Bill Cunningham New York

I've never fallen in love in an hour and 24 minutes before. But really, he's charming and chatty and friendly, constantly laughing or smiling, except when he's intensely working. He is insanely frugal and hard working--he's almost monk-like about his work. And he's 83 years old! Remarkable, no? He reminds me a little of our dear JVS. 

I love the Sartorialist and Garance, who are indebted to Bill Cunningham, who was basically the first street fashion photographer ever, so I thought I'd better see this documentary. It was better than I could have ever imagined. It is an extended and personal introduction to a remarkable man, and to the world in which he moves, which includes quite a number of crazy characters. I watched it two nights in a row, and the next night I was at a small gathering where I suggested that we all watch it together. That idea was nixed, though.

Bill Cunningham's unique living situation holds the film together. He lived for most of his life in a little apartment above Carnegie Hall. The apartment had no kitchen nor bathroom; his apartment was almost entirely filing cabinets loaded with pictures. Many other artists also used to have studios and apartments above Carnegie Hall, but they were, one by one, moved out. Now, the city was attempting to turn the apartments into office space and relocate the only two remaining occupants, Bill Cunningham and his neighbor, 96-year-old Editta Sherman, a photographer and personality. What a lady! At one point, she starts trying on and modeling some of the hats that Bill Cunningham used to make and sell (to even people like Marilyn Monroe!), before he became a street photographer. The poses that Editta strikes are too cute, wrapping scarves around her neck to complement the hats. Editta also, at one point, charmingly asks why the film isn't about her. At the very end of the film, Bill Cunningham moves out of his old apartment and into a new one.

Clearly, Bill Cunningham's life is almost entirely about photography: he takes pictures during the day on the street, and in the evening at society events. He is on his bike constantly, looking for people to photograph. (He's had 28 bikes stolen in New York over the years.) He dresses very simply in collared shirts and sweaters and bright blue jackets, which he buys for 20 dollars in France where they are sold as the street cleaners' uniform. He loves them because of their pockets, and even wears one when he receives an award at Fashion Week in Paris. He doesn't want anything fancy, which is ironic, given that his passion is looking for and taking pictures of people who are dressing incredibly fancily themselves. He's no-nonsense in the way that he clothes himself--in the opening moments of the film, we see him duck taping his rain poncho so that it doesn't leak! He also barely cares about food. It's definitely 87 octane for him.

He has been photographing the same people for forty or fifty years. He knows them well and they love him. He looks so happy and engaged when he's taking pictures. The film shares with us some of the people that he photographs. One ambassador, or something, from Nepal, models his crazy wardrobe. At one point he says, "This used to be my old sofa--the jacket. And my pants used to be the ottoman."

The documentary is comfortable and unpretentious, like Bill Cunningham himself. From time to time, you hear the filmmaker asking questions from behind the movie camera. Toward the end, the filmmaker questions Bill Cunningham about his personal life. He's never, ever had a relationship, he tells us--he simply hasn't had time (he really is monk-like!). He maintains that photography "is not work; it's pleasure!"

Then, the filmmaker also asks him about his religion. Bill Cunningham has previously mentioned in the film that he goes to church every Sunday. He tries to downplay it--"It's no big deal; I go to repent." But when the filmmaker asks him about it at the end of the film, for the first time Bill Cunningham becomes emotional. He borders on tears and takes several moments to compose himself. He doesn't say much, except that church is very important to him. Goodness, it's hard to explain it, but it brings me close to tears even now recounting it.

One of the people that Bill Cunningham has photographed over the years is a man who wears dresses. Cunningham had to push and push for the Times to publish the photographs. One interviewee says that this shows Cunningham's egalitarianism. And it does. Cunningham is not an elitist--he is concerned with beauty, but particularly with how real people wear beautiful things. He is unconcerned with fashion that real people can't wear. But he's not just an egalitarian. Photography is his way of highlighting the individual who distinguishes himself from what Cunningham calls the "cookie-cutter masses." He is interested in fashion on anyone, but he doesn't think that everyone is equally fashionable. He looks for those people who stand out in the crowd. He sees fashion as crucially important--he says that it's the armor people use to survive the reality of everyday life. He says that you can't do away with it, that that would be to do away with civilization.