The Film Club

Wintour comes across as contrived and colourless,which is a pity,as she is clearly the most revered editor in the world. Her clout is visible only when she sits at a meeting with department stores biggies,including Bergdorf Goodman,and tells them how and what to sell in their mega stores.

Wintour’s mystique was better justified in Anna Wintour: The Front Row,an unauthorised but delicious biography by Jerry Oppenheimer. And of course,The Devil Wears Prada,Lauren Weisberger’s book that had the phenomenal Meryl Streep cut ice with her aloofness as the editrix from hell.

A gentler film is 2008’s Valentino: The Last Emperor,by Vanity Fair’s Matt Tyrnauer. It follows the Roman couturier,his partner Giancarlo Giammeti,and their entourage through many evenings,especially Valentino’s party celebrating 45 years of his career. Most interesting is the duo’s — Valentino and Giammeti’s — extravagant lifestyle: their spectacular homes and extensive art collections that range from Picasso to Damien Hirst. Loic Prigent’s Signe Chanel is my favourite. It isn’t about a person but a world-famous fashion house and all that it goes through to make a couture dress. It takes us into Chanel’s flagship store at Paris ’ Rue Cambon where over a dozen seamstresses toil day and night to “Monsieur Lagerfeld’s” sketches. Mesdames Martine,Cecile and Laurence,portly old French ladies who dress like nurses instead of divas,are the real heroes in fashion. Particularly disarming is the episode with Mrs Pouzieux,a frail old woman who lives in the country gathering hay,and makes by hand (and all by herself) all of Chanel’s braids on an antique loom.

Prigent’s Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton is also very good. It shows how one of the world’s most reclusive and irreverent designers (his Stinky Rat line is homage to George W Bush) gets tapped by the world’s largest luxury conglomerate to make damn good business sense. Fans of Marc Jacobs are many,though not universal — his style is more rebellious and teenage,and doesn’t often go well with the polished preferences of the moneyed. But since LV has him in the house,it must be accepted that the men in suits do know a little about what they’re doing.

Rodolphe Marconi’s Lagerfeld Confidential (2008) is rather entertaining and yet most disappointing. While we only see Lagerfeld fleetingly in Signe Chanel,the inaccessible face behind Chanel gets more than chatty in this one. But since the film was commissioned by the label itself,it’s more of a PR exercise than a documentary. His gushing over Nicole Kidman is both comical and sad.

Annie Leibovitz’s A Life Through a Lens is made by her sister Barbara. A film by the subject’s sister can be biased,but this one excels in showing the world’s greatest living photographer in a deeply personal and private environment,and yes,she’s quite the genius at work. Though Leibovitz is known for making the rich and famous strike unusual poses in Vanity Fair,her finest work was her reportage for Rolling Stone. Her love affair with Susan Sontag and her three kids post 50,are both dealt with sensitivity.

There is still time for Indian filmmakers to pick up their cameras for our designers. But the meat is there already: To watch Wendell Rodricks in his village at Colvale turn banana leaf webs into gauze on a model’s shoulders will be delightful; Tarun Tahiliani’s work space is a temple of good taste; to have Abraham & Thakore develop cotton or Anshu Arora dream up vivid colours and to party with Malini Ramani.

Maybe if Aishwarya Rai would anchor it?

(namratanow@gmail.com)