“Phantom Thread” is Anderson’s eighth feature, and the first to be set almost exclusively in Britain. The era is the mid-nineteen-fifties, which means that the gowns created by Reynolds for his wealthy (and sometimes royal) clients are of a rarefied and formal allure that feels as distant as the court of Versailles. Not the least of the movie’s joys is the roster of unflappable seamstresses, with years of experience, on whom he relies; in the course of one especially taxing night, they have to repair a wedding dress that has been tainted and torn, to be ready by 9 a.m. As for Day-Lewis, he strikes the eye as ineffably dapper, with a hint of the sacerdotal; in the opening minutes, he pulls on a magenta sock, buffs the toe cap of a shoe, and, wielding a pair of hairbrushes, sweeps back his lightly silvered locks with solemn care, as if robing himself in a vestry. Yet this is not a film that dwells on style. It is a film possessed by a fear that style alone, or the quest for it, can cramp the soul.
από το άρθρο του New Yorker "The Claustrophobic elegance of Phantom Thread" του Αnthony Lane - η υπογράμμιση δική μου...
