Bowing out in style.

So this is it, isn’t it? This is really it? After the best part of four decades in the industry and a rather modest twenty-one films to show for it, this really is the last you’ll see of Daniel Day-Lewis on the big screen.

The man, the myth, the shoe cobbler; Daniel Day-Lewis really is one of those once-in-a-lifetime actors that ghost from performance to performances with minimal fuss away from the camera, but maximum impact in front of it. Yet, while his self-imposed mystique has left us guessing about the man behind the method, his talent has never been in doubt.

With such an iconic body of work behind him, Day-Lewis will certainly be exiting stage left with an incredible legacy in his wake and, while the temptation to bow out with one last barnstormer will surely have been strong, you’ve got to hand it to the guy…he knows how to go out in wonderfully bizarre style.

We’ve become so accustomed to Day-Lewis blowing the doors off each and every role he approaches, yet, as with every aspect of his career, things just aren’t that simple. It may feel odd to go out with such an overtly off-kilter character as Reynolds Woodcock but it works, and the fact that he’s doing it under the direction of Paul Thomas Anderson – the man who gave us the iconic Daniel Plainview – just feels right.

Amidst the style and glamour of post-war London, renowned dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is at the centre of the British fashion industry; creating high-end garments for royalty, movie stars, heiresses, socialites, and dames the world over. Managed carefully by his sister, Cyril (Lesley Manville), Reynolds’s charisma and genius is matched only by his obsessive, controlling nature; that is, until he crosses paths with Alma (Vicky Krieps). Though appearing utterly mismatched, their magnetism is too much to fight, as Alma soon becomes a fixture in Reynolds’s life, as a muse and a lover. Once meticulous and deliberate, Reynolds finds his carefully tailored existence irrevocably disturbed by love.

In a career filled with thoroughly distinctive, off-the-wall characters; Reynolds Woodcock sees Daniel Day-Lewis at peak-eccentricity with a tightly woven performance that lacks the pure physicality of his most famous turns, yet is undoubtedly one of his most evocative. As ever, Day-Lewis completely wraps himself in his character; instilling Reynolds with all the quirks and idiosyncrasies that you’ve come to expect, while being unlike anything we’ve seen before.

With his abrasively controlling manner, brattish perfectionism, and child-like petulance; Reynolds is far from an instant hit, yet, as the character unfolds bit by bit, he slowly but surely crawls under your skin. Taught and understated, the performance is full of buttoned down, ironed-out perfection; however, there’s something in the Reynolds’s frayed edges that allows Daniel Day-Lewis at least some form of emotional wiggle room.

Quite literally finding his character’s voice; Reynolds’s soft, almost juvenile vocal intonations may feel a little otherworldly at first, but there’s something in Day-Lewis’s ability to charm, even in the most miniscule of moments, that’s truly unparalleled. As Reynolds skulks around the screen like a petulant child, our empathy and anger twists and turns with nothing but a single word or precise gesture; adding previously unseen layers to a character many will initially dismiss as an arrogant, pretentious arse.

No one delivers dialogue quite like Daniel Day-Lewis and, despite Phantom Thread being one of the sparser outings in that respect, he makes damn sure that every single word counts. Whether its exchanging barbed retorts with Alma and Cyril, or a fever-induced outburst at a doctor; Day-Lewis ensures that we always feel the full force of his character, even if its wrapped up in something a little more delicate than we’re used to. Oh, and if there’s an actor out there that can get so much dramatic and comedic purchase from a single breakfast order, I’d like to meet them.

Despite all this, however, and as an oddity in any Daniel Day-Lewis film, the actor has been comprehensively upstaged by his co-stars, as both Lesley Manville and Vicky Krieps go toe-to-toe with the retiring actor. So, while Phantom Thread will forever be known as Daniel Daniel-Lewis’s swansong, he has been beaten at the last by two wonderful, award-worthy performances.

Though it doesn’t feel like it initially, there’s a strong feminist thread running through the entire film that sees it’s male lead go from domineering to distinctly subservient over its course, as Alma’s coy submission and Cyril’s silent disdain gradually evolve into a true dominant force. As highly strung and behind the times as his dresses; Reynolds finds it increasingly difficult to hold his own against the progressive domination of the women around him.

While Lesley Manville is as wondrous as ever as the imperious ‘old so-and-so’ (Reynolds’s words, not mine), Cyril; Vickie Krieps stealthily steals the show from under the nose of her illustrious colleagues. In a performance of transformation, Alma slowly blossoms from a bumbling, submissive muse to something altogether more dominant; and, while the conversion is far from instant, her gradual growth in the face of Reynolds’s petulant, borderline abusive behaviour, sees Alma eventually holding all the relationship cards, both physically and emotionally.

Although their stature and experience are wildly divergent, it’s a pleasant surprise to witness such instant chemistry between the film’s two leads. With Day-Lewis seemingly on the way out and Krieps on the way up, they’re on-screen relationship could easy turn into a one-way street, yet nothing could be further from the truth. At once mesmeric, tempestuous, bizarre, and surprisingly sweet; everything ebbs and flows as their fraught relationship dynamic quickly becomes a constant stem of intrigue.

While it may have a heightened sense of melodrama about it; with all the pointed glances, loaded silences, and barbed retorts aplenty; this is a frighteningly accurate look at the inner mechanisms of a relationship. Who can honestly say that they haven’t been there at that breakfast table at some point; the silence between you and your significant other positively deafening, as you crunch down on a piece of toast with all the menace of a cutting insult, while they look on ready and willing to decapitate you with a butter knife at any moment? No? Just me then.

The chemistry between Daniel Day-Lewis and Vicky Krieps may seem awkward at first but, like the film itself, it’s a slow-burn and, as their tumultuous relationship pushes and pulls each personality to and fro, sparks really begin to fly. It’s a thoroughly intoxicating relationship that relies heavily on the strength of the film’s leads and the power of their chemistry, yet it’d all be for nought without Paul Thomas Anderson.

Dysfunctional familial relationships have always been Anderson’s thematic bread and butter, so it’s little surprise to see the director return to such fertile ground once again, as the clash of chaos and order in Reynolds and Alma’s relationship sees him revisit many of the themes that have often served him well.

The thematic threads of relationship dysfunction, alienation, regret, and loneliness that weave their way through the film are ones that Anderson makes a point to return to again and again, not least in 2002’s Punch-Drunk Love; which, despite its wildly divergent style, holds more than a passing resemblance here. For every razor-sharp tit-for-tat between Reynolds and Alma, it’s hard not to cast your mind back to the similarly bizarre scenes between Adam Sandler and Emily Watson in Punch-Drunk Love; showcasing just how intricate and thorough a director Anderson can be with such subject matter.

Both thematically and stylistically, Phantom Thread sits in a rather unique spot within Paul Thomas Anderson’s filmography, as it feels simultaneously in-step with much of the director’s work, while appearing completely apart from it. Simplicity isn’t something that Anderson is particularly known for but, like Punch Drunk Love, the film’s minimalism is a deceptive one.

Phantom Thread balances the magnificence and simplicity perfectly, as it’s effortless style wraps itself around a modest and tightly woven narrative in a manner that’s both satisfying and oddly intoxicating. Narratively, this may be Anderson’s most straightforward and subdued film to date but stylistically, Phantom Thread is on a whole new level.

Unsurprisingly, considering the subject matter, Anderson has produced a film of refinement and finesse that, despite the chaos in the central relationship, works as a beautifully tailored ode to an era of style and elegance that allows its period setting shine.

Playing a major part in creating this air of sophistication, Jonny Greenwood’s score simultaneously evokes the film’s sartorial elegance, while perfectly mirroring the simmering tension between its characters. Weaving itself in and out of the film with the floating grace of a catwalk model; the lavish, orchestral extravagance of the score works in perfect tandem with the modish visuals to pick you up and whisk you away to an era of high fashion and brief encounters.

Keeping his writing sparse, yet razor-sharp, and his camerawork typically fluid; Anderson allows the natural, pulsating drama of the central relationship to take centre stage, while employing Greenwood’s audio notes as the perfect supplement for Phantom Thread’s intricately woven patchwork of period style, sartorial magnificence, and tortured artistry to create a heady and intoxicating mix.

If this is truly the way Daniel Day-Lewis is going to bow out, then he can do so knowing that he’s done it in style. Propped up by superb performances by Lesley Manville and Vicky Krieps; Day-Lewis’s turn may not be the most ostentatious performance of his career, but it’ll go down as one of his most memorable. Though thoroughly odd, the relationship between Reynolds and Alma is nonetheless one of simmering intensity and a clash of opposing worlds, gradually blooming into an all-out power struggle in the most clipped, British way possible. Like the House of Woodcock dresses at its centre, Paul Thomas Anderson has created an immaculately turned-out film with a wonderfully bizarre, stifling charm to it. Riding on the back of an evocative Jonny Greenwood score, Anderson intricately weaves an array of complex themes into an immensely stylish film who’s intoxicating tone will overwhelm the senses.