Reading Phantom Thread

By Ada Griffin

Table of Contents

• Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms (1902)
• The London Magazine (July, 1954)
• The Observer’s Books
  • Of Dogs (194)
  • Of British Birds’ Eggs (1954)
  • Of Cacti & Other Succulents (1958)
• Vogue (October, 1954)
• Splendours and Miseries (1943)
• Bibliography

On their first date, Reynolds tells Alma that he learned early into his career that you could sew things into the linings of clothes—a lock of hair, a secret message. In his professional sewing, he often stitches pieces of cloth with words or phrases on them into the dresses he makes. While in all likelihood no one will ever open the garment up to see the message, its inclusion still adds something to the dress, imbuing greater meaning into the piece and providing the audience a different perspective on Reynolds and/or his client. The texts featured in the film serve a similar function. With one exception, the texts only in the background of a shot, often for mere seconds. It’s unlikely that anyone not engaging in a depth annotation process would notice them at all. And indeed, I’m sure the filmmakers and set decorators didn’t think most viewers would identify the texts, let alone read them. However, this does not mean they are unimportant. Indeed, Phantom Thread is a film all about small details. As we follow Reynolds and Alma through their romance, we see how much meaning there is in the smallest things: a stitch of fabric, the way someone butters their toast, a secret ingredient added to a meal.

For this project, I read through seven sources featured in the film—two magazines and five books—across a vast range of subjects, genres, and purposes. None of them were texts I would have read, or even known existed, were it not for this project. Each text only gets a few moments onscreen, if that, but each one in its own way gave me a new perspective on the film. However small, each detail is what comes together to make up the entire rich text of the film. Through these books, we can get a glimpse into what secrets are written in the lining of Phantom Thread.

Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms (1902)

Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms by M. C. Cooke is the most prominent of the books featured in Phantom Thread. The author, Mordecai Cubitt Cooke (1825–1914), was a famous British mycologist, known as England’s leading expert on the subject. He worked successfully in London for many years as a school teacher before quitting at 34 to work part-time jobs and begin publishing his books. Cooke sought to make natural history popular with and accessible to the broader public, writing 14 books, all intended for an audience without a scientific background. He came to domestic and international fame through his prolific publishing—he reportedly wrote nearly 350 books and papers—and was soon in direct communication with many mycologists around the globe.

This book was published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, a Christian group founded in 1698 to provide education and Chrisitan teachings to the world. As part of its mission, the group engaged with political issues of the time, including advocating for penal reform and providing basic education to Caribbean slaves, while also engaging in extensive international missionary work. The group, which remains active today, is England’s third oldest independent publisher and is the nation’s largest publisher of Christian books. At its conception, the organization emphasized the importance of general education as part of their Christian values, which explains the publishing of texts, such as this one, that do not explicitly address Christian topics. The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge still used the book to promote their more religious texts, including ads for Christian books such as Lapsed, Not Lost: A Story of Roman Carthage (1878) by Mrs. Charles Rundle amongst the list of titles from various genres, including historical fiction, children’s literature, and anthropological texts.

Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms serves an obvious utility for Reynolds’s household. The book is written in relatively accessible language, focusing on practical tips for identification of various fungi. While Cooke does include the scientific names, beyond that, each entry moves away from specialized language, providing descriptions of the mushroom in layman’s terms, and focusing on color, size, shape, and distinctive features. Some entries include advice for ideal cooking. The book features many detailed, colored illustrations of all of the mushrooms in the book, allowing readers to easily visually compare the mushroom they’ve found to the book. It is perfectly logical that Reynolds’s employees would keep this book in his country home, where wild mushrooms are much more plentiful. When Alma asks Reynolds’s housekeeper, whom she is helping prepare a meal, about identifying a specific mushroom, the woman tells her to consult the book in the kitchen. The book is a reliable source for determining which mushrooms are safe to eat and, for Alma’s purposes, which are not.

So that Reynolds will need her care, Alma poisons him twice with the same kind of mushroom—once by including it in his tea, once by cooking it into an omelet. Based on the illustration she holds the mushroom against, she appears to use the White Milk Mushroom, described on pages 119–120 in the book. The mushroom has since been reclassified and renamed: while at the time of the book’s publication its scientific name was Lactarius vellereus, it is now known as Lactifluus vellereus, a change based on genetic makeup rather than visible difference. It’s now most commonly known as a fleecy milkcap. The entry in Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms describes it as often “depressed in the centere, and funnel shaped, but with the edges bent over outwards,” ¹. a description that certainly applies to the mushroom shown in the film. The gills of the mushroom release a milk when damaged—the origin of its common and scientific names. Cooke writes on the same page that the mushroom is often found in the woods, typically in clusters; Alma first discovers the fungus while foraging in the woods, growing in a group. When she poisons Reynolds for the second time, she returns to the same spot in the woods, either remembering having seen more than one before or following the instructions for finding it from the book. While Cooke includes the mushroom in the poisonous section, he does not take measures to confirm it is poisonous for himself:“Tradition affirms that this species is very poisonous, and we have been too well satisfied with tradition to try experiments.” The fungus contains no lethal poisons, technically edible but unpleasant to most, though there are some reports of people in Eastern European countries eating them. Poisonous or not, Reynolds’s English constitution is clearly no match for the mushroom, as he becomes incredibly ill after eating and drinking it, even in small doses.

The London Magazine (July, 1954)

The London Magazine is a long-running periodical that has been discontinued and revived many times throughout its history. It was founded in 1732, brought back in 1820, stopped again in 1829 a few years after its editor was shot by his longtime rival and associate at a competing magazine, revived from 1898 to 1933, before finally coming back in its current form under editor John Lehmann (1907-1987).

The magazine was intended for the middle to upper class. Education in the 1950s was still divided by class, and while the magazine claims to appeal to the broader public, its tendency toward the academic and respected rather than popular alienates it from the masses. In fact, it seems to hold some contempt for popular entertainment of the time. An ad on page 85 reads “Children must learn to read—Agreed! But what then, what then? Comics, and atomics, and wastepaper spacemen? Introduce them instead to The Queen’s Classics [and] The Use of English.²” The advertised products are a set of “classic” books for children—including titles such as David Garnett’s Pocahontas (1933) and Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper (1881)—and a quarterly publication on literary style respectively. The choice to advertise in this magazine implies companies believed its readers would be among those concerned about a perceived lack of intellectualism, interested in ensuring their children will receive a more traditional education. Notably, the ad specifically disavows two of the cheapest, and therefore most accessible, forms of entertainment (science fiction and comic books). Most obviously, while the magazine was certainly not expensive itself, it would only really be accessible to those with enough money left over to think of buying nonessential items such as a literary magazine.

The magazine’s advertisements and articles place emphasis on older, established authors like Jane Austen, W. B. Yeats, Henry James, and T.S. Eliot. Eliot actually wrote a letter of endorsement for the first issue of the magazine, stating that the magazine “will boldly assume the existence of a public interested in serious literature, and eager to be kept in touch with current literature and with criticism of that literature by the most exacting standards.³” By this point, Eliot was a well-established writer, having won the Nobel Prize in Literature six years prior, so his approval would have carried weight. His endorsement would have added credibility to the publication. The magazine’s focus on a well-educated, intellectual demographic is reflected in its contributors. During the 1950s and 60s, it featured writing from literary giants of the time such as Sylvia Plath, Joan Didion, and Susan Sontag. The edition featured in the film is the July, 1954 issue; its’ contributors are, with only one exception, all well educated or upper class authors—Robert Gibson, Ian Scott-Kilvert, and Dorthea Krook are all Cambridge educated, with Krook then working as a lecturer in English Literature. Sheila Wingfield, as per her bio in the magazine, is the pen-name of the Viscountess Powerscourt. The one exception is Charles Causely, who came from a working class family and served in the British Royal Navy before becoming an elementary school teacher.

The magazine has a clear cosmopolitanism leaning, which also points to a divide in class. Page 96 features an ad for a Russian novel, showing the expectation that readers are interested in international literature. The subscription sheet on page 105 includes both a British and US price, signifying its investment in both domestic and international reach. This edition also features a piece titled “Letter From Tangier,” in which Paul Bowles details his experiences while visiting Morocco. The inclusion of this letter shows the magazine’s interest in the happenings in foreign lands. The letter contains several logistical details—the price of gas, cost of a month’s rent, salary of a domestic servant—that seem to imply the letter is directed at those interested in travelling to or living in Tangier. Bowles details the growing presence of union activity in the city, stating that “the very concept of organized labour, if disseminated, would spell death to the present economy.” He focuses on the impact on foreign (likely meaning European) residents of the city, saying they would have “no cause for celebration.⁴” 49-50.” He also repeatedly connects sites and happenings in Tangier to those in other countries, comparing it to Hollywood, Marseille, Madrid, and Rome. The letter clearly assumes readers have at least some familiarity with locations outside of England, which also would have been accessible only to those with at least some disposable income.

Both the magazine itself and background information paints a clear picture of its intended reader: well educated, cosmopolitan, wealthy. This profile almost perfectly describes Reynolds. He’s upper class and connected to other nations such as Belgium and France, through the Princess he dresses and his line of work respectively. From the sheer number of books he has in his home, it’s easy to assume that he has some interest in literature, or at the very least likes to present as someone who does.

The portion of the issue most pertinent to the film is the short story “A Cottage in Cornwall” by C.H.B. Kitchin, which, through journal entries, tells the story of a woman who has been institutionalized because she believes her husband is poisoning her. It bears a striking resemblance to the actual events of the film: Alma repeatedly poisons Reynolds so that she can nurse him back to health. The narrative is slowly unveiled through an increasingly erratic set of journal entries, all addressed to the woman’s absent husband. While not the same form, Phantom Thread is notably framed by Alma’s stories of her relationship with Reynolds, similarly revealing the narrative through her perspective on events.

Several of the smaller details match Reynolds and Alma’s relationship. The narrator, like Alma, has relocated for the sake of her husband, though in the case of this story she follows him to the English countryside from London rather than the other way around. While the location of Reynolds’s second home is not explicitly stated, it is in the countryside, just as Cornwall is. Though his home is perhaps too lavish to truly qualify as a cottage, it is certainly a far cry from the ornate decor of his London home, much more aligned with the private, domestic vision of the narrator’s countryside home. Her marriage is quite similar to Reynolds and Alma’s in several ways. The woman seems to be in varying states of lucidity, at times missing her husband, who the doctors will not allow her to see, and at times fearing him. Of being encouraged to take up hobbies and make friends of her own, she writes, “When you long for your lover, you don’t want a circle of gossiping pals. That’s why, I suppose, real love is anti-social.⁵” Whether you believe her definition of true love or not, it certainly applies to Alma and Reynolds. Ironically, Reynolds and Alma are also often antisocial with one another, at times not speaking, or communicating only through argument. For Reynolds in particular, both his romantic love and his love of his craft make him antisocial, as he believes his “place” is in his workshop and home, not attending social engagements. In one entry, the narrator details the jealousy issues that plagued their relationship. She was envious of her husband’s female tennis partner, who he began playing with after his wife became too ill to play. A neighbor once played on this insecurity to drive a wedge between husband and wife, telling the narrator her husband had concealed that he was travelling with his tennis partner and reminding her “‘You’ve married an attractive male, my dear.” The narrator then says that the other woman was motivated by jealousy, as she herself wanted to steal the narrator’s husband. This mirrors the scene in which Reynolds and Alma attend Lady Baltimore’s dinner, during which time Lady Baltimore implies that Alma has been flirting with her godson during the meal, while herself clearly flirting with Reynolds.

The piece’s most obvious similarity to the film is, of course, the device of the poisoning. Even the method of poisoning is remarkably similar. The narrator of the story believes her husband has poisoned her after-dinner coffee and the sweetened milk he brings her before bed, disguising arsenic with sugar; the first time she poisons Reynolds, Alma does it by crushing the poisonous mushrooms and including them in his breakfast tea. Both occur (or in the case of the short story, don’t occur) during a ritual, mealtime drink, hidden within a comforting, domestic routine. Reynolds views his breakfast as an important routine, which, if altered or interrupted, can ruin his entire day. It is in this moment of simultaneous comfort and vulnerability that Alma strikes—not, to his knowledge, interrupting the meal, but secretly weaponizing it against him. While her belief is unfounded, the narrator fears her husband is doing the very same thing to her: “I said I wasn’t feeling very well, and you suggested I should go to bed. I did as you told me, and you brought me up a glass of hot milk, sweetened with sugar. I know I always have it like that, but it occurred to me that the sugar would hide the taste of arsenic, if there was something in the milk.⁶” The combination of caretaking and harm that the woman sees in her husband’s gesture is reflected in Alma’s behavior. Alma poisons Reynolds explicitly so that she can take care of him, putting him in a position of complete dependence.

The woman, like Reynolds, also seeks to protect the person she believes is tormenting her. While still enveloped in her delusion, the woman tries to avoid going to the doctor, fearing that an examination would force her to reveal what her husband had done and cause him to be prosecuted. Reynolds, by the end of the film, knows Alma is poisoning him and welcomes it, certainly not seeking any retribution against her. The fact that the magazine is placed on Reynolds’s bedside table during an episode of exhaustion not brought on by poison is once again relevant. It is this period of neediness, during which Alma describes him as “tender” and “open” that inspires her to poison him, forcing him back into that same infantile state, the only time she feels truly needed and in control. The magazine foreshadows the events to come, brought on by the scene it appears in. However, this message seems to pass Reynolds by. He has placed the magazine to the side, choosing instead to lie in bed with Alma, welcoming her care. The warning has passed him by, leaving him to be ambushed by Alma’s plans. However, the viewer can never know if his knowing would have made any difference. Unlike the wife in the story, he never “flinched away” from Alma’s kiss; indeed, once he discovers he has been poisoned, he welcomes her kiss. While both relationships are marred by a combination of longing and pain, the two leads’ relationships to it are perhaps the most notable divergence—where the paranoid wife fears it, Reynolds welcomes it with open arms. This difference speaks to the contrasting power dynamics in the two relationships. The wife in “A Cottage in Cornwall” is largely disempowered. She references being regularly bedridden and plagued by intense mental health struggles even before her delusions begin. She already relies on her husband for care, both emotional and physical. Reynolds, on the other hand, is the one with power in his and Alma’s relationship. He is a successful and wealthy couturier. He invites Alma into his life, eventually marrying her, but her presence is always dependent on his approval. Being poisoned by Alma is a break from normality rather than a continuation of it; a devoted, obsessive businessman, Reynolds puts his work above all else, unwilling to rest. He is incredibly controlling of every detail of his life and the behavior of those around him, reshaping Alma’s behavior down to the way she spreads butter.

This contrast opens up questions of the gendered nature of power and identity. Reynolds’s name is synonymous with his business, The House of Woodcock, which has brought him notoriety and influence. Conversely, the narrator of the short story is never given a name. Her defining feature is her marriage, her status as a wife in relation to another man. For Reynolds, his poisoning allows him a break from his performance of masculinity. He maintains his household and business with an iron fist, never willing to give up any of his control to others. He only lets himself to stop this performance when he is too physically impaired to engage in it. Being poisoned allows him a break from the isolating and strenuous performance of masculinity, forcing him to be taken care of by Alma. However, for women, being killed or hurt by a man is not a meaningful departure from the general conditions of women, particularly within the confines of traditional heterosexual marriage. For the narrator of “A Cottage in Cornwall,” being poisoned would not offer her a reprieve either from the normal state of her specific relationship or the dynamics of gender at large in the way it does for Reynolds.

While less striking than “A Cottage in Cornwall,” several other pieces in the magazine bear some relevance to the plot and themes of the film. In the foreword to the issue, the magazine’s editor John Lehmann details the great emotional turmoil required of writers. Much of what he writes could easily be applied to Reynolds’s relationship to his work. It begins, “There is probably no profession that creates more acute nervous tension than the literary; no human being more subject to the alternations of confidence and enthusiasm followed by depression and paranoiac suspicion than the poet or novelist.⁷” Throughout the course of the film, Reynolds’s moods are subject to rapid change; he is fussy and particular. Alma tells a visiting doctor that after periods of great stress, like his fashion show, he needs to “come down” afterwards, spending a period of a few days in a state of depression, weakened and needy. It is notable that it is during one of these episodes that the copy of The London Magazine appears, visible on his side table as he lies bedridden. His glasses are resting on top of it, as if he had recently been reading it and only just put it down. Reynolds enjoys good craftsmanship and artistry, regardless of its medium—his own art, or others. Perhaps he would see himself in the descriptions of these great, tortured artists, himself bound to what Lehman calls a “wheel of fire,” his art both invigorating and torturous.

Two of the poems featured in the issue bear some relevance to the plot. Vernon Watkins’s “Poet and Goldsmith” refers to two craftsmen of different trades—the literary and the artisanal. Reynolds’s trade perhaps falls in between these two. Fashion is often considered an art in the same category as visual arts and literature, but it also requires craftsmanship and materiality and must be created with some level of practicality. One section of the poem also feels pertinent to Reynolds’s life:“One thought that is dear to love True characters do not age in each other’s eyes/…there is no separation, no spear in the side,/Except in that forgetting of mutual death.⁸” If, as Reynolds says, a house that does not change is dead, then the House of Woodcock has certainly been dead for some time, cold and unchanging across years. Reynolds spends the film haunted by the memory and, at one point, the vision of his dead mother. When he hallucinates her physical form, he sees her in the wedding dress he designed for her. He remembers her, not as she was when she died, but as she was in a cherished memory and photograph. Reynolds begins the film trapped by his mother’s death, unable to form meaningful relationships or change his life in any way. For Reynolds, at least initially, there is no separation between himself and his mother, and he has not allowed her to age and change in his mind, inadvertently doing the same thing to himself.

“The Prisoners of Love,” a poem by Charles Causely, encapsulates Reynolds and Alma’s relationship. Causely writes that these prisoners of love are “trapped in their tower,” just as Alma and Reynolds are largely confined to the domestic space, in a way trapped with each other. This is especially true of Alma, who has moved to be with Reynolds, and seemingly has no connections outside of him and Cyril, his sister. Much of the middle section references battles and fighting across many different time periods. The “tall martello” is a defensive tower built in the late 1700s to defend from French invasion of Corsica, the “troops of Tyre” are likely a reference to the battles of the Crusades, and the fireship is a method of attack in which a ship is filled with explosives and set on fire, then sent towards enemy boats to destroy them. These trapped lovers seem to be engaged in constant fighting, as is true of Alma and Reynolds’s tumultuous relationship. The poem ends with the line, “But in their jailers’ eyes they meet their own.⁹” These lovers serve as both prisoner and jailer, trapped with one another by their own hand. This is certainly true of Alma and Reynolds. Ostensibly, either one could end their toxic, poisonous (in the literal sense) relationship, but neither seems willing or able.

The Observer’s Books¹⁰

The Observer’s Books were a series of small informational guides, published by the British company Frederick Warne & Co between 1937 and 2003. They covered a broad range of topics: hobbies, machinery, plant and animal life. Popular books would sometimes be re-released on a regular basis. Today they are a collector’s item. The books make sense in Reynolds’s home. They were a popular British series and are placed on a shelf in the kitchen, serving as a guide to the natural world.

However, the books also serve a more symbolic meaning. They are shown only in one shot, stacked on the shelf alongside Edible and Poisonous Mushrooms. The books, each in their own way, represent Reynolds himself. All three books are also focused on caretaking in some form: Dogs details how to raise and care for a dog, Cacti provides information on how to cultivate succulents, and Birds’ Eggs takes great care to remind readers not to disturb birds nests, especially endangered species, saying they hope a guide for to allow hobbyists to more quickly identify the eggs, and therefore allowing them to leave the nest more quickly and listing rules for preserving nests while observing them. It is no accident that these books appear as Alma prepares to poison Reynolds, making him sick in order to nurse him back to health. She has learned how best to care for Reynolds, which she has found is only possible when he is incapacitated. It seems she has succeeded; Reynolds realizes she is poisoning him and welcomes it. The books represent her arc as she discovered the best way to truly be a part of Reynolds’s life and family.

Of Dogs (194)

Of the three Observer’s Books, The Observer’s Book of Dogs bears the most obvious relevance to Reynolds’s life. Reynolds himself has dogs, though the exact number of them is not clear. They appear only in one scene, in the dressmaker’s country home, so it seems likely they live there full time rather than following him to London. While the viewer never gets a full, clear view of them, only glimpsing the top of their heads in one shot, they are obviously quite large dogs, not suited for city life. The film never explicitly states their breed, but in an interview Daniel Day-Lewis said he insisted they be lurchers. Lurchers are not an officially recognized breed, but rather a common mix, included in the book in a back section dedicated to unofficial or mixed breeds. The author, Clifford L. Hubbard, describes them as “an all-purpose utility dog, usually of Greyhound or Whippet shape, which, although ostracized, is a fairly common race in the Midlands and north of England,¹¹” locations in keeping with their country home.

Though the book is largely dedicated to describing the various breeds and common mixes of dogs, each entry listing scientific name, origin, appearance, and skills of the breed, a large section is dedicated to detailed information on dog care—what to feed them, how much exercise they require, how to identify illness, and so on. The book covers most general questions on dog care. Its being in the kitchen makes sense, too; while Reynolds journeys to his country home fairly often, if the dogs do not travel to London with him, it’s fair to assume that his staff would be the ones caring for the dog the vast majority of the time.

The book also carries some more allegorical implications. Reynolds himself is sometimes associated with a dog. When he and Alma first enter his country home, he seems to group himself with his dogs, saying “Let’s show her the house.” Much later in the film, Reynolds says that he himself “barked” at a man in anger, when recounting his outburst to the doctor who tried to treat him during his poisoning—a break in his calm facade. It seems something more animalistic lurks beneath his veneer of calm.

Shortly afterwards, during the scene in which Reynolds follows Alma to a New Years Eve party after they fight, a man in an oversized dog costume falls on the ground as he watches Alma amongst the crowd. This is a moment of great conflict within their relationship, and Reynolds is failing to fulfill Alma’s desires, refusing to attend the party with her. The dog, which Reynolds has already associated with himself, falls down, perhaps symbolizing Reynolds’s failures. The inclusion of a person in a dog costume also serves to further blur the line between dog and human.

The scene in which the books appear, where Alma poisons Reynolds for the second time, is perhaps a conclusion to the unfulfilled spectre of his disappearing dogs. In poisoning him, Alma seeks to render him even more doglike—obedient and entirely reliant on herShe has learned the proper way to care for him, including nursing him through illness, and realized what he truly needs.

Of British Birds’ Eggs (1954)

The Observer’s Book of British Birds’ Eggs, compiled by Glynne Evans, follows the standard format for the series. Each short entry details how common a species is, where it nests, the number of eggs they typically lay, and the look of the egg, alongside a fairly detailed illustration of the appearance of the egg. It is perfectly reasonable that Reynolds would keep this book in his country home, where birds nests would no doubt be plentiful. While the audience has never seen him show much interest in birding, he could have bought the book to give himself the option, or it may belong to one of his staff, as it is placed in the kitchen.

There are also several symbolic connections. Perhaps the most obvious connection to the film is that Reynolds’s last name—Woodcock—comes from a squat, brown woodland bird that typically lives in England year round. The bird gets an entry in The Observer’s Book of British Birds’ Eggs, which describes them as widely spread across England. There are several details that correlate to Reynolds’s life. According to the entry, while they are found all throughout England, woodcocks are often overlooked due to “their retiring and largely nocturnal¹²” lifestyle. While Reynolds does not follow an exclusively nocturnal schedule, he is willing to work whenever he feels called to. Alma describes that Reynolds will wake her in the middle of the night, sometimes after only a few hours of sleep, to begin working on a dress. Describing the nests of the woodcock, the entry reads, “The birds usually make their nests in a forest, out of dead leaves and undergrowth.” Reynolds has refused changes to his life following the death of his mother. He eventually admits the faults of this to Alma, telling her, “A house that does not change is a dead house.”

Alma too can be connected to the bird. Through marriage, she herself has become a woodcock. Describing the quantity of the species, the entry reads, “Their number are increased during the winter by both passage and migrant birds arriving.¹³” Alma is an immigrant to England, whose presence there has increased the number of Woodcocks. It’s also of note that they chose a book specifically on the identification of eggs, not birds themselves. The egg is perhaps the most quintessential symbol of new life, and Alma seeks to bring new life into the House of Woodcock. When Reynolds proposes to her, he leaves behind the “dead house” he has created for himself, finally allowing life to be brought back to his home and business. The egg also is specifically connected to the nurturing care of mother birds, which represents both Reynolds’s longing for his mother, and the motherly, caretaking role Alma takes on with him.

In Alma’s fantasy of their future life together, she imagines having a child together, which would make this allegory complete. Having learned how to care for him, she also has found a way to continue his family line, bringing a literal new life to the House of Woodcock along with the metaphorical one.

Of Cacti & Other Succulents (1958)

The third book in Reynolds’s collection, The Observer’s Book of Cacti and Other Succulents by S.H. Scott, serves perhaps the least obvious function in Reynolds’s life. It is also the only one that was not yet published at the time the film takes place. Each entry provides details on a different kind of cactus or succulent, including details on appearance, native habitat, and flowers. However, it is highly unlikely any of this information would come up regularly. All cacti are indigenous to the Americas, and there are only a small number of succulents native to England. While non-native succulents and cacti had been grown in the U.K. for quite some time, we are given no indication that any of the characters engage in it.

The first explanation for the book’s inclusion in Reynolds’s collection speaks to Reynolds’s cosmopolitanism. While he does not travel outside of England in the film, he clearly carries ties to other nations. He has designed fashions for the Princess of Belgium from baptism to wedding, including an entire wardrobe for her coming out season. The English couture industry of the time was highly connected to and influenced by the Parisian one, and we see this reflected in the French style decor in his home and workplace. He and Alma travel to Switzerland for their honeymoon.

Reynolds himself is also a cactus-like figure: externally prickly and harsh, unwilling to allow people into the inner parts of him, but capable of producing great beauty. In particular, several portions of the foreword to the book could just as easily be applied to Reynolds as to the plants. The foreword emphasizes the incredible, and often overlooked, beauty of succulents. Scott writes that the succulent has perfectly adapted itself to the environment it comes from. Reynolds, while incredibly demanding, has perfectly calibrated himself to survive in the high stress and demanding world of couture fashion, often at the cost of his personal relationships. Scott continues, writing that “because they have developed adaptations for overcoming periods of drought, they require much less attention than do other plants…for in their natural environment they are used to a great deal of hardship in the hands of nature.¹⁴” Reynolds’s life beyond his work, at least before Alma, is incredibly lonely. His only meaningful connection seems to be his sister, Cyril, who is herself a part of his business. He has trained himself to survive with little to no meaningful human connection, not relying (or at least working not to rely) on others for his fulfillment and wellbeing.

One portion of the foreword in particular feels pertinent to Reynolds’s character:

The lack of knowledge of the needs of succulent plants has in the past been the cause of much misunderstanding and disappointment. This ignorance probably gave rise to the belief that cacti do not flower, or that they seldom do so. The truth is that many bear lovely and delicate flowers with a texture of petal and colouring unique in the plant world, and with the right treatment will produce flowers regularly.¹⁵.

Reynolds, at least initially, comes across as cruel and demanding, holding those around him to nearly impossible standards, and turning most of his complex emotions into aggression toward his loved ones. However, he, like cacti, is capable of producing things of incredible beauty. His fashions are as unique as the flowers of succulents, each one intricate and personal. However, as Scott writes, “The operative words…are ‘right treatment.’” In order for Reynolds to be capable of producing his fashions, his conditions must remain perfectly calibrated to his desires. As we see in his argument with Alma over her method of buttering toast, the sanctity of his routines is something he preserves above all else. Alma must therefore learn how to provide him the conditions he needs as part of her caretaking, training herself to eat her breakfast more quietly, and, eventually, to anticipate his needs and caretake for him.

Vogue (October, 1954)

The October, 1954 copy of British Vogue is full of styling tips, interviews, and advertisements that speak to the fashion of the period. Vogue is a magazine that has been steadily published since its founding in 1892, quickly becoming almost synonymous with fashion itself. Originally an American publication, it was imported to England until the founding of British Vogue in 1916, soon followed by branches in Spain, Italy, and Paris.

Phantom Thread takes place in 1954, shortly after fashion had been revolutionized by Dior’s “New Look” in 1947. The style featured a nipped waist, sloped shoulders, and a highly exaggerated full skirt. Wartime fashion had been masculine and practical, inspired by the “utility clothing” English women could buy with rations during World War II. This utilitarian style was particularly popular in England, which was forced to ration clothing much more than the U.S. Not far removed from the war, Dior sought to completely change the look, creating the hyperfeminine, sleek style that would define the period from 1947 to 1957. This New Look included a complete change in accessories and styling as well, as women moved toward neat updos and thinner, higher heels.

While Dior was perhaps the most revolutionary French couturier, the French couture scene exploded during the period, rapidly gaining influence and prestige. The London couture scene, around which Phantom Thread revolves, was modelled after the French industry. Many designers would attempt to recreate the French interior style in their salons, as well as copying Parisian fashion. This copy of Vogue certainly makes the English interest in all things French clear. The magazine has a generally cosmopolitan air, advertising South African furs, Swiss watches, and “Oriental” fashion. However, France, and Paris specifically, is by far the most mentioned nation. Several ads proclaim their Parisian style, or, in the case of two perfumes, French scent. One article, simply titled “Paris ideas — please copy,” lists various French fashions its readers can imitate. While the season for the release of new collections is well over, the piece still manages to fill two pages with tips for styling and accessorizing, finding excitement in the “simulation of a fresh approach to clothes, an imaginative re-assessment of shapes and colours and fabrics.¹⁶” It seems even these subtle tips, such as preferred fabrics for hats, or novel methods of slotting a scarf into your coat, must come out of Paris rather than England.

Reynolds’s designs would certainly not look out of place alongside the ones featured in this issue of Vogue. Looking at his fashion show, you can clearly see the hallmarks of 1950s fashion. The grey suit he displays, with its structured hips and tapered waits, fits in easily alongside those photographed on pages 122 and 123. His full-skirted dresses certainly align with the dramatic “New Look,” particularly the red dress Alma wears during the fashion show. However, Reynolds still has a distinctive personal style, the most noticeable signifier of which is his tendency towards embellishment. While certainly not gaudy, his fashions lack the sleek simplicity of many of those shown in the pages of Vogue. This is something he himself freely admits. When Cyril suggests that the Countess Henrietta Harding may have left their house in pursuit of something more “fashionable and chic,” Reynolds explodes, calling it a “filthy little word,” the inventor of which “should be hung, drawn, and quartered.” Chiceness is often associated with minimalist, well made fashions, with clean lines and solid colors. This is not Reynold’s style. The classic little black dress, to which this edition of Vogue dedicates six pages of recommendations, is seemingly not in Reynolds’s artistic vocabulary. His pieces always include some subtle embellishment—the strip of tan down the center of the grey suit, the lace on the bodice and hem of Alma’s pink gown, the intricate, floral pattern, supposedly beloved by his clients, that makes up Alma’s cocktail dress. The dress he makes for the countess is perhaps the most different from the fashions photographed in Vogue. The style is quite reminiscent of Tudor fashion, with the slashing in the bodice, open fronted skirt, and slight ruff at the neck. While it is certainly a modernized version, with its grand sleeves merely an illusion created by a removable cape, it leans much more into the rich and ornate than most designs featured in the magazine. This is likely meant to be a nod to the countess’s noble status—after all, purple is the color of royalty. Reynolds also clearly likes the design himself; in his later fashion show, he sends Alma in a slightly modified version of the gown.

Comparing the fashions of the women in the film to those in Vogue also reveals things about their style and character. During the 1950s, women’s fashion tended toward two quite distinct silhouettes: the straight-cut dress, emphasizing a woman’s natural shape, and the exaggerated, full-skirted dresses, inspired by Dior’s “New Look.” The two most prominent women in the film, Cyril and Alma, tend towards different silhouettes and styles. This defined aesthetic difference serves both to show the range of 1950s fashion and emphasizes the differences between the two women, as they compete for Reynolds’s attention.

Cyril prefers sleeker, more fitted silhouettes. We often see her in simple, dark dresses or suits, always with a more fitted pencil skirt. Cyril is upper class, and, while she does work, it is in Reynold’s studio, not in a job which requires physical labor or significant movement. Her lifestyle affords her the ability to prioritize aesthetics over practicality, as she does not need to worry that her fitted skirts will limit her range of motion. While her clothing is more subtle than much of what Reynolds designs, it speaks to an attunement with what is considered fashionable for the period. The simplicity of her clothing also differentiates her from the clients and models who come through Reynolds’s salon, and life. She has a distinctive look, almost always seen with an elegant updo, pearl necklace, and red lipstick. Her dark clothing seems perhaps more professional or official, aligning her somewhat with Reynolds, who almost always wears a dark suit. She is an almost equal partner in his business. Her distinctive style also differentiates her from Reynolds’s girlfriends. She is not a passing phase, a temporary muse; Cyril is a permanent fixture in his life, and, at least initially, the closest thing to a partner he ever intends to have.

Alma’s outfits, both those explicitly designed by Reynolds and those that are not, tend to be full skirted, or at the very least not fitted. This speaks to the difference in her origins. Less fitted skirts allow for a greater range of movement, and are more practical for jobs that involve significant labor or movement. Alma begins the move in a much humbler place than Cyril, working as a waitress in the countryside. Though she may have received new finery from Reynolds, not all of her clothing seems to be from him, or, at the very least, she has not fully abandoned her practical sensibilities. During times she is not on public display, particularly when they are in the countryside, she turns toward even less form fitting clothing, donning comfortable sweaters, crinkled button downs, and wool skirts—a shape much more reminiscent of the 1940s’ practical, masculine sensibilities than anything Cyril wears. While she has been given modern, fashionable clothing by Reynolds, it is perhaps not what comes naturally to her, or at the very least not something she has access to. This silhouette is also better aligned with Reynolds’s design style. He is not married to one particular shape, but the overall tendency of his designs is towards the dramatic full skirt and embellishment, quite unlike Cyril’s clothing. She allows herself to be shaped by Reynolds. Though she initially wears lipstick, she stops wearing it once he removes it for her on their first date. She alters her identity and personal style to fit his taste, becoming almost an extension of him and his brand.

While the pages of the magazine are filled with beautiful, smiling models, like Alma, none of them are credited. Throughout the film, we see Reynolds again and again attempt to subsume Alma’s identity into his own, making her a blank canvas for his creations. The models in this magazine appear to have met the same fate; uncredited, stripped of individuality, they are left as little more than mannequins. Her situation is perhaps not so unique, aligned with the general treatment of models during the period.

Most of Reynolds’s clients are older women (Countess Harding, Barbara Rose, Mrs. Vaughn,) a stark contrast with the complete absence of them in the pages of Vogue. While high fashion may be bought, sold, and made for older women, representations of it, at least highly public ones, are certainly generally geared toward and centered around young women. The one mention of middle-aged women comes in the back of the magazine, in a column titled “Mrs. Exeter’s List.” The column ran from the late 40s to mid 60s, at which point it was traded for a column titled “Young Idea,” focusing on the preferences of younger women. The voice of the column was an older woman unashamed of her age, offering direct and (forgive me, Reynolds) “chic” fashion tips. The column only ran seasonally, and this edition was not one that featured a feature from Mrs. Exeter herself. However, as the brief article proclaims, “Though this is not one of the issues in which there is a feature specifically titled ‘Mrs Exeter ’…it contains—as always—a number of clothes which would be very good choices for many of the real-life Mrs. Exeters we know.” This section also contains one of the few mentions of women who are not thin, but only in passing. Of the clothing featured in the edition, it says “No matter that they may be photographed on slim girls: very few clothes carry an age label, many Mrs. Exeters have kept their good figures, and those who need larger sizes will often find that the dress they admire is cut in a size to suit them.” Beneath these opening paragraphs, they list pages that feature clothing deemed appropriate for the older woman. Several of these descriptions mention tips for maintaining the appearance of thinness; two suits are “waist minimizers,” another description warns that “pale tweed can be magnifying” and should only be worn by the “truly slim.¹⁷”

The older women in the film each take different approaches to their fashion. Neither Cyril nor the Countess betray any visible insecurity about their aging. While Cyril’s fashion certainly follows some of the advice given to the “Mrs. Exeters” of the time—dark colors are famously sliming, and her dresses resemble several of those recommended in the magazine—she carries herself with incredible poise, and has clearly developed a distinct personal style. The same is true of the Countess. From the very first shot of her, she comes across as self-assured and regal. While she clearly makes an effort to maintain her figure—as she puts on the dress Reynolds maid we see she wears a corset and hip padding beneath her clothing—she, at least while wearing her clothes, does not seem to hold any insecurities. The suit she wears when arriving is fashionable for the time; with its structured jacket, tapered waist, and form fitting skirt, it very much resembles the suits seen in the magazine, such as the Fredrick Starke ad on page 4, or those featured on pages 112-113 in the “What to Wear With What in Town” article. The suit also resembles the structure of Reynolds’s grey suit. Whether or not he himself designed the suit she wears, its similarities to his own line speaks to their compatible tastes. Both women have a clear sense of their own individual style, and a taste of their own.

In contrast, Barbara Rose seems entirely beholden to the trends of the time, to a greater degree than any other character we see. She sports nearly every seasonal fad reported in the issue of Vogue. In her first appearance, she wears a fur coat, advertised on pages 138-139 as the single largest trend of the year, and a back sliding hat . Her dresses match more with the “New Look” silhouette, unlike those of Cyril and the Countess. The dress Reynolds designs for her is similarly full skirted and short rather than floor length. In a section on eveningwear on page 131 of Vogue, they write that while long and short skirts are equally in fashion, the shorter skirt is “clearly for the young.” While the dress Reynolds makes Barbara is perhaps more mature than the one pictured on the opposite page, with longer sleeves, a higher neck, and in satin rather than tulle frills, this association with youth speaks to larger issues within Barbara’s self perception. She is clearly insecure about her appearance. While it is not specifically stated, it’s easy to assume this is related both to her age and body, which were highly stigmatized by the beauty standards of the time. It seems that, rather than seeking out clothing that appeals to her tastes, she blindly follows the trends of the season in hopes it will bring her confidence. By copying the fashions of the young, she may hope to make herself appear more youthful, and therefore more beautiful. However, it seems that, no matter how beautiful her clothing, she cannot overcome her insecurities. During her dress fitting with Reynolds, she bursts into tears looking at herself, saying “I know you’re doing the best you can…I’m still so ugly,” to which Reynolds responds that he is trying to make her a beautiful dress. The implication is that her love of fashion should supersede her feelings about herself, allowing her to be a canvas for his work. It is her perceived lack of taste and style that seems to bring Reynolds’s contempt. He, and Alma, feels that she does not deserve to wear his clothing, as she cannot fully appreciate it. Barbara drunkenly falls asleep in the dress Reynolds makes her, which he takes great offense to. The implication is that, if she truly appreciated the craftsmanship of the dress, she would have treated it with greater respect, and certainly never slept in it as if it were indistinguishable from her nightgown. Reynolds certainly does not thoughtlessly adopt every passing trend, and he clearly has little respect for those with no eye of their own.

Splendours and Miseries (1943)

It is difficult to categorize exactly which genre Splendours and Miseries falls under. It follows no defined plot, moving easily through spiritual musings, artistic critique, and retellings of Biblical or Ancient myths. The author, Sacheverell Sitwell (1897-1988), did not confine himself to one area, writing critique of art and music, travel memoirs, poetry, and poetic prose. He was particularly interested in modernism, developing an impressive collection of modern art alongside his brother, Osbert. The two created an exhibition of Modern French Art which introduced the British public to the works of Modignliani and Picasso. He collaborated with Osbert, his sister Edith, and composer Sir William Walton to create an experimental performance titled “Facades,” in which Edith read her poetry aloud over Walton’s composition (to little critical or commercial success.) The genre-bending of Splendours and Miseries is typical of Sitwell’s style – he had a reputation for refusing generic categorization in his writing. The book that established him as an art historian was Southern Baroque Art, which, though described as a study of painting, art, and music of 17th and 18th century Spain and Italy, is arguably more prose than art history.

The book’s first point of relevance to the film comes from the name itself. A copy of Splendours and Miseries appears in a deleted scene in the film, where Reynolds sits reading while Alma plays with their infant child. On a very basic level, Alma and Reynolds’s tumultuous relationship is rife with both splendours and miseries; the joy and love in their relationship is matched in almost equal measure by their arguments and pain. In the final poisoning scene, Alma seems to argue that their happiness, and Reynolds’s happiness specifically, hinges on his suffering. To force him to slow down, to stop dedicating himself entirely to his work, she feels she must poison him, so in his sickness he will be forced to rest. This poisoning is also what allows Alma to engage in tender caretaking of Reynolds, to feel needed by him. This combination of joy and pain, splendour and misery, are what defines their relationship.

The content of the book relates to the film, but in a very different way. Reynolds is haunted by the death of his mother, trapped in a purgatory of his own making, unwilling to allow his life to change. The book itself follows the relationship between the living and the dead, the closeness between their two worlds, and the journey to recover someone from death itself. This is one of the major tensions of the film. Reynolds refuses to allow his life to change in any substantial way, attempting to keep the House of Woodcock frozen in time. He specifically avoids long-term romantic relationships, telling Alma at the beginning of the film he intends to be a lifelong bachelor. He also seems to look for his mother in all of the women in his life. Cyril serves as a motherly figure, tending to his needs with precision and gentleness. Reynolds only proposes to Alma after he is taken ill and she cares for him through it. It is only when he is left in a state of complete helplessness, and is tended to by alma, that he can allow her to become a permanent part of his family.

The final chapter of the book, “Songs My Mother Taught Me,” tenderly describes Sitwell’s memories of his mother. His descriptions are certainly incomplete, an issue he himself dwells on. His strongest memories are of small details – the shape of her hands, the style of blouse she wore. These descriptions are very in line with Reynolds’s memories of his mother. Toward the beginning of the film, when Reynolds tells Cyril he has been having vivid dreams of his mother, he specifies that he’s been smelling her scent. That childish sensory memory seems to be what stuck with both Sitwell and Reynolds.

Sitwell writes that everyone hopes to “find redemption in the example of what has been before. We have likened it to some dread personal loss, for it is, in fact, the recovery of lost peace and happiness. We have said that it can be mother, wife, or sweetheart, child, or lover, whichever would be missed most…We seek for the person, or personification.¹⁸” In Reynolds’s search for his mother, it’s left ambiguous whether he is looking for the person or the personification. While he seems to be attempting to keep his mother alive, or regain access to her, when he has a vision of her during his sickness, he does not see her as a moving, speaking human being, but rather as a full version of the photograph he keeps of her. The vision of his mother is unmoving, exactly as she was in her photo. He is perhaps not searching for the reality of his mother, her personhood, but the personification, the image, of motherly love and childish devotion. Sitwell describes his relationship with his mother as uniquely loving and painful, writing “O what I would give to remember in more detail still, for I was loved by her, and it has never happened to me again that in every mouthful that I age, and every moment that I breathed, were indescribable pain and ecstasy, both together, from the strengths of my affections.¹⁹” Earlier in the piece, he describes the connection between mother and son as “primitive.²⁰” The motherly love he describes seems more animalistic than human, from the basest parts of human nature. When Reynolds sees a vision of his mother, he tells her “I just miss you, it’s as simple as that.” The love both men feel for their mothers is perhaps the most basic of all their feelings, simplistic and childish in its logic. Sitwell’s memory of a day with his mother, immortalized in a photograph, is, as he puts it, “a memory of nothing in particular. Nothing, indeed, at all. But of the awakening of affection. Of the first warmth of love. Of the safety and comfort of that emotion.²¹” For both men, their memory of their mother seems to be their first understanding of love, a kind of love they have never since been able to recreate or access again.

One myth Splendours and Miseries returns to again and again is the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, repeatedly referencing that, while he is entering the Underworld to bring someone back – seemingly his mother – the legend says he must not look back at her as he does this. It is the looking that truly condemns her to death. “But we are seeking for someone, and will be brought to her by a crowd of shadows. Then we shall take her by the hand and lead her, but the myth says we must not look back.²²” It’s notable that the last explicit reference to Reynolds’s mother in the film is his vision of his mother standing before him. He speaks to her silent, still form, but she does not, cannot, reply, simply posing as she did in his photograph of her. She seems to disappear while he is looking at her, there in one shot and gone in the next. It’s right after the loss of this vision of his mother that he proposes to Alma, finally allowing life back into the House of Woodcock. Perhaps he finally accepted that his mother is truly gone. He violated the myth; he could not help but see her. It is the looking that made him lose her; in seeking the image of her, the personification, rather than the person, he condemned her forever to the underworld.

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