Dark Heart

Does Oscar even love love stories? Last year’s Best Picture was a confusing split between two bittersweet romances, Moonlight and La La Land. Typically, in Trump Times, there was a fuzzy result and heated debate on both sides when the winner was (incorrectly) announced. Past Best Picture romances like Titanic and The English Patient hardly featured happily-ever-after endings.

One of the stranger love stories to be nominated this year, P.T. Anderson’s Phantom Thread, goes up against the tale of a pairing between a mute woman and a humanoid sea creature. It’s hard to say which film is more unusual, or perverse.

Phantom Thread takes us deeper into Anderson’s dark humor and dark heart. Those who remember Daniel Day-Lewis as a raging oil baron in There Will Be Blood will be thrilled to see him back with this director, paired with Luxembourg actress Vicky Krieps, who more than holds her own against the mercurial co-star.

Lewis plays Reynolds Woodcock, a fussy master couturier in 1950s London who is as demanding of his designs as he is his wealthy clients. He comes upon a waitress during a weekend in the countryside, Alma (Krieps), whose figure and bearing entrance him: within hours he’s taking her out to dinner, then back to his rural estate where — in a twist on the usual hookup date — he quickly gets her into his clothes, rather than out of hers.

Alma becomes a partner and helper in his design maison, though not quite a lover, because Reynolds is clearly already married to his work. When Alma makes too much noise at the breakfast table, it falls upon Reynolds’ ever-present sister Cyril (a razor-sharp Lesley Manville) to inform the new guest of her shortcomings.

This is a character study of an artist’s peculiar demands — Reynolds is (sometimes literally) haunted by love for his deceased mother, and relies on layers of female approval to steer himself through periods of self-doubt — but it’s also yet another chance for us to see Lewis prove himself a dramatic force of nature. (Sad to hear the actor’s retiring after Phantom Thread, though who knows? We’ve heard such claims before.) P.T. Anderson (note the acronym of the movie title is also the director’s first name) draws extraordinary work from Lewis once again, though more subtle than his fire-and-brimstone turn in There Will Be Blood. Both movies share a perversely dark sense of humor, a tendency toward the macabre in the final chapter that must be seen to be believed.

But as noted, Alma is equally up to the task, as is the third figure in this triangle, the not-to-be-effed-with Cyril. Reynolds insists that Alma wear little makeup, though when she dons one of his creations in public, she completely blooms. Though the long-suffering attendant of art is a cinematic trope by now (think Mr. Turner, Pollock, much of Woody Allen’s career), in this age of #MeToo, you might think Phantom Thread amounts to a patriarchal rebuke of women. It doesn’t, because Alma’s no doormat; she pushes back as much as she gets pushed, and what results is a compelling tug-of-war between art and vulnerability.

In earlier Anderson outings, the strange callings of human desire result in not-completely-believable stunt films like Punch Drunk Love. Here, Anderson’s twisty script is woven through with touches of poetry (like those little messages sewn into his dresses) as well as sumptuous production design and costumes (by Mark Bridges): not only does Anderson’s ‘50s London look amazing (it’s the first film he’s shot outside the US, and without his trusty DP Robert Elswit on hand), it’s full of little Kubrickian touches (those late-night high-speed drives through the countryside in Reynolds’ maroon Bristol 405 recall A Clockwork Orange); and Jonny Greenwood’s score races through period jazz to atonal back to haunting strings; possibly his best soundtrack work yet.

And it’s just a marvel to watch the principals interact in what seem like bursts of deeply lived-in improv, showing that Krieps is completely game for all of this; she’s a partner, an ally and a co-conspirator in a strange unconscious coupling, up until the very last mushroom omelet is served.

Under the sea

Waterloo: Guillermo del Toro goes adult fable with his take on ‘50s gothic horror and romance, The Shape of Water.

The other mentioned nominee, The Shape of Water, is what happens when director Guillermo Del Toro decides to do a crossover Hollywood romance. The result is a love letter to Hollywood, of course (those wonderful dance touches and underwater ballet moves) as well as an unconventional love story, and it’s about what you’d expect from the Pan’s Labyrinth director. The film is an emerald-saturated adult fable, pairing Sally Hawkins with a lithe, agile sea-male captured in the Amazon rivers and put in chains by an ambitious, fear-driven Federal agent (Michael Shannon) who tortures the creature for kicks and revenge.

There are wonderful scenes of inclusion and forgiveness (support players Octavia Spencer and Richard Jenkins provide the extra heart), paired against scenes of human cruelty and deep-down desperation (mostly the ones with odder-than-ever Shannon). Long-time Del Toro fans may decry the “watering down” (so to speak) of his darker imaginings, but The Shape of Water certainly works as a cinematic children’s book (albeit one with full-frontal nudity and frequent masturbation) about love and acceptance. Del Toro seems to have been inspired not so much by gothic memories of the ’50s Universal Studios horror flick The Creature from the Black Lagoon (though they’re certainly suggested in the deep shadows of the lab scenes) as by the semi-erotic waterdance between a man-fish and swimsuit-clad Julia Adams in that earlier film.

Hawkins does another impressive turn as Elisa, born with strange scars on her neck and an uncanny knack for communicating. Michael Stuhlbarg, who is apparently contractually obligated to appear in ever movie released last year, plays a sympathetic Russian operative; and Doug Jones, as the humanoid from the deep, is proving to be Del Toro’s own resident Andy Serkis.

Andre Desplat’s score is heart-tugging, and the overall look suggests Amelie set adrift in an aquarium. Wondrous to look at, if somewhat soggy.