Valentino: The Last Emperor
Dir: Matt Tyrnauer
Rating: 3.0
Acolyte Films
96 Minutes
In this sturdily-crafted documentary, Valentino, his stalwart business partner, Gianncarlo Giammetti, and an exclusive entourage play out fast-paced lives amidst the pleats, gatherings and embroideries of some of Italy’s finest garb. And one of Valentino’s assistants is in charge of administering breath spray to his five identical pugs, after brushing their teeth. Many will grumble over such a thriftless display. Yes, this smorgasbord of VIP gatherings and dripping privilege will leave some folks positively queasy. We’ve reached a historical moment at which the call to redistribute global wealth and power is undeniable. Are people going to react poorly to a film showcasing such excess in the onslaught of an economical crisis? Naturally. But the passion Valentino injects into each of his creative endeavors should be enough to hold even a skeptic’s interest, because The Last Emperor is more than a star-studded swan song for the now-retired designer. It’s the portrait of a brilliant megalomaniac, his vision, the relationship between inseparable friends bound by glory and most fascinatingly, an era on its last legs.
Documentarian and Vanity Fair writer Matt Tyrnauer follows the 76 -year-old icon throughout fittings, shows, a ski trip to Staad, yacht jaunt to Venice, private jettings, the Legion of Honor award ceremony and an opulent 45th anniversary retrospective at Rome’s Ara Pacis museum. And this extortionate soiree is dovetailed, no less, by a lavish Temple of Venus Afterparty. So unfolds a series of hissy fits and heart-to-hearts accented by a slew of hilarious celebrity cameos including Karl Lagerfeld, Elton John, Michael Caine and Joan Collins wielding an empty champagne glass. For our amusement and consideration, in tow, are the kohl-eyed sylphs, aristocratic muses and society sycophants who’ve all floated or clawed their way into il maestro’s midst.
Perhaps more intriguing are the artisans and technicians behind the sequined curtain; Valentino’s matronly backroom seamstresses bicker and trill with enough old world schmaltz to make any Italophile melt. These women make everything by hand. Theirs is a vindicating subplot to Valentino’s day-to-day tribulations- arriving at the retrospective show from Torino to see all their toil of decades past on exhibit, the way the seamstresses gaze at their lauded handiwork says it all. Along with all the glitter and fluff, Tyrnauer uses Last Emperor to address the power of collective effort. He connects process to product, and the fruit of these labors is a wonder to behold. Flashbulbs, narrow hips and covetous onlookers lining the catwalk ultimately play second fiddle to art in this thoughtful examination of Valentino’s lifelong compulsion to dress leading ladies of substance (Audrey Hepburn, Jackie O and Sophia Loren, to name a few).
Feckless journalists ply him for admissions to his approaching retirement, but Valentino consistently finds a way to redirect media attention to his philosophy: “I love beautiful ladies, I love a beautiful piece of furniture, I love beauty. It’s not my fault.” The truth of this statement is chronicled in footage of spectators moved to tears by his whiffling gowns. This Nino Rota-scored homage succeeds at both humanizing an enfant terrible and delivering a well-timed tale of endurance in an industry at the mercy of cutthroat financiers and shareholders who sneeze at the traditions of a lost world.
by Joan Wolkoff
