Bill Cunningham New York Blu-ray Review
A Different Kind of Street Poet
Reviewed by Michael Reuben, December 15, 2012
On any given day on the streets of New York City, an unobtrusive white-haired man in a
trademark blue painter's smock (concealed under a coat or a taped-up poncho, if the weather is
bad) can be spotted with cameras slung around his neck, perching and hopping with an agility
that belies his octogenarian status, snapping photos of any passerby that catches his attention. Bill
Cunningham has been doing this since 1978, and his collection, much of which has never been
seen, represents the most complete photographic record of an American city's street life known
to exist. A small selection appears weekly in the
New York Times Sunday "Styles" section in a
feature called "On the Street", a collage of photos painstakingly selected and arranged by
Bill—everyone calls him "Bill"—to illustrate some trend he observes in people's attire. It might
be a particular fabric (denim used in a dress); a specific color (bright orange); one item in the
overall ensemble (an unusual type of collar); a distinctive print (leopard); or a way of wearing
something (low-slung pants, early rap style). Bill sees these things as they happen, because he
doesn't wait in an office for someone to tell him about them. His prescience in spotting fashion
trends before the so-called experts has become legendary.
Now, before anyone is tempted to dismiss fashion as trivial—and members of a forum where
people fret over aspect ratios, color timing, sound codecs and Blu-ray cover art should think
twice about the glass houses in which they live—let me stress that Bill isn't strictly part of the
fashion industry. The fashion world didn't create him, and it won't be able to replace him. His
formal association with that world, as a photographer for
Women's Wear Daily, was brief and
unhappy. Bill never accepts money, other than his salary from the
Times, and he routinely
declines honors and awards, although the film
Bill Cunningham New York (hereafter "
BCNY")
does record a rare occasion when he departed from his usual practice by accepting the
appointment of
Officier de l'ordre des Arts et des Lettres from the French Ministry of Culture.
Bill is a true original: an artist with a singular passion for recording images of clothing as it's
worn by real people. Knowledgeable fashion professionals have learned to depend on his
instincts. In the axiom of Anna Wintour,
Vogue's editor-in-chief and supposedly the model for
Miranda Priestly in
The Devil Wears Prada: "We all get dressed for Bill."
Bill also shoots a feature for the
Times called "Evening Hours", which documents the social
whirl at major charitable events. It's
almost a celebrity gig, but not quite, becase Bill is notorious
for overlooking famous people in favor of a nobody wearing an outfit that intrigues him. I'd
make a terrible papparazzi, he observes at one event late in the film, where he passes up an
opportunity to photograph Catherine Deneuve. His reason? She wasn't wearing anything
interesting.
By his own reckoning, it took filmmaker Richard Press ten years to make
BCNY, of which the
first eight were spent persuading the publicity-shy Bill to do the film. It took two more years to
get the footage, because Bill only slowly warmed to Press and his producer, Philip Gefter, and
even then he shooed them away if he thought their presence interfered with his work.
Press has said he did not want to make a bio-pic, which would have been hard to do, because Bill
is intensely private and little is known of his life. The friends and colleagues interviewed for
BCNY all remark on how little they know about him, and Bill himself considers his background
unremarkable. In one of the deleted scenes, he describes his family as ordinary Americans, in the
clipped tones of his working class Boston upbringing. It's one of the few times in any of Press's
footage that one glimpses pride in Bill's bearing, as if he were upholding a family tradition. His
own life may have been spent in an unusual pursuit, but Bill has brought to it all of the traditional
Yankee values of a disciplined work ethic, penny-pinching thrift and self-effacing modesty. "He
doesn't want to be honored", says President Didier Grumbach of the French Federation of
Couture. "He doesn't want
anything." What keeps Bill motivated and vital is the intense, almost
child-like joy he takes in what sees and photographs. Nothing else matters to him, and that was
the spirit Press wanted to capture on film (or, in this case, digital video).
Press has characterized
BCNY as "a narrative with a strong protagonist surrounded by a
menagerie of characters", but it can also be described as variations on a single theme: the
irrepressible Bill. The film zigzags across New York, following Bill on his daily quest for
interesting sights, starting at eight in the morning when people are coming to work. Until
recently, Bill lived in one of the artist studios at Carnegie Hall. (His forced decamping from that
long-time home forms an entire subplot, which, like most New York stories, involves the
intersection of real estate and politics.) His rounds begin nearby at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street.
From there he might proceed downtown or wherever else his instincts lead him.
Eventually he ends up back at the offices of the
Times, where a succession of staffers from the art
department have worked closely with him over the years to select shots for his exacting layouts.
At the time of
BCNY, the point man is John Kurdewan, who treats his esteemed co-worker with
equal measures of frustration and affection, as Bill keeps fiddling with the photo array while the
deadline looms. Press and his camera are there for a surprise birthday party at which a dozen
former
Times assistants serenade Bill with a tribute to his perfectionism, sung to the tune of
"Kids!", while the guest of honor giggles with delight.
Intercut with Bill's rounds are interviews with frequent subjects such as Wintour and Annette de
la Renta, who is a Trustee at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and thus a fixture at many of the
charity events featured in "Evening Hours"; former co-workers at smaller publications (notably
Details and
Paper) where Bill expanded his range by night while working at the
Times by day;
and one-of-a-kind characters like Editta Sherman, Bill's neighbor at Carnegie Hall, age 96 at the
time
BCNY was made (and still going strong as of this writing), who is best known for her
celebrity portraits and her association with Andy Warhol. And there are interviews with Bill
himself as a younger man, speaking to local journalists with the same sparkle and enthusiasm
still evident in the man that Press is recording in 2008. Press even includes photographs from the
days before Bill became a photographer, when, for a brief time, he operated an upscale ladies hat
shop offering one-of-a-kind creations for high society. (As he is with most things in his past, Bill
is casually dismissive of this phase in his life.)
Even though no one knows him well, what emerges from Press's collage of voices is a clear
portrait of an individual whose life has been governed by a laser-like focus on doing what he
loves and an almost monastic discipline on eliminating everything else. "Money is the cheapest
thing", says Bill at one point. "Liberty is the most expensive." He should know, since he's turned
down every opportunity for a payday simply to retain his sense of feeling beholden to no one.
When Condé Nast Publications bought the magazine
Details, Bill famously refused to accept any
payout, to the point where Condé Nast's owner, S.I. Newhouse, sent him a check and begged his
friends to persuade Bill to cash it. He never did. At the charitable events he photographs, he
won't accept food or drink.
Bill's "code", if you will, is almost comical in its extremism, but then again, in an era when too
many people want quick fame and easy money in exchange for little effort, it's refreshing to
encounter someone who cares only about their work. Shortly before awarding Bill his honor as
Officier from the French Ministry of Culture, Didier Grumbach tells Press: "Very deeply, I think,
he doesn't believe he deserves it." He pauses and adds: "That's why he deserves it even more."
