Phantom Thread: Male Wet Dream

I saw Phantom Thread last weekend, Daniel Day-Lewis's supposed last film, directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. The acting is good, the sets and gowns are beautiful (Daniel Day-Lewis plays a fashion designer in 1950s France), and the music is lovely. The movie has a lyrical, genteel, rarified atmosphere, a window into a gracious world. It has just been nominated for a raft of Oscars, including best picture, best actor, best director, and best supporting actress. 

In this film, Woodcock takes up with a young waitress named Alma (Vicki Krieps). He lives with his sister, Cyril (Leslie Manville). He also makes beautiful gowns for wealthy clients. 

Note the possessive hold on her neck-- and the age difference. 

Woodcock  is so sensitive and his life so rarified that when Alma butters her toast or pours water too loudly, our designer's fragile nerves and concentration are shattered. The movie has  a comic edge (or the audience invented one), because people kept laughing at how over-the-top it all was.

She's his doll. 

As usual (when will I learn?), I was aghast at the way women and their relationships with a male were portrayed. This was another Dr Zhivago, a male wet dream, only without the pesky bother of a communist revolution to disturb Woodcock's gracious lifestyle. Woodcock is adored by the two women in his life—the masculinely named and largely desexed (despite lipstick and pearls) practical mother figure Cyril, and Woodcock’s love interest, Alma. They both live to serve him. Their world revolves around his. As in Dr. Zhivago, these adoring women get along  together… because what could be more important than uniting so as to in every way serve and service the creative genius male? Lives of their own: nyet. Who would want that? Their devotion is utter and unstinting.

Alma's brain is conveniently missing from this photo but not her breasts or her buttocks--or the male gaze.

After watching it, I read one review—in the New York Times—glowing. No questioning of, say, a 60-something marrying a 20-something. It was all “love.” No mention of emotional abuse or Stockholm syndrome. No questioning of the state of mind of the young woman who would stay with this fussy, tantruming, emotionally abusive older man. All that misbehavior, I imagine, is supposed to be amusing and endearing--or the trials of the misunderstood artist. The review praises Alma for standing up to Woodhouse and forcing him toward change. Well, not really. She only stands up to him in minor ways against his whims within the context of a life that is utterly conformed to his own and utterly about servicing him. She goes to a party on New Year's Eve without him! Horrors! Her biggest, most audacious act of rebellion, which I won’t give away, is meant to purify him, to allow her to take care of him so he can be strong again. In other words, it is all about him. Him, him, him, him.

A.O. Scott, the male New York Times critic never questions this or even seems to notice. I wonder if other critics do? He goes far as to pose the question, non-ironically: "Is Alma a feminist heroine?" The short answer: No. And No. A base requirement for being a feminist heroine is having a life and identity separate from a male. Perhaps that bears repeating: A base requirement for being a feminist heroine is having a life and identity separate from a male.

Scott describes the movie as a "wrenching tale of woman's love for a man and a man's love for his work."  This is the definition of an anti-feminist film in a nutshell: Men work. Women adore the men who work. However, when Scott likens it to "refined Gothic nightmare in the manner of Henry James," he strikes closer to the truth, though I am sure he does not know of what he speaketh: James, to put it mildly, was no lover of women. As Jane Austen's  Emma would say, Good God!

One might argue that Anderson is merely reflecting the mores of the 1950s, but that would be false. Outside of the window dressing of clothing (not even fashion), this film has nothing to do with the historical reality of the 1950s. You wouldn't know, for example, that France was still reeling from the aftermath of World War II. This is an entirely mythic universe, divorced from real history. 

Since the movie has been highly praised (it has a 90% favorable rating from critics) and is now nominated for many important Oscars, it may be important to stand up and ask what exactly is being portrayed here and to announce as loudly as possible that, despite some feeble challenges from Alma, this is not a feminist film but one likely to carry forward damaging stereotypes about women.