PG-13 | Rottentomatoes.com Rating:84% | 2009 |
(Thematic elements, brief, strong language) | Picky Flicks Quote: "A mesmerizing study of the tension between commerce and creativity." -Tom Long, Detroit News | RUNTIME: 90 mins. |
Visit:www.screenit.com for complete details | Movie Mood:  Chic |
The September Issue—a film about the production and release of Vogue’s 2007 issue for that month—might seem like an odd choice for a review once I admit that I’ve never owned a piece of couture or high fashion in my life—no Prada, no Givenchy, no Manolo, no Gucci; not even a knock-off—nor do I have any interest in doing so. So, why would a real life rendition of The Devil Wears Prada fascinate me so? Well, I’m guessing you already know the answer. Although movies can, at times, reaffirm our current reality, more often than not, they are an escape from it. We don’t watch movies to be told something we already know, which is why a documentary about people that truly believe that fashion is art and, even more interestingly, that it is important, kept me riveted from start to finish.
I’ve already mentioned The September Issue's similarity to The Devil Wears Prada, but I must clarify that it’s hardly coincidental. The Devil Wears Prada is based on a book of the same name, which is, in turn, inspired by a fashion intern’s experiences working at Vogue magazine where said intern had the opportunity to observe Vogue’s Editor in Chief, Anna Wintour, in action on a regular basis (hence Meryl Streep’s “dragon lady” role as Miranda Priestly). And although there are some exaggerations in the Hollywoodized version (who would expect otherwise?), the fictional film manages to capture the essence of intense self-importance that comes through even more clearly in the documentary.
To say that Wintour lives up to her name (okay, it’s pronounced “wintore” not “winter,” but it almost works), is to call Bill Clinton a little bit unfaithful. Her frosty demeanor, crisp British accent, and razor-sharp bob combine to form a barrier shield around her sinewy, wraith-thin figure that few can penetrate. As a public relations mouthpiece points out, “Anna doesn’t do warm and fuzzy, so I’ll just have to be warm and fuzzy enough for the both of us.” And when asked whether Anna could be considered the high priestess of the religion that is fashion, he quips, “Actually, she’s more like the pope.” And finally, when asked whether a single area of fashion escapes Anna’s notice or influence, he pauses to consider, then answers, “No, not one.”
It all might sound a little silly—the pope of fashion, indeed; who takes that seriously?—were it not for the fact that the fashion industry is so darn lucrative. Take a moment for just one figure to sink in. In 2006, the September issue of Vogue—the magazine’s fashion Bible, which (we’re told) sets the style tone for the rest of the year—sold thirteen million copies. Not too shabby for one month, especially when one considers the $6 a pop price tag. With a multi-billion dollar industry riding on her bony shoulders, it’s no wonder Wintour never smiles.
But the entire film isn’t all Anna, Anna, Anna. In fact, it might be even more Grace, Grace, Grace. Wait, who’s Grace? Oh, did I fail to mention her? You see, Grace Coddington is Vogue’s creative director and number one stylist, which means she has a hand in organizing, choosing the clothes, models, makeup for, and then arranging almost every shoot that appears in the September issue (or any other for that matter). Grace is hardly what you would expect in a woman who insists that her models be perfect. A former model herself, she is now an upper 60ish woman who dresses in shapeless black shirtdresses and clunky clogs, wears minimal makeup, and allows her carrot red hair to tumble in a gloriously disheveled mane of frizz down her back. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with Grace’s looks for a normal person, but for Vogue…well, it was just one of many things that surprised me.
Still, despite her less-than-model looks, Grace is a force to be reckoned with. A Welshwoman with a fiery temper (and a foul mouth; Grace’s few but choice expletives are the only thing that elevates the film to its PG-13 rating), Grace spends much of the film furious with Anna for “killing” tens of thousands of dollars of shoots that Grace thought were perfect. Anna’s rationale? Umm…she’s Anna Wintour. She doesn’t need one. And despite Grace’s assurances to the camera that she and Anna understand and cooperate well, it’s clear that each is a bit of a thorn in the other’s side even while each proclaims the other’s brilliance. What do they really think? Who knows? In a world where appearances are everything, the truth is as slippery as a silk Chanel evening gown.
As everyone races to meet his/her deadlines, the tension mounts. Anna is still unhappy with the “colorblock shoot” and demands that it be reshot with only two days to go before the magazine’s release. Scattered among the images of harried-looking girls scurrying about it heels are amusing, even insightful glimpses into the lives of both Wintour’s coworkers and her family. One such coworker credits Anna with saving his life by insisting that he lose weight. His chosen weight-loss activity? Why, tennis, of course. The only problem as that he spends more time lugging around his Louis Vuitton bags, taking care not to smash his $50,000 “tennis watch,” and adjusting the Armani scarf around his neck than he does swinging at the ball. And no, I’m not making any of that up.
And then there’s Anna’s daughter who refuses to have anything to do with the fashion world, clearly finding its fervor a bit, well, odd. Wintour, herself, admits that the rest of her family doesn’t “get” what she does. All three of her siblings are involved in some sort of humanitarian project, and her father was a former BBC broadcaster. She seems aware that her job cannot garner respect from such high-minded individuals, and yet she is simultaneously disdainful of their inability to grasp the significance of “her work.”
Such is the disconnect that The September Issue highlights, managing to draw us into this bizarre world of eating disorders and agonizing hairstyle decisions without belittling or ridiculing the people whose lives it comprises. It’s a fine line but one which the film deftly treads, even after Grace has a brilliant idea to include the documentary’s cameraman in a shot and Anna takes one look at the photo, declares it good, and then notes that a little photo-shopping will have to be done to the cameraman’s protruding belly. She even goes so far as to look straight into the camera (which the man who owns the belly is now holding) and suggest that he join a gym.
Oddly enough, Anna Wintour does not come across as a monster. Demanding, yes. Obsessed, definitely. A little out of touch with any reality but her own. But not mean. She is, however, a perfectionist, and if I had to pitch an idea for a new clothing line to her, I think I’d blubber like teeny schoolgirl. Thank goodness I got to observe her deadpan stare from the safety of my living room couch. I suggest you do the same.
Until next Wednesday, stay picky! Your mind will thank you later.
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