A
film review by Robert Ebert, September 9, 2009.
The
magazine rack at 7-Eleven doesn't have many real magazines. No Economist,
Vanity Fair, Discover or The New Yorker. It's mostly
pseudo-magazines, about celebrities, diets, video games and crossword puzzles.
Except for one: Vogue. The other day I bought the September 2009
issue, which ran to a little under 600 pages. That may sound like a lot to you,
but actually it's a marker of hard times for the economy.
The September Issue is a documentary
about the magazine's September 2007 issue, which set a record at well over 800
pages. Vogue is ruled by the famous Anna Wintour, who is said to be the single most important person in
the world of fashion. When she says yes,
it happens. When she says no, it
doesn't. She says no frequently. She
rarely deigns to explain why, but it would appear that most people believe she
is right. She is always right about her own opinion, and in
fashion, hers is the opinion that matters most.
The
documentarian R.J. Cutler followed
Wintour for months during the preparation for September 2007, which was
expected to set a record. There cannot have been a page she wasn't involved
with. This seems to be a woman who is concerned with one thing above all: The
implementation of her opinion. She is not the monster depicted by Meryl Streep
in The Devil Wears Prada (2006), but
then how could she be? I expect that one to have a sequel titled, Return of the Bitch.
Perhaps
it was The Devil Wears Prada, based
on a novel by one of her former assistants, that motivated Wintour to authorize
this documentary. She doesn't otherwise seem like the kind of woman who craves
attention, since, after all, she is the focus of the eyes of everyone who
matters to her. She doesn't throw handbags at her assistants as Streep does in
the 2006 movie, but then she knows too much about cameras to make that mistake.
What
comes across is that she is, after all, a very good editor. Like Hugh Hefner,
William Shawn, Harold Hayes or Graydon Carter, she knows exactly what she
wants, and her readers agree with her. When she cringes at the sight of a
dress, we're inclined to cringe along with her. The question arises: What possible
meaning is there in haute couture for the vast majority of
humans who have ever lived? None, of course. And few of these costumes must
actually ever be worn, and then often for photo opportunities like Cannes or
the Oscars or charity balls in Palm Beach. A woman cannot live in them. She can
only wear them.
Yet
there is a very great deal of money involved, because these inconceivably
expensive dresses serve as the show cars of designers whose ideas are then
taken down market at great speed by multinational corporations, as was shown
happening to Valentino in the 2009 documentary about him. Today Paris, tomorrow
Bloomingdale's.
Wintour
rules Vogue with a regal confidence. No one dares to disagree
with her, except for a Julia Childian former British model named Grace Coddington, who has been on the
staff as long as Wintour and is as earthy as Wintour is aloof. The two women
have a grudging respect for each other, perhaps because each realizes they need
someone to push back. Coddington's gift is conceiving many of Vogue's
wildly fantastical photo spreads. Wintour's gift is knowing how to moderate her
enthusiasm.
We
meet other members of her staff, including the court jester, Andre Leon Talley, the editor at large,
who specializes in spotting young talent. He's very funny, but I didn't see
Wintour smiling at him or very much of anyone else. I think she'd look pretty
when she did. Old photographs show she has worn the same hairstyle since time
immemorial, perhaps because to change it would be a fatal admission that she
cares what people think. In public, she always wears the same dark glasses,
which provide maximum concealment; armor,
she calls it.
Although
we see her taste constantly at work, the only definite things we learn about it
are that she approves of fur and disapproves of black. She shows great
affection in a scene with her bright daughter, Bee Shaffer. Otherwise, like the Sphinx, she regards emotion with
disdain. [Ebert's rating: *** out of 4 stars]
Labels:
documentary, fashion
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