Hollywood Royalty Outraged: Phantom Thread Score Hijacked for Melania Doc

Olivia Bennett, 2/10/2026 When Hollywood repurposes Oscar-worthy elegance as political wallpaper, expect outrage: Paul Thomas Anderson and Jonny Greenwood demand their Phantom Thread score be pulled from Amazon's lavish yet lifeless Melania doc, exposing creative control skirmishes beneath Tinseltown's glitzy, gilded surface.

Phantom Thread’s delicate compositions by Jonny Greenwood—Radiohead’s own sonic magician—weren’t meant to play backdrop to anything so pedestrian as a documentary about Melania Trump. Yet here we are, with Greenwood’s strings trailing behind the former First Lady as she inspects inaugural centerpieces. Somewhere, an Oscar statuette almost shudders in dismay.

It feels almost fated that Anderson and Greenwood, a pair who’ve turned obsession and artistry into an art form, would recoil at this cinematic mismatch. This week, amid the aroma of mounting lawsuits, they demanded their score be removed from Amazon MGM Studios’ lavish documentary spectacle, Melania. The message was clear: creative trespass isn’t just about the paperwork—it’s an affront to the entire fabric of their work.

The mechanics, on the surface, sound like a garden-variety licensing dispute. Universal, holding the actual copyright, allowed their music’s use; Greenwood, however, pointedly claims this was done in breach of his carefully-tailored composer agreement. The sting isn’t just legalistic—it’s eerily personal. After all, music in Hollywood is stitched directly into a film’s DNA. It becomes more than ambience; it’s branding, mood, even memory. Consider what happens when that DNA is spliced, without permission, into something that might as well have been made in a parallel universe. Dissonance, as any true cinephile knows, is sometimes more unbearable than outright cacophony.

And Melania—where to begin? The production, pitched as America’s chance to peek behind a curtain that’s more opaque than tulle-heavy couture, has been battered by critics. The director: Brett Ratner, attempting yet another comeback despite the shadowy legacy of #MeToo. Critics pounced, finding the film’s lavish expenditure a poor camouflage for its aesthetic anemia. Xan Brooks from The Guardian didn't mince words—labeling it “a gilded trash remake of The Zone of Interest.” That's a burn that lingers, doesn’t it?

It isn’t just a matter of taste, either. The numbers are as staggering as they are perplexing. In 2025 dollars, $40 million was the bill of sale for the rights and future docuseries; another $35 million was spent blasting the brand into every conceivable corner—there’s probably a Melania-scented candle somewhere with a promo code attached. If the rationale seems political, well, the rumors of favor-currying swirl thicker than festival fog. Organized Republican groups have tried to buoy the box office, pushing a $13 million opening run—impressive, maybe, by documentary standards, yet comically out of step with the investment.

Amid all this, the Greenwood-Anderson flare-up is playing out less like a simple contract dispute and more like a ferocious defense of artistic sanctity. Phantom Thread is not just another period piece on a crowded studio lot; it’s an obsessive study of control and beauty, scored with a kind of quiet violence. To watch its music woven abruptly into Melania—a film that feels, if anything, allergic to subtlety—is to witness a masterpiece put through the wringer for little more than political pageantry.

At a recent awards event, Anderson proved his wit remains razor-sharp. Sharing a wink with British critics, he lavished irony upon Brooks’ devastating review—calling it “pretty damn good.” In a year when Anderson and Greenwood’s latest collaboration, One Battle After Another, commands the Oscar conversation with thirteen nominations, the industry’s old guard clearly haven’t lost their stride. There’s a wry satisfaction in that—especially as Universal’s legal team presumably combs through contracts, wondering how a single oversight went nuclear.

The real story? Hollywood’s machinery continues to churn—part obsession, part calculation. On its best days, the right music and the right moment create magic. Put that music in the wrong hands, though, and you don’t just get discord. You get a case study in why, no matter how many millions you throw at a production, some things remain sacred. Artistry demands context. And sometimes, letting an ethereal Greenwood string section float over a would-be political hagiography is more shocking than any plot twist.

Call it a lesson for the studios: in the endless tug-of-war between commercial ambition and creative control, it only takes a misplaced note to upset the whole arrangement. Even in Hollywood’s gold-plated fantasia, there are boundaries—cross them, and the aftermath is anything but harmonious.

There’s always been something about Hollywood’s ability to make the improbable look inevitable. One minute, a violin score meticulously crafted for the smoky salons of post-war London is haunting audiences in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread; the next—blink and you’ll miss it—that same music is waltzing right into the heart of America’s latest political spectacle.Phantom Thread’s delicate compositions by Jonny Greenwood—Radiohead’s own sonic magician—weren’t meant to play backdrop to anything so pedestrian as a documentary about Melania Trump. Yet here we are, with Greenwood’s strings trailing behind the former First Lady as she inspects inaugural centerpieces. Somewhere, an Oscar statuette almost shudders in dismay.It feels almost fated that Anderson and Greenwood, a pair who’ve turned obsession and artistry into an art form, would recoil at this cinematic mismatch. This week, amid the aroma of mounting lawsuits, they demanded their score be removed from Amazon MGM Studios’ lavish documentary spectacle, Melania. The message was clear: creative trespass isn’t just about the paperwork—it’s an affront to the entire fabric of their work.The mechanics, on the surface, sound like a garden-variety licensing dispute. Universal, holding the actual copyright, allowed their music’s use; Greenwood, however, pointedly claims this was done in breach of his carefully-tailored composer agreement. The sting isn’t just legalistic—it’s eerily personal. After all, music in Hollywood is stitched directly into a film’s DNA. It becomes more than ambience; it’s branding, mood, even memory. Consider what happens when that DNA is spliced, without permission, into something that might as well have been made in a parallel universe. Dissonance, as any true cinephile knows, is sometimes more unbearable than outright cacophony.And Melania—where to begin? The production, pitched as America’s chance to peek behind a curtain that’s more opaque than tulle-heavy couture, has been battered by critics. The director: Brett Ratner, attempting yet another comeback despite the shadowy legacy of #MeToo. Critics pounced, finding the film’s lavish expenditure a poor camouflage for its aesthetic anemia. Xan Brooks from The Guardian didn't mince words—labeling it “a gilded trash remake of The Zone of Interest.” That's a burn that lingers, doesn’t it?It isn’t just a matter of taste, either. The numbers are as staggering as they are perplexing. In 2025 dollars, $40 million was the bill of sale for the rights and future docuseries; another $35 million was spent blasting the brand into every conceivable corner—there’s probably a Melania-scented candle somewhere with a promo code attached. If the rationale seems political, well, the rumors of favor-currying swirl thicker than festival fog. Organized Republican groups have tried to buoy the box office, pushing a $13 million opening run—impressive, maybe, by documentary standards, yet comically out of step with the investment.Amid all this, the Greenwood-Anderson flare-up is playing out less like a simple contract dispute and more like a ferocious defense of artistic sanctity. Phantom Thread is not just another period piece on a crowded studio lot; it’s an obsessive study of control and beauty, scored with a kind of quiet violence. To watch its music woven abruptly into Melania—a film that feels, if anything, allergic to subtlety—is to witness a masterpiece put through the wringer for little more than political pageantry.At a recent awards event, Anderson proved his wit remains razor-sharp. Sharing a wink with British critics, he lavished irony upon Brooks’ devastating review—calling it “pretty damn good.” In a year when Anderson and Greenwood’s latest collaboration, One Battle After Another, commands the Oscar conversation with thirteen nominations, the industry’s old guard clearly haven’t lost their stride. There’s a wry satisfaction in that—especially as Universal’s legal team presumably combs through contracts, wondering how a single oversight went nuclear.The real story? Hollywood’s machinery continues to churn—part obsession, part calculation. On its best days, the right music and the right moment create magic. Put that music in the wrong hands, though, and you don’t just get discord. You get a case study in why, no matter how many millions you throw at a production, some things remain sacred. Artistry demands context. And sometimes, letting an ethereal Greenwood string section float over a would-be political hagiography is more shocking than any plot twist.Call it a lesson for the studios: in the endless tug-of-war between commercial ambition and creative control, it only takes a misplaced note to upset the whole arrangement. Even in Hollywood’s gold-plated fantasia, there are boundaries—cross them, and the aftermath is anything but harmonious.