Movie review: Valentino: The Last Emperor

by John P. Meyer

To sequin or not to sequin: that is the question.

In the world of iconic fashion designer Valentino, the question of whether or not to deploy sequins attains the same status a declaration of war might represent to a world leader.

That's because every tiny detail of what he does - reflected in the dresses he creates to be worn by runway models as they strut across the stages of Paris, Rome, Milan or New York - is scrutinized with the utmost critical attention: one miscue (such as an ill-considered strip of chiffon), and powerful tongues will wag. (Which is the equivalent of heads rolling, in military terms.)

It's an alien and unfamiliar world (to us simple country folk), and Matt Tyrnauer's behind-the-scenes documentary - Valentino: The Last Emperor - serves as a ticket to ride aboard private jets and luxurious yachts with Valentino, his business/life partner Giancarlo Giammetti and their retinue of diamond-wearing, tooth-brushing pug dogs.

Director Matt Tyrnauer is himself an abundantly stylish fellow, having served as a special correspondent to Vanity Fair since 1992, though he's never before made a film. Still, his fashion acumen and canny journalistic instincts must have served him well as he inserted his camera crew into the inner sanctums of the great designer and his circle of friends and business associates.

Because what emerges in the final 96-minute cut is an often uncomfortably intimate look at the day-to-day routine of an extraordinary individual who most people have only ever seen during carefully-orchestrated promotional appearances. We see Valentino as a supreme egotist (and often a royal pain in the ass), but also as a quite charming and vulnerable man whose soft side occasionally shows through the chinks in his emotional armor.

Tyrnauer, no doubt by design, chose to do his behind-the-scenes coverage of Valentino's activities during a particularly eventful period, when the man referred to as "the last couturier" is preparing to celebrate the 45th anniversary of the founding of his company in grand Sun King fashion. Simultaneously, the company itself is in the midst of a corporate takeover struggle, with indications that a change in management might very well spell the end of the kind of classically-inspired, hand-crafted, no-expense-spared, singular creations that the Valentino label has always been known for. There are rumors flitting about that Valentino may retire, though he continues to deny that any such decision will be forthcoming.

There is considerable footage of backroom workshop sessions, where dressmakers and seamstresses operate on impossibly tight schedules to turn raw fabric into miraculous gowns; then we cut to the office, where Valentino and Giancarlo (and their lead dressmakers) view the results on live models. Tempers flare; epithets are hurled; egos go ballistic.

Valentino and Giancarlo are themselves glamorous figures - they look (and act) like movie stars - though there's never any doubt about who'll receive top billing. The case is made that Valentino and Giancarlo operate as a symbiotic unit, and that one would be nowhere without the other - though after listening in on some of their exchanges, one wonders how they manage to stay together from one moment to the next - much less for decades.

Orbiting about this center of high fashion gravity is a collection of comet-like glitterati which includes Hollywood greats (such as Gwyneth Paltrow, Anne Hathaway and Michael Caine); bona fide royals (such as Princess Rosario of Bulgaria, who Valentino considers his muse); fellow big-name designers (including Diane von Fürstenberg, Giorgio Armani and Karl Lagerfeld); and, of course, the lithe, leggy, stunningly beautiful models, who shrug in and out of gazillion-dollar dresses while hot-footing it in the direction of the runway, where they are inevitably late in arriving. It's amusing watching them panic to reach the stage and then - as if flipping a switch - adjust their composure to assume the haughty, above-it-all appearance of unassailable fantasy creatures.

The documentary footage is accompanied by photographs and film clips illustrating both Valentino's early years and the ideal of glamour to which he aspires. The film opens with a rendition of Betty Davis Eyes, and closes with The Party's Over. (Which, by then, it actually is.)

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