Phantom Thread
Paul Thomas Anderson is one of the most singular filmmakers working in cinema today. From the melancholy of Magnolia to the ferocity of There Will Be Blood and the density of The Master, Anderson fuses image and sound in a unique and uncompromising fashion that is distinct and unmistakable. Phantom Thread is as unquestionably Anderson as his other films, with exquisite attention sewn into every detail. From the period detail of cars and interior mise-en-scene to the extraordinary costumes designed by protagonist Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis), to the intimately extended character studies of Reynolds, his sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) and the new lady in their life, Alma (Vicky Krieps), Anderson draws the viewer completely into this world, often to an uncomfortable degree. Reynolds’ expectation of complete adherence to his wishes leads to some squirm-inducing sequences, most overtly when the sounds of breakfast escalate to a cacophonous assault. Yet Alma’s commitment to her relationship with Reynolds combined with her measure of him ensures that she holds her own no matter what he says or does. It may seem reductive to describe Phantom Thread as a romantic drama, but in its entirety it weaves the tale of a relationship that is unlike those normally seen in film. It is perhaps this refusal of narrative convention, combined with the sublime level of immersive details, that ensures Phantom Thread is never less than completely compelling and utterly absorbing, threading its way through the viewer’s consciousness to create a lasting and elaborate tapestry.
Darkest Hour
With the clacking of a typewriter, Darkest Hour echoes Atonement, Joe Wright’s earlier (and more impressive) foray into World War II drama. The bravura moment of that film was an extraordinary long take of the British troops trapped at Dunkirk, the focus of Christopher Nolan’s award botherer. Darkest Hour presents the time of Dunkirk from another perspective – that of Parliament in May 1940 as Winston Churchill (Gary Oldman) takes the office of British Prime Minister while Europe collapses before the Third Reich. Winston faces multiple challenges as he tries to wrangle survival for the troops and also protect his own position. Oldman is superb, unrecognisable in remarkable makeup yet never appearing to be a man in makeup. From his voice that wanders from quavering to strident (more varied than Brian Cox’s equally powerful turn), Oldman brilliantly portrays a career politician who understands the game of Westminster and only plays it his way. As a character study the film is effective and compelling, and Wright uses some thrilling cinematic effects such as long takes that travel around the House of Commons and overhead shots that range from Winston working furiously in bed as well as beleaguered British soldiers in Calais. At other times, however, the drama feels overdetermined, such as the machinations of Neville Chamberlain (Ronald Pickup) and Viscount Halifax (Stephen Dillane) as well as a sequence on the London Underground when Winston performs a mini-referendum on relations with Germany. This speaking to the people raises the interesting question of how to view the film through the lens of Brexit. There may be a temptation to adopt Darkest Hour for nationalistic propaganda, its depiction of a time when Britain stood against Europe calling for Britain to stand against the EU in these uncertain times. Equally, one can see Darkest Hour as a call for unity across borders in a time of division and mistrust, a point emphasised by Winston’s rallying of MPs even as the War Cabinet plots against him. For all its flaws, Darkest Hour still offers much food for debate, be that Parliamentary or otherwise.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
Martin McDonagh’s third feature is touching, moving, darkly humorous and deeply tragic. This seemingly contradictory concoction is expressed through a beautifully measured and exquisitely designed portrait of small town America. Ebbing, Missouri is a town where everyone knows everyone and the major advertising agency, police station and popular bar are within walking distance of each other. Yet it is also a deeply troubled and fractured town. These fractures are foreshadowed in the opening shots, where DOP Ben Davis captures the dilapidated titular billboards, the frame sliced with the supporting struts much as the town is sliced through with mistrust and resentment. For the most part, the direction follows this unobtrusive approach, until a long take expresses the eruption of previously contained violence. This violence is key to its perpetrator, who like all the characters is superbly realised both by McDonagh’s merciless yet tender script, and an array of mighty performances from the entire cast. From incidental figures such as the pretty but oblivious Penelope (Samara Weaving) to supporting characters like James (Peter Dinklage) who cynically embraces the label of ‘town midget’, to the three leads of Mildred (Frances McDormand), Police Chief William Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) and Officer Jason Dixon (Sam Rockwell), all the people in this tale are rounded, engaging and brilliantly flawed figures. Mistakes are made, judgements held and everyone is wracked with anger, pain and loss. Yet there is also compassion, care and love, both between characters and for the film’s world as a whole. For all its harshness and tragedy, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is a wonderfully human story, offering emotional peaks and troughs as well as a subtle socio-political commentary as it gives voice to a largely neglected part of America.