Karl Lagerfeld first came to my attention when he appeared on French chat show Tout Le Monde en Parle. Flanked by a model, the man sat like a microwaved toad with his black sunglasses and stern pony tail fanning himself distractedly while another of the guests explained how they’d had to wait hours for Lagerfeld to show up and, upon arriving, the diva had not deigned to offer any excuses or apologies for his tardiness. Here was the fashion industry personified; arrogant, aloof, preposterous and vain. Lagerfeld Confidential goes some way to dispelling the myth but this documentary’s lack of analysis or even context combined with its subject transparently having control over what ended up in the final cut means that the film ultimately feels more like finely crafted but ineffectual PR than a proper documentary.
The documentary begins as Lagerfeld clumps around his insanely cluttered apartment in a large pair of boots whilst director Marconi cowers in a corner. Only after asking Lagerfeld’s permission does the camera start to move and follow the designer around as he gets ready to go out. We then see Lagerfeld backstage at a fashion show, Lagerfeld taking a disquietingly large number of photographs of the same unnamed naked male model that he carts around in a private jet like a pampered house cat and Lagerfeld moving between flats in Paris and Monaco and a house in the country, all the time flanked by armies of obsequious flunkies who brush invisible dust from his clothes, carry his bags and laugh at his jokes. Lagerfeld. Lagerfeld. Lagerfeld. The comparisons to the court of Louis XIV make themselves. In and around the travelling and posing, Lagerfeld submits to a series of short interviews, coming across as wryly witty and producing a few nice lines such as, on his lack of training and education, “I am a complete improvisation” and, on the question of whether he was spoiled as a child, “I always felt people could make a little more effort”. He is even occasionally honest about his industry, explaining how the fashion industry is inherently unjust and in order to work in it one must make peace with that fact. However, despite Lagerfeld coming across as an intelligent and engaging eccentric, we never get any more out of him and Marconi seems more than content to be shallow.
Marconi is an experienced director and gay cinematographer (2004’s The Last Day and 2002’s Love Forbidden) but he is clearly intimidated by Lagerfeld. Indeed, so timid and toothless in his questioning that at one point the gay cinematographer dances around the issue of Lagerfeld’s sexuality, terrified that he might provoke offence. Despite the odd bon mot, Lagerfeld is tight lipped. He does not talk about his family (other than to deny that he idolised his mother and then explain that she was perfect), his sex life, his friendships or give us any particulars about his career in fashion.
This tight-lippedness also extends to the rest of the film as, bizarrely for a film about a fashion designer, there is no discussion of his career or of fashion in general and no attempt is made to determine what Lagerfeld’s style or influence might have been. No fashion experts or historians are invited to give their opinions and Lagerfeld’s critics are nowhere to be seen. In fact, if it were not for the footage of Lagerfeld drawing, you would be hard pressed to work out that this was a documentary about a fashion designer, so stripped is this documentary of even the most elementary of contexts.
The result is a documentary that systematically fails to get to grips with its subject matter. Even by the admittedly dire standards of the celebrity vanity project, this documentary leaves a lot to be desired. Consider, for example, 1997’s Tantrums & Tiaras. Directed by no less an attack dog than Elton John’s husband David Furnish, the TV documentary did wonders for John’s image by admitting that he was a diva prone to throwing tantrums and living a life of unspeakable excess and indulgence. By steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that Lagerfeld might have any personality beyond the façade of a mildly eccentric but witty fashion professional, Lagerfeld Confidential actually encourages us to speculate about what it is that the designer is so desperate to hide. Does he throw tantrums and physically attack his employees like Naomi Campbell? or is he pulling bodies out of his pool after all-night cocaine parties like Michael Barrymore? by revealing so little of himself, Lagerfeld does little but invite such speculation.
Despite being drawn from over 200 hours of footage and boasting some artful direction, Lagerfeld Confidential is as slight a documentary as you are likely to see this year. A real disappointment given how deliciously odd the subject matter is.
Thank you for persuading me so eloquently. I thought this WAS going to be a tell-all about "pulling bodies out of his pool after all-night cocaine parties" and not a puff piece. Also nice to have stumbled across your site while looking in IMdB for reviews of this doc. Looks good.
Posted by: Brett Woodward | August 10, 2007 at 04:51 AM