And The Oscar Goes To…

Of all the events about which there is much ballyhoo and hullabaloo, the Academy Awards really takes the biscuit. 41 million people tuned in this year, equivalent to the population of Argentina. For an event that has so little bearing on the lives of those watching, it is certainly extraordinary; film industry back-slapping and back-handing is hardly the bread and butter of a meaningful existence. However, the punters seem drawn to the spectacle year after year, not least for one of its early sequences – the famed ‘red carpet arrivals.’

Thousands of people are squeezed into the street outside the ceremony’s venue, screaming for the stars - come rain or shine. Security staff fiddle with velvet ropes, cameras flash in expectation, reporters hyperbolise and finally the limousines, which have trundled along at a funereal pace, release their hand-waving celebrated passengers to a cacophony of noise.

The apogee of this anticipation is the sight of silver screen stars decked out in glittering gowns and borrowed gems; a catwalk of prom-dresses that range from the sleek and chic to the truly absurd. In between the teeth-flashing females are the dark figures of Hollywood masculinity; most wearing black tie, the odd few favouring outfits that belong at board meetings.

The women are, naturally, the focus of the camera lenses; having spent hours preparing for the rigours of the red carpet, they make the most of their moment. The men, though not neglected, are merely asked “Who made your tux?” It is a matter of sad predictability that the answer is invariably “Armani.” The male models on the world’s most watched catwalk show are no uniform group of ‘boys.’ They are one of the most representative collections of men; from the short and fat to the tall and lean, the impossibly attractive to the downright ugly. And the variation does not end there. Whilst it seems, from the glossy photographs in my compendium on the Academy Awards, that ‘old Hollywood’ ceremonies were occasions at which nearly all men and women dressed with a considerable level of elegance, these days, the right thing is done by fewer and fewer men.

Red Carpet Winners

And the Oscar goes to… Tom Ford

Tom Ford was, unsurprisingly, one of the most elegant gentlemen on the red carpet. Not only sporting a subtle hint of pocket square, but also a tasteful buttonhole, Mr Ford was a splendid advertisement for his own brand. His jacket was shawl collared, perfectly tailored and was worn buttoned which accentuated the quality of its shape.

Nominated: Ryan Reynolds

While not as recherché as Mr Ford, Ryan Reynolds was comparatively dapper in a single-breasted peak lapel number. No accessories adorned the actor but he cut a sleek figure on the carpet thanks to his physique and a decently cut, and buttoned, dinner suit that, mercifully, avoided vulgarity. A small bow tie that appeared to be a clip on was the only let down.

Nominated: Colin Firth

It was fitting that Tom Ford’s leading man, though evidently not ‘single’, represented the designer as well in the sartorial stakes as in the theatrical. His dinner suit, Tom Ford naturally, was similar to his directors. Firth looks good in a properly cut suit – his tall frame is flattered by a properly accentuated waist. His bow tie, undoubtedly hand tied, was charmingly imperfect. The subtlest ‘old Hollywood’ hint of white poked out of his breast pocket.

Red Carpet Losers

And the Razzie goes to… Jason Bateman

I had expected to award the Razzie to someone with a sheeny necktie like Zac Efron or Jeremy Renner. The former is too young to judge too harshly and, like Taylor Lautner, made a decent effort considering his unremarkable, teeny everyday wear. It would be too cynical and somewhat unfair to criticise those youths who were, no doubt, feeling extraordinarily lucky to be pacing the crimson pile.

And so the award goes to Mr Bateman for one of the laziest ‘dinner suits’ I have ever seen. If he were a penniless student who did not possess black tie and could not afford rental, he would be excused. As it is he is a successful actor with plenty of money and time on his hands. His suit, for it is certainly no ‘tuxedo’, has a skinny notched lapel, oversized arms and has a disturbingly tacky sheen. His bow tie, evidently a clip on, attempts to out-sheen the suit and though his inclusion of a pocket square is to be applauded, his shoes look like they’ve been borrowed from a sixth former.

Nominated: Robert Downey Jr

It’s sad to include Downey Jr as he is clearly having fun with his clothing; for the premiere of Sherlock Holmes he wore a fedora and a three-piece suit. However, as much as he is to be applauded for such a triumphant return to form, this celebratory outfit is awkward and, though interestingly whimsical, clownish in this context. Had the bow been smaller and self-tie and perhaps instead of wearing what appear to be Vans, he could have worn evening pumps (now that’s a real statement Downey) with light blue silk socks, he could have run away with the Oscar.

Nominated: Matt Damon

Considering the bucks at his disposal, you’d think that Mr Damon could afford to purchase a suit that actually looks good on him. As it is, he is attired in the sort of thing people who don’t care about clothes hire from Moss Bros to jeer, jest and vomit in. The lapel is sheeny-shiny, the suit is distractingly boxy, the tie is a satin clip-on and he looks like he picked up his clumpy dress shoes from GAP. Unfortunately, though he is rather different from them in taste, he looks a lot like the rest of the anonymous Hollywood-hunk crowd; uncomfortable in black tie.

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Old School Scoundrel: Terry-Thomas

Terry-Thomas was a gifted comedic writer, comic actor, raconteur, ladies man, television pioneer and film star. A man of infinite cheek and charm; when in Hollywood he compiled a form guide of leading starlets breasts. Dining with Pablo Picasso he enquired of the artist; “does anybody ever say to you, can I have a word in your eye?”

But beyond these accomplishments, the fruity voice and rich vocabulary he was a true sartorialist. Despite all appearances Terry-Thomas, or Thomas Terry Hoar Stevens as he was christened, was born into a lower middle class family in the London suburb of North Finchley.

The phrase “dress for the job you want not the job you’ve got” could have been created for Terry-Thomas, although he dressed not just for a job but for a new life. Desperate to outdistance the humdrum middle-class life of his parents, clothes become an essential part of his escape kit.

His attention to detail and single-minded pursuit of distinction through dress no matter the circumstances are examples any student of style would do well to ape.

For his first job as a junior transport clerk at Smithfield Meat Market he turned up wearing a taupe double breasted suit and green pork pie hat, sporting a clove carnation and cigarette holder, two items that would latter become trademarks of his wardrobe. Known by his colleagues as the man in the carpet slippers, because of his predilection for suede shoes, in an environment of grey and blood stained aprons he cut a peculiarly compelling figure. It was here that he also developed his knack for jokes and comic capering.

In 1942 Terry-Thomas received what he described characteristically as; “a cunningly worded invitation to join the Army”.  Yet even the strictures of service life didn’t stop him, much to the occasional annoyance of superiors. Though not an officer himself, he continued to sport brown suede shoes with his Khakis  – a colour reserved for officers – and even sought out former tailors to make his own type of bespoke battle dress. Entering the forces entertainment corps he readopted his cigarette holder and cut such a dash he was regularly saluted as an officer.

When fame and money finally came his way the lessons were well learned, and he was able to give them full expression. A founding member of London’s Waistcoat Club he amassed a collection of 80 bespoke suits, 22 dinner jackets and tail suits and 150 waistcoats. Of this last garment he had every conceivable material and wore them religiously. Top pockets on suits were cut 7 inches long to accommodate his cigarette holders and he even had his boxer shorts made bespoke. He never left the house without a clove carnation, even if he were “slipping out to the pub”.

The only time TT was unable to pursue this life long cause was towards the end of his innings when Parkinson’s disease tragically and slowly robbed him of his wit, his money and eventually his beloved wardrobe.

If you’re tempted to read more on loves, life and wardrobe of Terry-Thomas then I can heartily recommend Graham McCann’s entertaining biography entitled ‘Bounder!’.

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Style Movie: A Room With A View

Merchant Ivory productions were some of the few films that were marketed, formally and by word of mouth, by the mere fact that they were ‘Merchant Ivory productions.’ Whereas other films would be related to as ‘the new Spielberg’, ‘that Tom Cruise picture’ or as the vehicle of some other individual of sufficient wattage, those of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory, in a similar manner to the Coen brothers, were accorded the grand respect of being referred to as a product of the producer and director – all else in the production, no matter how starry their name, were of lower billing. For it is a mark of respect, and admiration, that the creative force, and not the marketing force, should be so highly perceived; in much the same way that an eager public would flock to see ‘the new Picasso’ rather than ‘a painting featuring Picasso’s mistress.’

Artistic, brimming with beauty and unashamedly nostalgic, these productions, invariably period dramas, have offered the movie aesthete an escape from the humdrum of Hollywood. The San Francisco Chronicle once wrote that the Merchant Ivory partnership connoted a genre in itself; “stuffy, worthy, well-acted entertainment, sumptuous in its sets.” ‘A Room with a View’ is without doubt one of the most famous, and most admired, of these productions. Set in Edwardian England, boasting Helena Bonham Carter, Daniel Day Lewis, a Puccini soundtrack, a fistful of Oscars and fabulous costumes, it is a paean to the triumph of beauty over social convention.

Costume plays a particularly important part in the story. The heroine, Lucy, finds herself drawn between the cultural snob and dandy, Cecil Vyse and the somewhat less refined and brooding George Emerson. However, despite the efforts of representation in the film, to convey Vyse as a cold, mirror-gazing fop and Emerson as a less decorated, more wholesome individual, it is difficult to regard all the ensembles as anything but perfect examples of Edwardian refinement. These bows and boaters mingle, as I have written before, perfectly with nature and the architecture that surrounds them. And, more than that, they illustrate so very well that, while certainly far more ornamental than gentlemen of today deign to be, that the ornament is not exaggerated, nor is the variety of ensembles without purpose or consideration of practicality or situation.

Take Daniel Day Lewis’ brilliantly insipid Cecil Vyse; though high starched collared, silk cravatted and pearl pinned, Vyse cannot possibly be ridiculed for ‘impracticalities’ of dress or ‘inappropriate elegance’ in simple surroundings. While always waistcoated, he adopts a jacket correct for the circumstance. Vyse in the Surrey summertime wears a lightweight linen jacket of casual structure when reading aloud during a game of tennis, wears a smarter white jacket to receive engagement well-wishers and when returning to town, the more formal Edwardian frock coat and bowler hat – reflecting his departure from the informality of the country. When in Italy, the gentlemen adopt lighter colours and lighter weights of fabric but never allow the temperature to alter their ensemble entirely. Even the younger gentlemen, enjoying a summer away from school, wear shirts, ties, striped jackets and cotton waistcoats.

Though invariably white shirted, the gentlemen exhibited great variety of neckwear, waistcoats, hats and footwear – is there anything more divine than a creamy white lower half in summertime? – and offered excellent reasons, both practical and aesthetic, for adopting lighter colours in the warmer months. There were also numerous reminders that wearing trousers properly, on the waist, is far more flattering than wearing them halfway down one’s legs.

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Lessons from Niv

Richard Torregrossa’s book on Cary Grant carries the following quote from the great man;

“One pretends to do something, or copy someone or some teacher, until it can be done confidently and easily in what becomes one’s own manner.”

The look above adopted by David Niven is one of my favourites, and frequently appears in his films of the early and mid 60’s. The combination of charcoal-grey flannel suit and highly reflective silver tie conveys purpose with just a hint of grandeur and glamour. I’ve frequently ripped-off this look, even applying the same elements to midnight blue suits, with great affect.

While most people would list Cary Grant amongst their sartorial mentors few mention fellow actor David Niven.

Cary Grant was the product of a poor working class family, and learnt much of his sartorial artistry from earlier generations of film star. Conversely, David Niven was from the upper-middle class and the product of Public Schools (read Private if you’re American) and Sandhurst. Despite being steeped in the establishment, he was known as something of a rebel. During his school days he had a prostitute for a girlfriend and in the army had a reputation for seducing other officers’ wives.

These features of background and character are most evident in his wardrobe. Immaculately tailored suits could be combined with more expressive shirt and tie options. A dinner jacket might be paired with a pink dress shirt or, as above, a charcoal grey flannel suit with a highly reflective silver tie. And far more than Grant, Niven played with some of the fashions of whatever decade he found himself in. The subtle yet self aware way in which he did means even these looks don’t really date.

Niven was also able to relax in his wardrobe, with that roguish element of his character shining through. As always, beautiful and often simple individual items of clothing were worn comfortably, without decoration or apparent care. This is a particular characteristic of the English public school boy –what I term scruff chic.

Whereas Cary Grant was the creation of Archie Leach, Niv was always Niv. He is a worthy mentor to students of good dress.

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Style Movie: Coco Avant Chanel

One of the most interesting things about ‘Coco Avant Chanel’ was that for all its triumphant, feminist messages about suffragette-era women, succeeding ‘in a man’s world’, and rejection of conformity (including the institution of marriage), it actually paid peculiar, and not necessarily intentional, homage to the man.

Certainly, the ‘beast’ was duly embarrassed; boorish aristocrats proved to be no match for the cutting wit of little Coco, very well played by Audrey Tatou, who flicked her French fingers facetiously, clucked disapprovingly and smoked incessantly whilst the men surrounding her somehow succumbed to her interesting beauty and evident charm. She practically devoured Balsan, the boozy beast in the castle, and though she was certainly ‘targeted’ by the love interest, Arthur ‘Boy’ Capel, you couldn’t help but conclude it was she who had fired the arrow.

However, the reason the film was made was not because Chanel was simply another story of a determined woman who had battled sexism and prejudice before feminism had been invented, but because she was a fashion designer. The message of the film was valid but I was far more interested in what had possessed this sometime milliner, what had influenced her in achieving not, as some have concluded, merely parity with men but a style of such simplicity and grace that it completely changed the way males and females perceive dress.

The irony of the film is that Chanel inadvertently credits the timelessness and refined simplicity of Edwardian male style. It’s obvious that she isn’t wearing trousers, boaters, shirts and jackets simply because she is rebelling but because they appeal to her. And, of course, though men are blamed by Chanel for imprisoning women in the over-elaborate dresses of the early 20th century, she also admires them for the way they wear their own clothing. She copies them, borrows from them and not only finds inspiration in them but also genuine friendship; it’s very odd that so many have written it up as a battling, feminist tour de force.

To view her adaption of male clothing, pyjamas and rejection of frilly fuss as merely bog-standard, feminist nose-thumbing is to miss the point; Coco Chanel was an aesthete who happened to respect male clothing more than female clothing and it was clear she had not merely made a self-conscious decision to reject male oppression. Some of her comments about corsets and skin-exposure did have resonance of suffragette grievances but largely, her adjustment of female clothing seemed to have a lot more to do with her distaste for overcooked fashions.

Beautifully presented, Anne Fontaine’s film has plenty of examples of majestic menswear; glorious white tie, country tweeds and pre-war pinstripes. As much as it is a toast to one of the most influential personages in fashion, and one of the most famous women of the twentieth century, it is also a nod to Chanel’s famous line; “Fashion fades; only style remains the same.”

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