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MCN Columnists

By Andrea Gronvall andreagronvall@aol.com

The Gronvall Files: Richard Press and Philip Gefter: Partners Behind Documentary Bill Cunningham New York

By Andrea Gronvall

As a breed, film critics are generally sartorially challenged, but I’ll freely admit to enjoying Vogue, Vanity Fair, and the style coverage in The New York Times–particularly the “On the Street” column that’s photographed, written, and composed by the paper’s long-time fashion chronicler Bill Cunningham.

A colorful collage revealing trends Cunningham spots while bicycling around the city, the page nearly throbs as the reader’s eye is drawn by one well-placed shot to the next. Now the man who charts the tastes of Manhattan’s best–or most daringly–dressed is the subject of a new documentary from indie distributor Zeitgeist Films (another arbiter of taste), called—what else?–Bill Cunningham New York.

The movie is the latest in a flow of documentaries about the fashion world, including Lagerfeld Confidential, Valentino: The Last Emperor, Unzipped (about Isaac Mizrahi), and two by David Teboul and another by Pierre Thorentton about Yves Saint Laurent. Anna Wintour, profiled in The September Issue, has often been photographed by Cunningham and pops up in this new film.

During a recent phone interview with director Richard Press and producer Philip Gefter, I wondered that if fashion is dead, as many–from the New York Post’s Andrea Peyser to former French Marie Claire editor and chief Catherine Lardeur–have declared, why are so many still interested in tracking it?

“I guess I would have to say that fashion isn’t dead,” Press countered, and Gefter pointed out, “Look at the front page of The New York Times during Fashion Week. Look at the difference from five years ago in how fashion is covered; now it’s up front, whereas it used to be consigned to the back pages of the paper.” Press then jumped in (the two, who in addition to being professional partners are married, tend to complete each other’s sentences): “We’re living in an age where it’s about self-expression. It’s very much about how you present yourself, and fashion is about how you present yourself, like on your iPhone or Facebook page.”

It took eight years for the filmmakers, who both knew Cunningham from working with him at the Times, just to convince the famously private journalist to agree to the project. Their admiration and affection for their subject is evident throughout: eccentric he may be, but although at 82 years young he’s long past retirement age, his passion and work ethic don’t flag.

Nor does his insistence on precisely conveying his particular visions, which comes across in increasingly funny scenes with John Kurdewan, the computer wiz who helps Bill assemble his column for print–and who might be able to tell Job a thing or two about patience. As Cunningham jokes, wheedles, and needles, pushing for the exact thing he wants and settling for nothing less (sometimes even past deadline), Kurdewan takes it in stride with quips like “Where’s the love today, Bill?”

Press recalls, “When I freelanced at the Times as an art director, I actually helped Bill do his page. But my creative satisfaction came from making movies. Most of the other art directors wanted to take his photos and make it into what they wanted to do.” Gefter, who was a staffer for 15 years at the paper, in positions ranging from Page One Picture Editor to Senior Picture Editor for Culture, elaborates, “It took years for the Times to realize that Bill should be working with technicians, not art directors. Bill is the author of his page; no one assigns him to go out and write whatever.”

Cunningham has other long-ingrained habits, most of which have served him well. He travels everywhere on his Schwinn bike, his 27th; his previous 26 bikes were all stolen. For “On the Street,” he prefers to snap his subjects unaware and not posing (Press and his only other crew member, cameraman Tony Cenicola, did likewise, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as they followed Bill). From among the piles of invitations Cunningham receives for the society events he covers for his other Times column, “Evening Hours,” he selects only those events staged in the name of causes he deems worthy. And he’s not fazed by celebrity journalism; the film shows him declining to photograph Catherine Deneuve because he finds her dress unremarkable; clothes, not their wearers, are what intrigue him. Press points out that for Cunningham’s first Times column, published in 1978, Bill had three photos of Greta Garbo, “but he didn’t even know it was Garbo; he just really liked her coat!”

As discreet and modest as he is on the streets or mingling at charity bashes, Cunningham is not to be underestimated when he’s sitting front row at the couturiers’ runways; more than once he’s recognized a dress as one copied from another designer’s collection of years ago. “He can trace the history of women’s clothes from the 1600s, and speak in full paragraphs off the top of his head,” Press says. “Anna Wintour understands why it’s important.”

Cunningham’s talent, persistence, stamina, encyclopedic knowledge, and spartan lifestyle all impress, but what’s also manifest in Bill Cunningham New York is his enthusiasm and sense of joy. I asked the filmmakers if they felt joy while making the movie.

Gefter: “I think we aimed for that joy and we reached it. Following Bill meant we had to adopt a more organic approach. Also, navigating Bill, and I mean that in the best sense, was not always wonderful, and we had to sort it out, and learn how to read him. Although after making this film, I don’t think marriage counselors would necessarily advise their clients to work together on a movie.”

Press: “We built a house together, but working together is a very different dynamic than being a couple. The first six months of production was a learning curve. When it was frustrating, it was frustrating, but when Bill was in the mood, it was wonderful. It’s like photographing a rare species, and in a way it’s mirroring his process. And the thing about joy: Bill is so joyful, that I wanted to capture that. For me, what is so special about him is his joy, and how he lives his life. It could have been a very different movie, much more laden with facts, but that’s not what he’s about.”

Bill Cunningham New York is currently playing at at the Nuart in Los Angeles this weekend, before it begins a platform rollout across the country. For a calendar of cities and play dates, go to: http://www.zeitgeistfilms.com/theatrical.php

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“Chad Harbach spent ten years writing his novel. It was his avocation, for which he was paid nothing, with no guarantee he’d ever be paid anything, while he supported himself doing freelance work, for which I don’t think he ever made $30,000 a year. I sold his book for an advance that equated to $65,000 a year—before taxes and commission—for each of the years of work he’d put in. The law schools in this country churn out first-year associates at white-shoe firms that pay them $250,000 a year, when they’re twenty-five years of age, to sit at a desk doing meaningless bullshit to grease the wheels of the corporatocracy, and people get upset about an excellent author getting $65,000 a year? Give me a fucking break.”
~ Book Agent Chris Parris-Lamb On The State Of The Publishing Industry

INTERVIEWER
Do you think this anxiety of yours has something to do with being a woman? Do you have to work harder than a male writer, just to create work that isn’t dismissed as being “for women”? Is there a difference between male and female writing?

FERRANTE
I’ll answer with my own story. As a girl—twelve, thirteen years old—I was absolutely certain that a good book had to have a man as its hero, and that depressed me. That phase ended after a couple of years. At fifteen I began to write stories about brave girls who were in serious trouble. But the idea remained—indeed, it grew stronger—that the greatest narrators were men and that one had to learn to narrate like them. I devoured books at that age, and there’s no getting around it, my models were masculine. So even when I wrote stories about girls, I wanted to give the heroine a wealth of experiences, a freedom, a determination that I tried to imitate from the great novels written by men. I didn’t want to write like Madame de La Fayette or Jane Austen or the Brontës—at the time I knew very little about contemporary literature—but like Defoe or Fielding or Flaubert or Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky or even Hugo. While the models offered by women novelists were few and seemed to me for the most part thin, those of male novelists were numerous and almost always dazzling. That phase lasted a long time, until I was in my early twenties, and it left profound effects.
~ Elena Ferrante, Paris Review Art Of Fiction No. 228

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