope you enjoy the reviews, Happy reading!

Movie Reviews

The Little Stranger ★★★★

Adapted from the Booker prize nominated novel by Sarah Waters, the cinematic incarnation of The Little Stranger has much to live up to.

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Released: 21st September 2018

Director: Lenny Abrahamson

Cast: Domhnall Gleeson, Ruth Wilson, Charlotte Rampling, Will Poulter, Liv Hill

Reviewed By: Sinead Beverland

Adapted from the Booker prize nominated novel by Sarah Waters, the cinematic incarnation of The Little Stranger has much to live up to. At the helm is Room Director Lenny Abrahamson, with an impressive cast including Domhnall Gleeson, Ruth Wilson and Charlotte Rampling.

Set shortly after the second world war, Doctor Faraday (Gleeson) introduces us to the faded grandeur of Hundreds Hall, a place he envied feverishly as a child. Having belonged to the Ayres family for several generations, the house is now inhabited by just Mrs Ayres (Rampling) and her two adult children, Roderick (Will Poulter) and Caroline (Wilson). When Faraday is called to the house to visit the unwell young housemaid Betty, he recollects his childhood adulation of the place. Remembering the presence of a young girl, he is told that this was Mrs Ayres first daughter, Susan, who had died as a child. It seems the spectre of Susan (affectionately known as Suki) still lays heavily over the house, as housemaid Betty tells Faraday she fears something ‘isn’t right’. As he becomes more entwined with the family and their home, strange events begin to raise concerns and individually threaten members of the family.

From the very outset, the film breeds an unsettling feeling, the house is imposing with long shots conveying the sense that the characters are being observed. The audience follows Faraday in to this fading world of status and money, sensing his childhood desire and starched formality. The family are equally intriguing and unnerving. Roderick, badly injured during the war, is now an invalid struggling to cope and disturbed by the sense that something in the house does not want him there. Matriarch Mrs Ayres seems to be doing her best to keep the past alive and daughter Caroline (the best of the bunch as attested to by a fellow doctor) seems strong yet vulnerable. When Faraday begins an intriguing friendship with Caroline, their relationship evolves to hinge the entire ethereal story together. With fantastic performances all round, the characters all emerge fully formed, conveying depth without the need for swathes of expository back story.

The terror of the film gradually reveals itself, impacting in set scenes that are truly disturbing and realistic. Director Abrahamson has a subtle touch (as seen in the Oscar Nominated Room) and these climactic scenes engulf you, whilst revealing the fate of certain characters. Abrahamson knows how to accentuate the fear for the audience and uses restraint to devastating effect. As the house leaks secrets and the memory of the deceased Susan comes to the forefront, the story is told with an intensity that uses strikingly rich music and extreme close ups to create a claustrophobic atmosphere. However, to reveal too much of the story here, would spoil the experience of discovering for yourself what is happening at Hundreds Hall.

The Little Stranger is a mature and nuanced film, layered in such a way that it address status and class alongside desire and emotion. The period setting is detailed and worn, bridging the gap between transitioning eras in Britain.  This is no straightforward horror or ghost story and the film certainly feels to have done justice to its excellent source material. Rich in theme, characters and style, I would gladly take The Little Stranger home.

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Movie Reviews

Dogman ★★★

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Released: 19th October 2018

Directed By: Matteo Garrone

Starring: Marcello Fonte

Reviewed By: Rhys Handley

Dogman is the anti-Paddington. Antithetical to the marmalade-loving bear’s enduring mantra – “if we are kind and polite, the world will be right” – dog groomer Marcello (Marcello Fonte) carves out a life in the dilapidated outskirts of Rome modestly tending to his estate’s canine residents and enjoying the respect of his neighbours.

But Marcello’s submissive, accommodating kindness is pushed closer and closer to its limit by the hulking Simone (a terrifying Edoardo Pesce, surely masked in near-mutant prosthetic), a brutish ex-boxer who stalks the estate terrorising the residents. Unable to say no to a friend, Marcello facilitates Simone’s egregious coke habit to little recompense.

When Simone’s scheme to rob a nearby jeweller’s implicates Marcello and he is apprehended by the police, the Dogman takes the fall himself and goes inside for a year for the sake of the bully who pretends to be his friend. When he comes out, something has changed.

Marcello, diminutive and always sporting a toothy grin, strikes an unimpressive, but likeable figure. He is perfectly happy with his lot as the film opens – a divorced father who takes pride in his work and loves trips to the beach with his daughter. While director Matteo Garrone makes a meal of the grim, filthy aesthetic of the film’s setting, he peppers in moments of levity and blissful tranquility to reinforce the humble satisfaction of Marcello’s daily life.

To see him repeatedly indulge the cruel, selfish whims of Simone quickly becomes a source of frustration, as the brute encourages vices in Marcello that seems entirely at odds with his persona. Marcello is swept away on break-ins and hedonistic strip club nights in jarring scenes more in keeping with Garrone’s work in the gangster canon such as 2008’s Gomorrah.

In these scenes, the toxicity fuelling Marcello reveals itself. Fonte delicately skews the kindly facade when Marcello enters Simone’s world. Behind his courteous smile is a sickening glimmer of delight – Marcello loves the thrill and decadence of life of crime. His latent desires mix with his better nature, to create something more insidious than Simone’s overt depravity.

Dogman stumbles in its closing chapter as Marcello is released from prison, returning to a community who despises him for violating their trust and chasing Simone’s false offers of brotherhood and fortune. Marcello reemerges not exactly changed, but more honest to himself about what he is. Garrone and his co-writers steer this portion of the story with a steady hand, but it is hard to shake comparisons to other established squares-gone-rogue like Walter White.

Marcello’s resolve and vengefulness is convincing thanks to Fonte, but its emergence is sudden and teeters dangerously close to cliche. His push and pull with Simone is rote, which makes its languid pace a little irritating – this has suddenly become a very different film, and it can’t carry the slower moments of contemplation as well as it could before Marcello was locked up.

An inevitable confrontation takes place, bursting with brutality and gore. But rather than a release of tension, it feels like a betrayal of the thoughtful, measured character piece Garrone set up. The violence overreaches for shock value where Garrone had before been satisfied with something more pensive and empathetic.

Luckily, he pulls back in the final moments of the film and dovetails elegantly by concluding what is essentially his thesis on ‘little guy’ psychology. He frames Marcello not as a good man pushed too far, but as someone whose better and worse natures are intrinsically tangled to create a monster very different to the bully who ultimately leads him to snap.

No matter how kind and polite the Dogman might try to be, he cannot deny the malice that festers in his heart – and Garrone artfully distills Marcello’s melancholic final moment of self-realisation in a resonant closing shot that gracefully irons out the kinks in this curious, inconsistent little film.

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Movie Reviews

Superfly ★★

Director X’s flashy remake of the Blaxploitation classic is a thunderingly dull experience

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Director: Director X
Stars:  Trevor Jackson, Jason Mitchell, Michael K. Williams
Released: 14th September 2018 (UK)

Black Panther, A Wrinkle in Time, BlackKklansman – it’s proving an impressive year for top-tier studio-driven black cinema. The perfect year, as it happens, to release a remake of seventies Blaxploitation classic Super Fly. Or, at least, it would be, if the determining creative mantra behind this update weren’t presumably anything more than to make an episode of Power with all the stylistic glimmer of a P. Diddy video.

Superfly (neatly bringing the title right up to autocorrect standard by repositioning itself as a single word) sees Grown-ish star Trevor Jackson take on the iconic role of the hustling dealer trying to earn his way out of the game – albeit in a newly millennial take that supplants the character’s own drug use for what appear to be Sherlock-level powers of information gathering on anyone he might need to manipulate, charm, or blindside. He also sports the most incredible head of hair this side of Josh Brolin.

Alex Tse’s screenplay sees no gain in revisiting any of the subversive terrain that made Super Fly the enduring classic it became, his ambitions outright stopping at the point his writing could passably sell a made-for-cable urban crime series (such as – to pick a name out of a hat – Power?). Beyond that it falls to director Director X (of the Toronto Xs) and star Jackson to bring the proverbial funk, and – though X really knows how to sell a music video with all the tonal swagger of John Singleton’s Shaft remake (though, noticeably, none of its darkness or consideration) – Jackson simply isn’t a strong enough presence to sell the supposed gravitas of his lead. It’s a weakness no amount of style or gunfire can distract from, and it sinks Superfly dead.

There’s a top-shelf supporting cast in there, with the likes of Jason Mitchell, Michael K. Williams, and Rick Ross turning up for their two cents and subsequently failing in tandem to elevate this dross to become anything close to worthy of standing in its own brand’s shadow. Expectedly enough, it sports a kickass hip-hop soundtrack – with rapper (and the film’s producer) Future offering up a bevy of atmospherically charging beats to ensure you’re at least bored to music, though there is something faintly amusing (outside of context) about hearing an entire cast prattle on about wanting to wipe out “the Snow Patrol”, like they’re working for the NME in 2005.

Twenty years from now, film historians will likely regard Superfly in the same manner as we currently regard Gus van Sant’s 1998 remake of Psycho or Stallone’s 2000 remake of Get Carter – that it’s a pointless creation that completely missed the cultural point of its own iconic original – and they’ll be right to do so. Provided they remember that Superfly even existed in the first place – which they, and you, would be decidedly better off not.

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