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1995-02-26
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<text id=94TT1785>
<title>
Dec. 19, 1994: Cinema:Stiletto Heel
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Dec. 19, 1994 Uncle Scrooge
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ARTS & MEDIA/CINEMA, Page 75
Stiletto Heel
</hdr>
<body>
<p> Robert Altman sends a hate letter to the fashion industry
</p>
<p>By Richard Corliss
</p>
<p> When you hear the word French, you may think of elegance,
hauteur and haute couture. When Robert Altman hears the word,
he thinks of farce, polluted rivers and dog doo under everyone's
foot. Pret-a-Porter (Ready to Wear) is the director's
long-winded hate letter to the fashion industry and those who
cover it. The film is a flaccid mess, missing its easy targets.
It is also undiluted Altman--a movie that sums up his attitude
toward actors, audiences, the press, humanity. When you hear the
word contempt, you think of Robert Altman.
</p>
<p> Fashion is in a particularly ugly, aimless, self-parodying
phase at the moment, so perhaps it deserves a chronicler as
cynical as this one. Anyway, a cynic is what it got during the
industry's big pret-a-porter shows in Paris last spring, when
Altman mingled with the modish elite and found room in his film
for many of them: designers Christian Lacroix, Jean Paul
Gaultier and Issey Miyake, models Naomi Campbell and Christy
Turlington and CNN fashion maven Elsa Klensch.
</p>
<p> The movie weaves its little stories into this big scene.
A designer (Anouk Aimee) fights a takeover by a Texan (Lyle
Lovett). A photographer (Stephen Rea) toys with three magazine
editors (Linda Hunt, Sally Kellerman, Tracey Ullman). Two
reporters (Tim Robbins and Julia Roberts in a nice little
sketch) cover the story from their hotel bedroom. Two handsome
Italians (Sophia Loren, Marcello Mastroianni) replay an old love
affair. And a FAD-TV reporter (Kim Basinger) chirpily reports
every outrage on the runways and in the salons.
</p>
<p> As MASH was to war movies, Nashville to country music, A
Wedding to the middle-class family, H.E.A.L.T.H. to the
organic-food business and The Player to Hollywood, so is Ready
to Wear to fashion: a comic panorama of people pretending to get
along under stress, creating a bogus community, playing games
of power and privilege, establishing who's boss. The tone of an
Altman film--the desperate milling, the sense of isolation
within a crowd, the urgency to no clear end--is the reflection
of life on any movie set and, indeed, in the working lives of
most people. When the scheme works, as in MASH and The Player,
it does so by giving people something fresh to do and witty to
say. Then the bile has an urgent, instructive tang. It's called
satire.
</p>
<p> But Ready to Wear, which Altman wrote with Barbara
Shulgasser, is a high concept poorly executed. Too often the
characters are simply mannequins for nasty jokes. What, for
example, is the essence of the fashion doyenne played by Lauren
Bacall? That she is color-blind, and that her friends apparently
don't tell her she's wearing shoes of different shades. Why is
Danny Aiello, as a buyer for a Chicago store, in the film? So
he can cross-dress in a Chanel suit. At 60, Loren looks great,
in or out of her array of glorious millinery, but it's cruel to
have her and Mastroianni reprise the strip-tease scene from
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow with a cheap new punch line.
Kellerman must endure the same naked shame she did a
quarter-century ago in MASH. The heart sighs for these game
folks. So much effort expended to so little effect.
</p>
<p> Never blame actors; their mission is to do whatever their
director tells them. Blame Altman, whose mission here was to
assemble some of the most glamorous performers in world cinema
for a mass hazing, a humiliation on camera. He is like the
scuzzy photographer played by Rea: he finds people eager to make
unedifying fools of themselves, takes their picture, takes some
money and calls it art. And he has done to his actresses what
male fashion designers so often do to their models and
customers: make beautiful women look ridiculous. Imitation is
the sincerest form of parody.
</p>
<p> Ready to Wear isn't about pricey clothes; Altman has no
more interest or expertise in them than he did in country music
when he made Nashville. Here he wanted only to find a new arena
for his worst impulses. This strategy of derision exhausted
itself ages ago. But for Altman, contempt never goes out of
fashion.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>