‘Phantom Thread’ Captures the Experience of Being an Only Child Better Than Any Other Movie

Han Solo didn’t have one. Neither did Indiana Jones, Belle, Peter Parker, Bruce Wayne, Chiron, or Charles Foster Kane. Some of the most famous movie characters in history are only children, not that the average viewer would notice. The cliché personality traits used to describe only children —they’re selfish, spoiled, stubborn (and such small portions!)— might exist in those characters, but those characters aren’t solely informed by those attributes. In fact, until recently, it was hard to think of a movie that truly captured the experience of being an only child — so leave it to Paul Thomas Anderson to make that only child urtext about a younger brother.

Phantom Thread was the last movie my wife and I saw in theaters before our daughter was born in January, and it’s safe to say that it shook me to my only-child core. It is, without question, the best movie ever made about the routines of only children and the complexities that come with that blessing and curse. That might sound odd because Daniel Day-Lewis’ Reynolds Woodcock isn’t actually an only child; his old so-and-so sibling is Cyril (a withering, confident, and altogether deserving Oscar nominee in Lesley Manville) and she’s a major part of his life. But, speaking from my own personal experience, this dude is an only child — or a “confirmed bachelor” in the movie’s terminology. His pursuit of the opposite sex is minimal compared to his desire for stability and control. “I cannot start my day with a confrontation. I simply have no time for confrontations,” Reynolds says in his first scene after a future ex-muse dares to suggest a change in his breakfast order. (I’m going to guess, like me, Reynolds is also a Libra.)

Reynolds is relentless in his focus, his routine, his passion — which doubles as his hobby. Everything about him is meticulous to the point of obsession. Here’s how he dresses for the day:

(As someone who, as a child, would spend far too much time creating the straightest part possible in his hair, these GIFs make me feel seen.)

And like an only child, Reynolds treasures his solitude, his perfectly engineered existence. (He lives in the “House of Woodcock,” as if it weren’t clear enough.) He has had companions, but never partners —with Cybil less a sister and more the mother he lost years ago. It’s not even that Reynolds is self-centered as much as oblivious to any other possibility. He only thinks of himself and is insulted when people dare to expect him to do otherwise (and don’t appreciate the sacrifice). Take the famed asparagus scene, where Alma (Vicky Krieps, as good as last year’s best actresses) cooks Reynolds a meal he didn’t ask for with ingredients he doesn’t like: “I’m admiring my own gallantry for eating it the way you prepared it,” he says. When Reynolds asks Alma if she’s forcing her way into his life because she’s afraid the dressmaker doesn’t need her, he snarls, “I don’t.”

The trick of Phantom Thread, of course, is that he does. Alma figures out how to make herself indispensable to Reynolds — forcing Reynolds, in turn, to upend his routines, his expectations, his entire life. She pressures Reynolds to change and then poisons him in an attempt to wrest control from his daily regimen. He fights, angrily, against her challenges — literally barfing up years of vacuumed-sealed independence. She wins. He loves it and —to his surprise— wants more uncertainty, more growth. The film ends with her poisoning him again — a newer, messier routine for him to become obsessed with, yes, but also a sign that he’s acknowledged a life worth living is worth living with someone along for the ride. Later, they’ll become parents.

I’ve been a father for eight months and, as yet, our daughter hasn’t started feeding me toxic mushrooms. But there’s something to say about a finicky adult only child, who values routine and quiet and organization, being completely unmoored from his routine and quiet and organization and actually reveling in the upheaval. In the early days of parenthood, our daughter would pee all over me whenever I’d change her; now, most of our days are spent wondering when she’ll take a nap or if she’ll start crying or laughing or maybe both simultaneously. There’s no pattern, which is the pattern. As an only child, I love it.

Christopher Rosen is a writer and editor living in Brooklyn and wearing out The Who on Spotify. Follow him on Twitter: @chrisjrosen

Where to stream Phantom Thread