The New Yorker
Much has been made of the announcement by Daniel Day-Lewis, last summer, that “Phantom Thread,” Paul Thomas Anderson’s psychological/sartorial drama, set in nineteen-fifties London, marks his retirement from acting. Less has been made—indeed, it would be fair to say that almost nothing has been made—of the fact that “Phantom Thread” also marks the cinematic début of George Glasgow, a bespoke shoemaker and nascent character actor.
Viewers of the film who have managed to tear their eyes away from Day-Lewis—he has won three Academy Awards for Best Actor, and is nominated again, for his performance as Reynolds Woodcock, a fastidious couturier—may have noticed Glasgow, who appears in two scenes in his role as Nigel Cheddar-Goode. In the first, he is seated in a brasserie, bow-tied and mustachioed, dining with Day-Lewis and his co-stars (Vicky Krieps, who plays Woodcock’s muse, Alma, and Lesley Manville, who plays his sister, Cyril) and muttering about horse racing in a distinctive London accent. The second time, he appears as the best man at the wedding of Woodcock and Alma, standing silently in the background as they take their fateful vows.
In his day job, Glasgow, who is sixty-six, is the co-owner of George Cleverley & Company, which crafts handmade shoes for bankers, hedge-funders, royals, sportsmen, and actors, including Day-Lewis. (Day-Lewis’s last—the beechwood form that is carved in the shape of his foot, upon which his shoes are made—dangles in a storeroom above the shop, in London, alongside the lasts of Charlie Watts, David Beckham, Jony Ive, and Kenneth Branagh.) A couple of years ago, when Glasgow was in New York to meet with clients, Day-Lewis invited him to lunch at Harry Cipriani, on Fifth Avenue. The men discussed the shoes that Day-Lewis was having made to wear as Woodcock—gorgeous, gleaming things, worn over socks of ecclesiastical purple—and Day-Lewis asked Glasgow about his life. The actor was delighted to hear that Glasgow was born in Pimlico: his own grandfather, Michael Balcon, was the head of the Ealing Studios, which made “Passport to Pimlico,” among many other celebrated film comedies.
“He said, ‘Can I ask you something?,’ and I said, ‘Daniel. Honestly. You can ask me anything,’ ” Glasgow recalled recently, in his office above the shop, in the Royal Arcade, on Old Bond Street. “He said, ‘Do you want to be in this movie with me?’ There was a pause, and you are thinking, Is he on some kind of a substance? I said, ‘Daniel. Do you think I’m capable of standing in the same room as you? Because you’re great.’ He said, ‘George, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you were. Put your hand across the table if you’re in.’ ”
Glasgow spent a total of three days on the set. “People say to you, ‘You must have been well excited.’ But, believe you me, you are nervous, which I don’t normally get.” Before shooting the scene in the restaurant, Day-Lewis pulled him aside. “He says, ‘Right—you are my banker, you are my financial adviser, you are my friend, but you are a bit of a scallywag,’ ” Glasgow said. They did more than a dozen takes. Day-Lewis has said that he was overwhelmed with sadness while making the movie, and he seemed to want Glasgow there for levity’s sake. “We had a laugh and a joke and a giggle together,” Glasgow said. “The days can be long, and you want to have people around you that you can talk to and maybe make life a little lighthearted.”
Woodcock is an obsessional perfectionist, traits that Glasgow shares to some extent, though he claims to have mellowed. This year marks for him a half century in the shoemaking business. In that time, the prices for his wares have risen from twenty pounds a pair to thirty-six hundred pounds, about five thousand dollars. The experience of wearing bespoke shoes rather than ready-made ones, he said, is comparable to squinting to compensate for farsightedness, then finally acquiescing to glasses: “You are, like, ‘Oh, God, what have I been missing?’ ”
Day-Lewis is well known for the immersive preparation that he undergoes for his roles—he made a couture dress for his wife, Rebecca Miller, before playing Woodcock—and also for his interest in crafts, including shoemaking, which he once spent about a year studying in Italy. He will now have more time to pursue such interests in retirement, if he wishes.
Glasgow is not certain whether he will take up the baton that Day-Lewis has put down, though he would certainly like to act again. “My business is a bit like theatre,” he said. “You adapt yourself to the client. If it’s the Duke of Bedford, you say, ‘Yes, m’lud, how are you, m’lud.’ I was brought up in that era where you are very subservient. But, with the wealth today, there are lots of people who have loads of money and they are, like, ‘ ’Allo, mate, ’ow’s it goin’?’ And they are prepared to order a lot of shoes.”
This article appears in the print edition of the March 5, 2018, issue, with the headline “Old Shoe.”
By Rebecca Mead
Illustration by Tom Bachtell