VALENTINO: THE LAST EMPEROR (Matt Tyrnauer). 96 minutes. Partially subtitled. Opens Friday (July 10). For venues and times, see Movies. Rating: NN
If all the idol worship surrounding Valentino Garavani doesn’t seem a little fascist at first, just wait until the moment in Valentino: The Last Emperor when Vogue editor André Leon Talley exults, “It’s a triumph of the will.” Talley may be describing Valentino’s lavish 45th-anniversary collection and gala, but he’s also inadvertently citing Leni Riefenstahl’s infamous Nazi propaganda film.
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Everyone in Matt Tyrnauer’s behind-the-scenes documentary trumpets the fashion magnate and his haute couture designs in this way. So the movie, by default, can’t help but seem awestruck as well.
The stubborn, so-tanned-he’s-cognac designer swans around with his French bulldogs through dressing rooms, yachts and colossal villas. Is his recession-proof existence supposed to be impressive?
Granted, it’s pretty funny when Valentino makes demands in his “thou art below me” style on his frantic seamstresses, his anxious business and life partner, Giancarlo Giammetti, and his perplexed investors, bottom-line corporate stiffs who sell belts and can’t wrap their ledgers around such a “genius.”
Aside from redundant and fruitless comparisons to Fellini (sampling film clips and Nino Rota’s score from 8½), Tyrnauer rarely makes his own presence felt. He keeps an observant distance and is only noticed when access is denied, as when Valentino moves haughtily away from the camera to have private conversations.
You see, as soon as Tyrnauer gets close to anything that doesn’t sound like thunderous applause (read propaganda), this little film about rags and riches is quickly put in its place.
