Phantom Thread

Reynolds has made my dreams come true.

And I have given him what he desires most in return.

And what's that?

Every piece of me.

He's a very demanding man, isn't he?

Must be quite a challenge to be with him.

Yes.

Maybe he's the most demanding man.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

- Morning. - Morning. - Morning.

- Morning, ladies. - Morning.

- Morning. - Morning, madam.

Good morning, ladies.

Morning, Biddy.

Morning, Mr. Woodcock.

- Morning, Nana. - Morning, Mr. Woodcock.

- Pippa. - Morning, sir.

Try these.

Reynolds.

They're delicious.

Remember I told you, Johanna.

No more stodgy things.

I didn't know that.

You may have told it to someone else.

Morning.

Morning, my old so-and-so.

Where have you gone, Reynolds?

There's nothing I can say

to get your attention aimed back at me,

is there?

I cannot begin my day with a confrontation, please.

I'm delivering the dress today.

And I can't take up space with a confrontation.

I simply don't have time for confrontations.

Good morning, Countess.

Good morning, Cyril.

Good morning, Peter.

Who's this beautiful stranger?

I need to see you far more often, Henrietta.

I am very excited.

I am, too.

Come in.

Exquisite.

Yes?

Let's take it for a walk.

Beautiful work, ladies.

- Thank you very much. - Yes. - Thank you. - Hear, hear.

It's beautiful, Reynolds.

Worth everything we've been through.

I feel like it will give me courage.

Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats, please.

- Evening, Stephen. Is she here? - Yes, sir.

What do you want to do about Johanna?

I mean, she's lovely, but the time has come.

And she's getting fat,

sitting around waiting for you to fall in love with her again.

I'll give her the October dress.

If that's all right?

I have an unsettled feeling.

Based on... nothing I can put my finger on.

Just butterflies.

Been having the strongest memories of Mama lately,

coming to me in my dreams.

Smelling her scent.

The strongest sense that... she's near us.

Reaching out towards us.

I very much hope that she saw the dress tonight. Don't you?

Yes.

It's comforting to think the dead

are watching over the living.

I don't find that spooky at all.

Why don't you go to the country tonight?

I'll follow tomorrow.

Good idea.

I like that idea very much.

My old so-and-so.

Good.

Mr. Hansford?

- Mr. Hansford? - Hello.

- Good morning. - Morning.

- Fill it up, please. - I will do.

And check the oil and tires.

Lovely. Thank you.

It's a hard frost this morning.

It's cold, isn't it? It's very bitter.

Excuse me.

Could we have a bit more toast, please?

Yes.

She's got it sorted?

Here you are.

Thank you.

Good morning.

Morning.

What would you like to order?

A Welsh rarebit.

With a poached egg on top, please.

Not too runny.

And bacon.

Scones.

Butter. Cream.

Jam.

Not strawberry.

No?

Raspberry?

What else?

Coffee or tea?

Do you have Lapsang?

I'll have a pot of Lapsang, please.

Good choice.

And some sausages.

And some sausages.

Show me.

Will you remember?

Yes.

I'm keeping this.

And now?

Will you have dinner with me?

Yes.

For the hungry boy.

My name is Alma.

Am I late?

No.

What do you think?

Mm.

I like the sauce.

Custard.

It's quite good.

Mm-hmm.

May I, Alma?

I like to see who I'm talking to.

Here.

There you are.

That's better.

Does your mother have brown eyes?

Green.

Do you look very much like her?

I don't know. I think so.

Do you have a photograph?

Yes.

Would you let me see it?

Not here. At home.

Carry it with you.

Always carry her with you.

Where's yours?

Your mother.

She's here in the canvas.

- What do you mean? - Hmm.

You can sew almost anything into the canvas of a coat.

Secrets.

Coins, words, little messages.

When I was a boy, I started to hide things

in the linings of the garments,

things that only I knew were there.

And over my breast, I have a lock of my mother's hair,

to keep her close to me always.

She was quite a remarkable woman.

She taught me my trade.

So I try to never be without her.

You must love her very much.

Hello.

This is Alma.

Say hello to Alma.

- Hello. - This is Alma.

Come say hello to Alma.

- Come on, come on. - Hello.

Shall we show her the house, lads?

I made this dress for her when I was 16 years old.

Beautiful.

'Twas for her second husband, for the wedding.

My father had died many years before.

Our nanny, the evil Miss Blackwood...

Black Death, we used to call her...

because of superstition,

she refused to help me sew the dress,

as she believed it would bring her bad fortune,

to never be a bride.

Not that anyone would've had her.

And she seemed ancient to us.

I have no idea how old she actually was.

And monstrously ugly.

So I worked alone for months and months,

hunched over, sewing and sweating and sewing.

And the Black Death never married anyway.

All the help I could have had from her.

'Twas my sister, Cyril, came to my rescue in the end.

There are endless superstitions

when making a wedding dress.

Young girls afraid they'll never marry

if they touch one.

Or models afraid they'll marry only bald men

if they put one on.

And where's the dress now?

I have no idea what happened to it.

No idea.

Oh, most probably turned to ashes by now,

fallen to pieces.

And your sister?

What?

Did she ever marry?

No.