Image courtesy of Collider

Paul Thomas Anderson is sometimes criticized for his lack of well-written female characters—this criticism is duly noted, but let’s not suggest Anderson writes bad female characters. When he does take the opportunity to develop a female character, he does it bloody well. Whether it be in Boogie Nights (1997) with passionate performances by Julianne Moore as Amber and Heather Graham as Rollergirl or in Punch-Drunk Love (2002) with Emily Watson’s nuanced idiosyncratic role as Lena, Anderson tailors and sews complex female characters that leave us coming back and back to his closet of movies.

Anderson’s newest film Phantom Thread (2017) is no exception. Vicky Krieps’s Alma gives us a performance that weaves so perfectly with Daniel-Day Lewis’ that the end result is a flawless movie. Phantom Thread is perfect in the way those old classic Hollywood films are perfect—every snitch fits into the totalizing unity of the work, every line of dialogue and camera position advance the dynamic relationships between characters, every note of Johnny Greenwood’s soundtrack needles its way into our emotions, and every cut is so-well placed, it disappears into the fabric of the film itself.

The film is about Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel-Day Lewis’ supposedly final performance) and Cyril Woodcock (Lesley Manville)’s incredibly successful dressmaking house. Reynolds is a dressmaker who is dedicated to his work to the highest degree. That is, until Alma enters his life as a romantic partner and muse. The movie takes a series of twist and turns as it shows the life of a dressmaker in London while developing Reynolds relationship with Alma. These two threads are inseparable from one another. In fact, Alma becomes the missing stitch that subtly plays with the “genius artist” convention for the entire film until, in the end, we raise our eyes at the screen with a look of both amazement and bewilderment at what just happened.

My fascination with the Alma character might seem puzzling to anyone who has read reviews on the film, but I believe I am in good company to anyone who has watched to film. For those who watch movies without looking at reviews, you would be surprised to find that most of the reviews are either (1) focus on Daniel-Day Lewis’s performance and (2) use the movie as a platform to give a social-relevant opinion about men in power-positions abusing women (though rest assured that all reviews try as many fashion puns as possible in the limited space critics have before readers get bored of their review).

These reviews definitely have a place, but I want to offer another perspective. I want to push a perspective that gives credit to Vicky Krieps’ performance and captures Paul Thomas Anderson’s collaborative spirit. Anderson’s directing-style favors teamwork over artistic egotism: for example, Anderson didn’t take cinematography credits for Phantom Thread despite being the DP, because he believes that cinematography is a team effort. From the very start, Anderson has complicated any attempts at easy categorization—his movies are seldom about one thing—there are characters upon characters (like a lot of characters) and subtlety upon subtleties. Phantom Thread is no different; Phantom Thread is not a dress—it’s a whole wardrobe.

One important (and neglected) reading of the film is its characterization of Alma and her relationship with Reynolds. The film is fundamentally about the psychological dramas between Alma and Reynolds. We don’t see Reynolds actually making dresses for most of the movie. In fact, there is more screen-time devoted to Reynolds eating dinner with Alma than on Reynolds coming up with dress designs. The film is spun around Alma and Reynolds, understanding that dresses made out of one fabric are often-times not good dresses. For every close-up Daniel Day-Lewis gets, Vicky Krieps gets just as compelling of one. For example, there’s a great scene at the start of the film (in fact go watch it now, it’s in the trailer) where Reynolds asks Alma for dinner, and Alma is silent for a few seconds before enthusiastically saying “yes”. If comedy is all about timing, then Krieps became a world-class comedian in that moment. That delayed “yes” opens up a multiplicity of possibilities of what Alma could be like and, in retrospection, perfectly captures what Alma is. Moreover, it situates the film to be less about one man and more about, like every other Anderson film, people’s (messed up) interactions with one another.

The film explores how habit changes romance. The idea of marriage, not dressmaking, becomes the force that pushes the narrative forward. Most memorable parts of the film are not the bombastic fashion showcases but the tender moments Alma and Reynolds have together in beds and beaches. Moreover, the film is told from the perspective of Alma. Alma is not a passive narrator impartially examining Reynolds’ work—she’s a complex and fleshed-out character that understands Reynolds through herself; as a result, we understand the film through her relationship with Reynolds.

Alma and Reynolds are broken threads that struggle to understand where they fit in the dress which they are part of—the two immerse you in a human drama that explores the psychological depths of our unusual behaviors. Fundamentally, Anderson gives us a key insight on human relationships: we get together not despite our ruinous natures, but because of them. Anderson is unabashed in his examination of the body underneath the dress—the repressed and hidden parts of ourselves that not only want to be expressed but need to be. Alma’s response to Reynolds deconstructs Reynolds’ characterization from within until we only get the bare-bone essence of human interactions. Ultimately, the film shows us how to be human no matter what situation we find ourselves in, and that, in the times we find ourselves in, is both comforting and demanding.

I don’t want to say much more, because watching the dynamic between Alma and Reynolds unfold organically has been one of the most satisfying film experiences this year. But for those who have yet to watch the Phantom Thread, I would say this: pay close attention to Alma, because she is the hidden lining underneath the garment that makes the film permanently threaded in your memory.