He’s a snake. Honestly, that’s the first thing you think when Paul Dano’s Eli Sunday slithers onto the screen in Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2007 masterpiece. You see him sitting there, dinner table humble, asking for a "blessing" for his family’s land, and you just know. There is something profoundly broken behind those wide, pale eyes. In the decades since the film's release, the character of There Will Be Blood Eli Sunday has become more than just a movie antagonist; he’s a case study in how religious fervor and raw, unadulterated greed are often two sides of the same counterfeit coin.
Daniel Plainview is the "Plain Dealer," a man who admits he has a competition in him. He hates everyone. Eli, though? Eli pretends to love everyone. That’s the friction that drives the whole movie. It’s a three-hour collision course between a man who worships the ground because of what’s under it and a man who claims to worship the sky to distract people from what he’s doing on Earth.
The Twin Faces of Paul Dano
Wait, did you know Paul Dano wasn't even supposed to play Eli? It’s one of those weird bits of Hollywood fate. Originally, Kel O'Neill was cast as Eli Sunday. But a few weeks into filming, the story goes that O'Neill either wasn't the right fit or—as the more dramatic rumors suggest—he was intimidated by Daniel Day-Lewis's legendary method acting. Paul Dano had already been cast as Paul Sunday, Eli’s brother who tips off Plainview about the oil.
PTA made a last-minute call. He asked Dano to play both brothers.
Dano had four days to prepare. Four days to figure out how to stand toe-to-toe with the greatest actor of a generation. The result is a performance that feels frantic and desperate because, in a way, it probably was. By making them twins (or brothers who look identical), the film suggests that the "rational" brother who sells the information for five hundred dollars and the "spiritual" brother who wants to build a church are basically the same guy. They both want out of the dirt.
Why Eli Sunday is the Perfect Foil
Most villains in movies are external threats. They have a gun or a plan to blow up a bridge. Eli Sunday is different. He’s a mirror.
Every time Daniel Plainview tries to claim a piece of the world, Eli is there to demand a piece of the soul—or at least the credit for it. Think about the scene where Eli demands to "bless" the well. Plainview brushes him off. He doesn't just ignore him; he humiliates him. This sets up a decades-long grudge that isn't about God at all. It’s about ego.
Eli’s "Church of the Third Revelation" is a masterclass in performative holiness. When you watch those scenes where he’s casting out "demons" or slapping an old man to cure his arthritis, it’s loud. It’s sweaty. It’s theater. It’s exactly what Plainview does when he stands in front of the townspeople and promises them schools and bread. One uses the Bible, the other uses the Drill. Both are selling a future that doesn't exist.
The Power Struggle of the Mud
There’s a specific moment that defines their relationship. Plainview is stuck in the mud, literally and figuratively, after an accident at the derrick. Eli comes to him asking for the five thousand dollars promised to the church.
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What follows is one of the most uncomfortable beatings in cinema history.
Plainview doesn't just hit him; he mocks his divinity. He rubs Eli’s face in the oil-soaked mud. This is the turning point for There Will Be Blood Eli Sunday. Before this, he might have believed his own hype. After this? He’s just a man looking for revenge. He realizes that in the world of Daniel Plainview, "spirit" doesn't mean anything if it can't pay the bills.
The False Prophet and the Industrialist
Religion in There Will Be Blood isn't a source of comfort. It’s a tool for leverage. Eli understands the power of the crowd. He knows that if he can control the "moral" narrative of Little Boston, he can control the people who work the wells.
But he’s an amateur compared to Plainview.
While Eli is busy shouting at the rafters, Plainview is buying up the rights of way for a pipeline. Eli is thinking about the collection plate; Plainview is thinking about the ocean. The tragedy of Eli Sunday is that he tries to play the game of capitalism using the rules of the pulpit, and he loses because he’s not as "honest" about his greed as his rival is.
That Ending: "I Am a False Prophet!"
Let's talk about the bowling alley. It's 1927. The world has changed. Prohibition is the law of the land, the Great Depression is looming, and Daniel Plainview is a drunk hermit living in a mansion.
Enter Eli Sunday.
He looks different. He’s dressed in a fine suit. He looks like a "success." But he’s desperate. He’s lost money in the crash. He comes to Daniel to offer him a deal on the Bandy tract—the one piece of land Daniel could never get.
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The power dynamic has shifted entirely.
Daniel forces Eli to scream it. "I am a false prophet! God is a superstition!" It’s a brutal, soul-crushing scene. Why does Daniel do it? Because he waited years to win. He didn't just want the land; he wanted the total surrender of the thing that challenged him. When Eli shouts those words, he isn't just lying to save his skin—he’s admitting that the life he built was a hollow shell.
And then, of course, the milkshake.
"I drink your milkshake!" is a funny meme now, but in the context of Eli’s demise, it’s terrifying. It’s the final explanation of how power works. You don't need to be on the land to take what’s under it. You just need a long straw. Eli Sunday, for all his shouting, never realized that the world is run by people with longer straws.
What We Get Wrong About Eli
Some people see Eli as a pure victim. They see a young man bullied by a titan of industry. That’s a mistake.
Eli is a predator.
Look at how he treats his father, Abel. Look at how he treats his sister, Mary. He uses his "gift" to dominate his family just as much as Daniel uses his wealth to dominate his "son," H.W. Eli is what happens when ambition is wrapped in a shawl of piety. If he had been born with Daniel’s money, he would have been just as cold.
Critical Analysis: The Duality of Man
Scholars often point to the "Sunday" family as a symbol of the American West. Paul is the scout, Abel is the settler, and Eli is the preacher. But Eli is the only one who tries to compete with the machine.
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The film suggests that you can't have the oil without the blood. You can't have the industry without the "morality" to justify it. Eli provides the justification for the town's existence, while Daniel provides the reason for it. They are locked in a symbiotic struggle where neither can truly exist without the other. Without Eli to fight, Daniel has no one to prove his superiority to. Without Daniel to fund the town, Eli has no congregation to grift.
The Visual Language of Eli Sunday
Look at the lighting on Eli throughout the film. In the beginning, he’s often bathed in soft, natural light or the warm glow of a hearth. He looks innocent. As the movie progresses and his obsession with Daniel grows, the shadows get deeper. By the time we see him in the bowling alley, he looks almost skeletal.
Paul Dano’s physical performance is incredible. He uses a high-pitched, almost wavering voice that suggests he’s always on the verge of a breakdown. It contrasts perfectly with Day-Lewis’s low, gravelly boom. It’s the sound of a whistle versus the sound of a sledgehammer.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Filmmakers
If you're looking to understand why this character works so well, or if you're a writer trying to craft a compelling antagonist, there are a few key takeaways from the character of Eli Sunday:
- Conflict of Values: Eli doesn't want what Daniel has (at first). He wants the authority Daniel has. Make your characters fight over the "why," not just the "what."
- The Power of Vulnerability: Eli is most dangerous when he looks the weakest. His "humble" beginnings are his greatest weapon for manipulation.
- Physicality Matters: Dano uses his entire body to show Eli’s internal state—the frantic hands, the twitching eyes. Characters aren't just what they say; they are how they move.
- Refined Archetypes: Take a standard archetype (the preacher) and give them a mundane, selfish motivation (envy). It makes them more human and more terrifying.
Where to Re-watch
If it’s been a while, go back and watch the "baptism" of Daniel Plainview. Pay attention to Eli’s face when he slaps Daniel. It’s not a holy slap. It’s a "I finally got you" slap. That’s the core of Eli Sunday. He’s a man who mistook his own ego for the voice of God, and in the world of There Will Be Blood, that’s a mistake that gets you buried under a bowling alley.
The legacy of the character lives on in every modern portrayal of a "charismatic" leader who hides a ledger behind their prayer book. It's a performance that reminds us that the most dangerous people aren't usually the ones shouting from the rooftops—they're the ones who convince you that they're the only ones who can save you.
To truly understand the dynamic, one should look into the history of the early 20th-century tent revivals. Figures like Billy Sunday (no relation, but surely an inspiration) and Aimee Semple McPherson showed how religion became a mass-marketed product in the U.S. Eli Sunday is the dark, cinematic shadow of that era, showing the grime behind the gold.
Next time you watch, don't just look at Daniel. Watch Eli. Watch the way he watches Daniel. He’s not looking for a soul to save; he’s looking for a milkshake to drink. He just didn't realize Daniel had already finished it.