Matt Tyrnauer, who started his career at the tragically under-appreciated Spy magazine and is now a special correspondent at Vanity Fair, followed legendary fashion designer Valentino Garavani for Valentino: The Last Emperor. The title gives the game away; whilst not necessarily a fawning love letter to the perma-tanned subject of this insidery doco, neither is it an incisive deliberation on the fashion industry. Wisely stepping back and allowing the revolving cast of seamstresses, designers, pooch handlers, hangers on, models and immaculately attired business men to float through the viewfinder, Tyrnauer captures Valentino in the final act of an illustrious decades long career – Valentino retired from the industry in 2008. Sadly, Valentino: The Last Emperor leaves an empty taste, failing to capture the effervescent swing of his best designs. This is the man, after all, who thinks nothing of letting five slobbering pugs take up a row of lush leather seats on a private jet. Giancarlo Giammetti, Valentino’s business and life partner, emerges as the driving force behind the success of the brand. But in one telling, if brief, encounter he also reveals the sheer obscenity of the fashion industry.
Referring to a photo shoot in 1967, Giammetti reminisces about filling a studio with semolina to recreate the look of a North African sand dune. This profligate waste of foodstuffs is mind boggling. You see, fashion isn’t about real life. It’s about venerating the absurd, celebrating the wasteful, applauding the irrational and stroking the egos of artistes whose diminished mental capacity is directly proportionate to their callous indifference to the outside world. Now, I don’t for a minute suggest we should all scupper about in burlap sacks and egg carton trilbies, and riling up at the insanity of the fashion industry is a fools errand but seriously, there have to be limits. Not for Valentino though. The last of his kind, they say. Let’s hope so.
3 out of 5