Where the Rainbow Ends: A Journey Through My Deranged Movie Marathon
I spent the last Friday of 2023 at Metrograph with Paul Thomas Anderson, Tom Cruise and Stanley Kubrick. It was exhausting but well worth it.
Welcome to the fourth edition of The Martell 100 newsletter. Today, I am covering Phantom Thread, Magnolia and Eyes Wide Shut, the three movies I saw in succession at Metrograph two weeks ago. If you are interested in watching them, you can stream Phantom Thread on Netflix, and rent Magnolia and Eyes Wide Shut on Apple TV and Amazon Prime. I also own Eyes Wide Shut on Blu Ray (thanks, Josh!). If any of you would like to borrow it, let me know!
In early December, shortly after I launched this newsletter, I was scrolling through the showtimes for the rest of the month at Metrograph, my favorite rep cinema in New York City, when I saw that Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread was playing at 1:30 p.m. on Friday, Dec. 29.
I had watched the 2017 film twice before — first, on my laptop in bed at my college apartment (certainly how PTA intended it to be seen), and again late one night on TV in my parents’ living room during the pandemic — and enjoyed it enough to rank it among my top 100 movies. Yet, I felt like I was missing something, that the film’s sensuality, comedy and emotionality didn’t come through as clearly as it would have in a theater. Immediately, I purchased a ticket.
From there, I noticed that playing directly after Phantom Thread was another PTA film, Magnolia, a three-hour, eight-minute opus from 1999 about family trauma, matters of chance (or not) and forgiveness. I’ll never forget the first time I watched Magnolia, in late 2019 or early 2020, because, like Gangs of New York and Inglourious Basterds, it expanded my understanding of what movies could be. Everything about the film is overwhelmingly oversized — the explosive performances, the percussive Aimee Mann soundtrack and the Biblical deluge at the climax — and I knew the theatrical experience would be even bigger.
I kept scrolling, and came across another 1999 movie starring Tom Cruise, Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Culturally, I had a general understanding of the film — that it was panned at the time but is now considered a masterpiece; that Kubrick died before it was released; that it was about the sexual fantasies and nightmares of a husband and wife, starring one of the most famous Hollywood married couples of the 1990s, Cruise and Nicole Kidman — but I had never seen it. It was playing at 10:20 p.m., roughly three hours after Magnolia ended. Why not make it a triple feature?
As I bought the ticket, I couldn’t help but laugh when I checked the box indicating that “I have read and understood the Terms and Conditions.” It was as if someone were asking me if I knew what I was signing up for, because how could anyone in their right mind willingly spend their final Friday of the year watching three movies — for a combined duration of eight hours — about broken people, with each film more deranged than the one before it? As far as I know, I was the only one who did.
There is an early scene in Phantom Thread, when Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis), a renowned dressmaker in 1950s London, is sketching designs as he eats breakfast with his lover, Johanna (Camilla Rutherford). She tells Reynolds that he should try the pastries, a normal thing to say during breakfast, but the way that she says it suggests she is attempting to break through his silence. Even if this is merely small talk, a man like Reynolds clearly detests small talk.
“Remember I told you, Johanna, no more stodgy things,” Reynolds says.
“I didn’t know that,” Johanna responds. “You may have told it to someone else.”
His sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) then enters the room. She and Reynolds exchange greetings — “Good morning, my old so and so,” says Reynolds — before she sits down, pours her tea and looks over some paperwork, silently.
Once again, Johanna breaks the silence: “Where have you gone, Reynolds? There’s nothing I can say to get your attention aimed back at me, is there?”
Reynolds looks up from his sketch pad, frustrated: “I cannot begin my day with a confrontation, please. I’m delivering the dress today, and I cannot take up space with a confrontation. I simply don’t have time for confrontations.”
That night at dinner, Cyril asks Reynolds what he would like to do about Johanna. He says nothing. Cyril continues: “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.”
He nods. She tells him that she’ll give Johanna the October dress as a parting gift and send her away. After all, Reynolds is not one for confrontations, so his sister breaks up with his live-in lover for him. After dinner, he leaves for their country home.
This all happens within the first 12 minutes and sets the tone for the rest of the film. It is funny, sad and beautifully unsettling. On this viewing, in Woodcock (an objectively hilarious name), I saw a more extreme and peculiar version of myself. When I have an assignment, I typically write during breakfast (as I am doing now), and there have been times when I have coldly cut off my parents or roommates just as they begin a conversation with me because, “I’m in the middle of writing something.” I’m self-aware enough to apologize for it afterward, but I recognized his inclination to tune out the world around him while he works
The morning after he arrives in the country, Reynolds goes to a local cafe and meets Alma (Vicky Krieps), his waitress. He orders a large, oddly specific breakfast in the most drawn-out way. Unlike with Johanna, and presumably with anyone else, he wants to keep talking to Alma, and she is in no rush to put in his order, either.
His breakfast: A Welsh rabbit with a poached egg on top, not too runny; bacon; scones, with butter, cream and jam, but not strawberry (so Alma suggests raspberry); a pot of Lapsang Souchong tea; and, just because, some sausages.
He asks to see what she has just written down, to make sure it is correct, then asks her if she will remember it. She says she will, so he tears the paper in two, puts the part with his order in his pocket as a keepsake and hands the other part back to her. When she returns with his food, she asks, “And now?” He asks her out. She says yes and hands him a folded slip of paper. It reads: “For the hungry boy, my name is Alma.”
This might be the most sensual meet cute I’ve ever seen in a movie. Obviously, he is hungry not only for the food but for her, and in her eyes, we can see she is aroused by him. It is as if they are making love without ever touching.
Their love affair begins, and it doesn’t take long before Alma challenges Reynolds. With her strong will and independence, she forces him to reconsider his routines, his rules and his entire way of life.
There are plenty of ways to read this movie. It is about power and consumption in a changing world. It is about loss; at least part of the reason why Reynolds is so committed to his craft is because his mother, who died when he was little, taught it to him. It is about two strong personalities falling in love and learning to make love last — especially in sickness and in health. They cannot live without each other, so they need to figure out how to live together.
When Phantom Thread ended, I went across the street for something to eat at a small place called Two Bridges Luncheonette. I walked in just as the person working, who I assume was the owner, was finishing up another man’s sandwich. The owner told me he was closing. I apologized and started to leave, but he stopped me and offered to make me something to go. I thanked him and ordered a grilled cheese as the man ahead of me walked out. On the wall was a poster of Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent sci-fi epic, Metropolis, which I saw at Metrograph in June. We started talking about the film and the theater across the street, and I told him about the marathon I was a third of the way through. He asked me why I would do that to myself. I shrugged, laughed and said I had nothing better to do.
I always sit in the first row of the balcony at Metrograph because it makes the movie feel more like an event, as if I were at a Broadway show. I climbed the stairs, sat in the same seat I had for Phantom Thread, and heard a voice: “How was that sandwich?” I looked up to find the man who had ordered ahead of me at Two Bridges. I told him about the marathon, too. He was only seeing Magnolia that day, but he said he saw Eyes Wide Shut at Metrograph the year before and that I was in for a treat.
As I wrote in the most recent edition of The Martell 100, Magnolia (which jumped to No. 17) has long been my favorite PTA movie, even though I know it is not his best. It is ambitious, funny and emotional, with so much to say and plenty of great actors to do the talking (in many cases shouting). It is a mess, but that is by design, because life is messy.
It is difficult for me to summarize the story, because there are too many characters and interconnected plots that PTA weaves through the film, so I’ll use the IMDb synopsis: “An epic mosaic of interrelated characters in search of love, forgiveness and meaning in the San Fernando Valley.”
This time around, I was struck by Tom Cruise’s performance as Frank T.J. Mackey, a motivational speaker in the mold of Andrew Tate. Mackey has created a program called “Seduce and Destroy,” and part of that includes seminars where he coaches a room full of men on how to get laid. As you would expect, he is a raging misogynist whose tactics are gross.
And yet, there is something about Mackey and the way Cruise plays him that draws us in, and we can’t help but laugh as he pants, flips and gesticulates. Soon, it becomes clear that this is all just an act, even if he doesn’t realize it. We later learn that this persona is a facade, a way for him to cope with his traumatic adolescence and his feeling of abandonment.
During breaks in the seminar, Mackey sits for an interview with a TV reporter who is profiling him, and we see him unravel as her questions get more personal. While this is happening, an old man named Earl Partridge (Jason Robards) is on his deathbed with cancer. He reveals to his at-home nurse, Phil Parma (Philip Seymour Hoffman), that Frank Mackey is his estranged son and asks Phil to track him down. When Phil finally gets Mackey’s people on the phone, he pleads:
“Like this is the scene in the movie where the guy’s trying to get ahold of the long lost son, you know, but this is that scene. This is that scene. And I think that they have those scenes in movies because they’re true, you know, because they really happen. And you gotta believe me. This is really happening.”
It doesn’t spoil the movie to tell you that Frank eventually goes to see Earl. Their reunion is the best acting Cruise has ever done.
I had plenty of time to kill before Eyes Wide Shut, so I walked a few blocks and found a Chinese restaurant. I sat in a booth at a table in the back corner and jotted down some notes on the two movies I had just rewatched. Nearby was a quartet of professionals, two men and two women, in suits. It seemed like they were celebrating something, and later one of the people working, possibly a chef, brought over a bottle of wine for them. He sat and drank with them, said hi to me and offered me some wine, too. I respectfully declined.
It was a long break, but I needed it. As much as I love Magnolia, its intensity can be draining. However, as I soon found out, it was tame compared to Eyes Wide Shut.
The first thing we see is Nicole Kidman, who plays Alice Harford, taking off a revealing black dress, which she drops to the floor. She is completely naked. Next comes the title card, followed by another shot of Kidman putting on a different, less promiscuous black dress. She and her husband Bill (Cruise), a New York City doctor, are getting ready for a Christmas party, hosted by Victor Ziegler (Sydney Pollock), one of Bill’s wealthy patients.
On the surface, everything about their lives seems ideal. They are happily married with a 7-year-old daughter, Helena, and are well-off financially, as evidenced by their spacious apartment in the heart of Manhattan.
At the party, Bill recognizes the piano player as Nick Nightingale (Todd Field, who is best known as the director of TÁR), his buddy from med school who he hasn’t seen for about a decade. He goes over to say hi and gets separated from Alice. She is at the bar when a Hungarian silver fox, Sandor Szavost (Sky du Mont), drinks from her glass and starts flirting with her. He asks her to dance and philosophizes about marriage and sex before inviting her upstairs. She declines, on account of her marriage, though it seems obvious that she desires him.
While this is happening, Bill is walking and talking with two young models on his arm. He asks them where they are going. “Where the rainbow ends,” answers one. The other then says, “Don’t you want to go where the rainbow ends?” He is interrupted before he can go.
Back home at the end of the night, Bill and Alice have sex in front of a mirror. He is looking at her, but her attention seems to be elsewhere.
The next night, they are in bed smoking a joint, when Alice asks Bill about the two women he was with at the party. Bill tells her the truth, that nothing happened, and then asks her what the Hungarian wanted. Sex, she says. He says that is understandable, because she is beautiful. Alice, who is stoned, pushes back, asking if sex is the only reason a man would approach her. This is the start of an argument about sex, fidelity and jealousy. It escalates, to such a point that Alice admits to Bill that she fantasizes about cheating on him with a Naval officer whom she had locked eyes with once while they were on family vacation the previous summer. She tells Bill that she would have given up her entire life with him and their daughter to have just one night with the Naval officer. His entire worldview shatters instantly.
Mercifully, the fight ends there. Bill receives a call, telling him that one of his patients has died and asking him to come over to pay his respects. He leaves the apartment and embarks on a night-long odyssey of sexual exploration that brings him to a ritualistic, secret society orgy at a Long Island mansion.
Eyes Wide Shut is not for everyone, but I would recommend it if you like movies that challenge you. It is a haunting and gripping thriller that poses questions about love, desire and sex, about power and wealth, about all the things that we choose to ignore and what happens when we acknowledge them.
Two weeks later, I am still processing it. Perhaps the best way to sum up my thoughts on the film is to borrow a line from Nick Nightingale: “I have seen one or two things in my life, but never, never anything like this.”
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