While a significant recovery (in quality if not box-office) from recent disappointments (THE MASTER/’12; INHERENT VICE/’14), Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest, about a chilly, exacting couture dressmaker in 1950s London, is meticulously made without holding much actual interest. (Like the man’s clothes.) And oddly, our much lauded writer/director seems to agree, folding in ill-fitting thriller elements (poisonous mushrooms; ‘Baron Munchausen By Proxy’ syndrome) to stir things up and give his oxygen-starved yarn a Hitchcockian patina. Very Eau de VERTIGO with gothic notes from REBECCA/’40 and UNDER CAPRICORN/’49. Playing the cool, calm, not-so-collected designer, Daniel Day-Lewis, in what he claims as a final perf, takes his leave offering an immaculate impression of Jeremy Irons. (Very good, too, but still, Jeremy Irons.) As the little wren he picks up and transforms into a worthy object of fashionable fancy (though still treating her as staff when royalty calls), Vicky Krieps earns that unfortunate last name. Lesley Manville is far more successful as the controlling older sister, slightly losing control. Best of all, Harriet Harris in a brief but crucial spot as a wealthy, but unworthy client, gone blotto at her own wedding before Day-Lewis & ‘Creeps,’ er . . . Krieps sneak into her room to remove the artful gown she has disgraced. If only Anderson hadn’t missed the comic angle here; much needed relief unrealized . . . or rather, unrecognized. Instead, a typically confounding PTA coda. Something he got away with in THERE WILL BE BLOOD/’07 and MAGNOLIA/’99; not so much recently.
DOUBLE-BILL: For swooningly tactile textiles, Yimou Zhang’s gorgeous period thriller JU DOU/’90.
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