Bill Cunningham New York Film Review

"Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life."
—Bill Cunningham

Last night I attended the documentary Bill Cunningham New York, the kick-off film for the New Film/New Directors series presented by MOMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center. The film follows the renowned and somewhat elusive New York Times photographer Bill Cunningham as he peddles around the streets of New York on his 29th Schwinn Bike (the previous 28 were stolen,) camera in hand, snapping photographs of the most fashionable New Yorkers for his two weekly Times' columns. The columns, “Evening Hours,” showcases the rich and fabulous at New York City galas, and my favorite “On The Street,” showcases everyday people dressed to impress in their own original ensembles. Both have been running for four decades and are considered more of an archeology of fashion, rather than photographic art. Cunningham himself even says he’s not a photographer. “I just take notes with my camera of the clothes I like.”

An octogenarian, Cunningham has an eye and doesn't just capture great shots of the uber fashionistas walking around during Fashion Week, but he gets the shots of the everyday common city dwellers on their lunch breaks and the like. In fact, it's these people he prefers shooting, as he said in a 2002 article on his own life for The Times, "Women's Wear has been photographing socialites and celebrities for years. But the difference for me is I don't see the people I photograph. All I see are clothes. I'm only interested in people who look good. I'm looking for the stunners."

The documentary delves into how Cunningham got started with his passion for fashion, first as a milliner, then as a photographer, with one of his first jobs working for Annie Flanders of Details. Love and adoration for Cunningham is resonated by the likes of museum curators, downtown club kids, high society, Fashion Maven Iris Apfel, and, of course, the diva herself, Vogue Editor Anna Wintour. The Vogue Editor noted that Cunningham often sees things in fashion that those trained, including herself, never see. Wintour also reiterated what she said in a 2002 article for The Times, "I don't know how many times he has taken my photograph, but we all dress for Bill. You feel he's the only one who notices or cares how you dress. I wonder if Bill will like this. And it's always a flattering picture he chooses. He picks everything carefully, so you will look your best.”

Overall the documentary is a love letter to Cunningham, but not really. I say this because I believe that the love letter happens naturally because Cunningham is just so brilliantly wonderful. He’s modest and joyful and just loves fashion. Press would have to be a truly terrible filmmaker if Cunningham’s spirit did not shine through. Where Press failed incredibly is the awkward moments of when he pushed Cunningham for clues to his sexuality and a link to Cunningham’s Catholic faith. What any of this had to do with Cunningham’s career is beyond me. I understand a documentarian may have his job to do, but the moments were out of place and truly just made Press look like a villain, and for what? In the documentary, it’s noted that, as a reporter, Cunningham has always painted his subjects in the best of light. Never once has he gone into the muck of the trash arena to tarnish, hurt, or drudge up any unnecessary information on a subject. He just loves fashion and the people that pull it off! So for Press to turn around and push Cunningham in a moment that was so obviously upsetting and awkward was truly a poor choice in judgment.


Abode's Own Moment with Bill

Last January I saw Mr. Cunningham 'On The Street' (tee hee) and I freaked. I was walking with my friend Frank to the MOMA. Frank was visiting from Chicago and we were catching the sites, every now and then Frank would light up a cigarette and I would then scream in protest, "Do you have to do that!?" On this particular Tuesday, we were power walking down West 53rd—we had a packed day and I wanted to make sure we would fit everything in—and suddenly I felt a presence of someone saddling up to my right side, a little too close, and I could see this person was on a bicycle. I slightly turned to offer up one of my best new New Yorker faces of annoyance and then BAM my eyes about fell out of their sockets. It was Bill Cunningham and he was spying around at the lot of people, looking for his next photog victim. Almost in the same moment that I recognized Mr. Cunningham, I whipped to my left toward Frank and screamed "Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! LIGHT UP!" Confused, but then computing that he was getting a 'freebie smoke' so to speak, Frank stopped and lit up a cigarette. In this same moment I whipped back toward Mr. Cunningham and just started posing. Yes, posing. It wasn't totally obvious, but it was to me, to Frank, and likely to Mr. Cunningham, if he even noticed.

A second later Mr. Cunningham was gone in a flash of blue down the street on his Schwinn.

Later, after I told Frank who the man on the bike was, Frank made fun of me saying "You almost got your pic snapped, but nope, you didn't."