Phantom Thread
OLIVIA COOKE: “The dinner-table scene between Daniel Day-lewis and Vicky Krieps in Phantom Thread. The way Vicky Krieps gets flustered was mesmerising. You can’t bottle that as an actor. It felt so spontaneous and such a visceral reaction. It’s what you crave.”
INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT
Alma (Vicky Krieps) has made asparagus for Reynolds (Daniel Day-lewis). His lukewarm reaction to it has erupted into a huge row.
REYNOLDS: There are other things I’d like to do with my time. It’s my time. My time!
ALMA: I have no idea what I’m doing here in your time. What am I doing her? I’m standing around like an idiot, waiting for you!
REYNOLDS: Waiting for what?
ALMA: Waiting for you.
REYNOLDS: Waiting for what?
ALMA: Waiting for you to get rid of me. To tell me to leave. So, tell me. So I don’t stand around like a fucking fool.
REYNOLDS: Asparagus. Is this all about your asparagus?
ALMA: No, it’s not about asparagus.
REYNOLDS: Then what the hell is it about? Are you a special agent sent here to ruin my evening and possibly my entire life?
ALMA: Why are you so rude to me? Why are you talking to me like this?
REYNOLDS: Is this my house? This is my house, isn’t it?
ALMA: Yes, this is your house.
REYNOLDS: Is this my house?
ALMA: Of course it’s your house.
REYNOLDS: Or did somebody drop me on foreign soil, behind enemy lines?
ALMA: What a question! You brought me here!
REYNOLDS: I’m surrounded on all sides.
ALMA: It’s you who brought me here.
REYNOLDS: When the hell did this happen? Who are you? Do you have a gun? You here to kill me? Hmm? Do you have a gun?
ALMA: Stop it! Stop being a child!
REYNOLDS: Where’s your gun?
ALMA: Stop it!
REYNOLDS: Show me your gun.
ALMA: Stop playing. Stop playing this game.
REYNOLDS: I’m not playing a game.
ALMA: I am not. Yes, mmhmm. Uh-huh.
REYNOLDS: What game I am playing? What game? What precisely is the nature of my game? You tell me.
ALMA: Oh, this whole…
REYNOLDS: What?
ALMA: All your rules and your walls and your doors and your people, and your money and all this clothes and everything. This, this, this game! Everything here! The whole…
She sputters and starts crashing the silverware on the table.
ALMA: Nothing is normal or natural or… everything is a game. “Yes, mister. No, madam. Yes, uh...”
REYNOLDS: Well, if it’s my—
ALMA: “I don’t eat this, I don’t drink that, I don’t do...”
REYNOLDS: If it’s my life that you’re describing, it’s entirely up to you whether you choose to share it or not. If you don’t wish to share that life, as apparently it’s so disagreeable to you in every respect, why don’t you just fuck off to back where you came from?
Alma begins to reply, but can’t. She stands up, throws her napkin at him, and leaves the room.