REVIEW: Glorious Bill Cunningham New York Captures the Face of the City, and Sometimes Its Feet

What does interest him is hard to define; the trick is that he knows it when he sees it. Press includes interviews with a number of high-profile fashion types whom Cunningham has photographed regularly over the years, like Vogue editor Anna Wintour ("I've said many times that we all get dressed for Bill") and Annette de la Renta, wife of Oscar, who notes that Cunningham is most delighted when he catches her in old, worn-in clothes (in which, it's important to add, she still looks fabulous). Other favorite subjects include former United Nations diplomat Shail Upadhya, from Nepal, who appears in Bill Cunningham New York in a series of riotously colored suits of his own design, some of them made from curtains and sofa upholstery fabric. (His deadpan descriptions of these extraordinary ensembles is by itself worth the price of admission.)

Even so, Cunningham is less interested in who's-wearing-what than in how it's being worn. His photo features always mix stylish, creative civilians in with the hardcore fashion types. Press' approach to teasing Cunningham's story out of him is a sly and indirect one. Mostly, he just follows the photographer around, looking to see what he sees. It's fascinating to watch Cunningham pass up one leggy girl in high heels, only to suddenly chase after another -- and once you look more closely, you, too, notice the detail of a specific outfit that has caught his eye. It could be the particular curve of a skirt hem, or the way a puffy collar frames a face like a satiny cocoon.

At one point Press may work just a little too hard to extract personal details from Cunningham; he's a practical, affable sort, and not particularly comfortable talking about his romantic life. But Press backs off just in time, perhaps recognizing that in the world we live in, it's a relief to find someone who keeps some secrets for himself. And part of what Press is doing here is capturing a world we're close to losing: Until recently, Cunningham lived in a small studio in Carnegie Hall, one of numerous rent-controlled residences in the building long occupied by artists. (Cunningham's tiny space, as Press shows it to us, is packed with file cabinets containing negatives of every photograph he's ever taken; the only other furniture is a simple bed.) In 2008, Carnegie Corp. began pushing residents out of these studios. The space that used to be Agnes DeMille's dance studio, where she choreographed Oklahoma, is now a bland-looking office populated by telemarketers. Cunningham -- along with his friend, photographer Editta Sherman, who has lived in the building since the 1940s -- was one of the last holdouts, though as the documentary tells us, he finally relented and was relocated to a new apartment last year.

The Carnegie Hall studio saga is key to the significance of Bill Cunningham New York. It would be possible, I guess, to dismiss Press' documentary as a quirky movie about an eccentric fashion guy. But at one point, Cunningham tells the story of how he got his first camera: It was given to him by a photographer friend, who told him, "Use it like a pen." (He repeatedly reminds us in the documentary that he's not a "real" photographer.) We also see him receiving a medal in France, as he's made an Officer in the Order of Arts and Letters: Shy as he is, he accepts the ribbon gratefully -- almost, but not quite, breaking into tears -- and says a few sentences in French before switching to English: "He who seeks beauty will find it."

Cunningham has spent some 60 years out on the street, listening, he says, for what it has to say to him. Press' movie shows Cunningham leading by example, urging us not just to look, but to really see. To watch Bill Cunningham New York is to see a portion of late 20th- and early 21st-century history pass before our eyes, on teetering heels or two-tone oxfords. It's everything we stand to lose, captured forever. Blink and you'll miss it.

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