Roger Moore: More Than Dressing The Part

I have always been intrigued by the stories of artists who rest very easily on a previous period of titanic greatness; musicians who write that one great album and then escape to a beach house on St Barts; novelists who churn out the ‘most important book of the age’ and then disappear, quite intentionally, to live out the remainder of their life in quiet contentment. In many ways, I fancy it is because we expect too much regularity from our artists; we work and push them to work in the same way but theirs is a strange world. In many ways, artistic work can be understood by imagining that creativity has a limit; what lurks in the imagination of an artist can be surprisingly small. So small in fact that revealing the quantity can lead to others exclaiming; “Is that it?”

I chanced upon an interview with Roger Moore in the Daily Telegraph where the actor and UNICEF ambassador was being asked about his book ‘My Word Is Bond.’ While certainly a good deal older than most will remember him, as the eponymous spy in the 1970s and early 1980s James Bond films, he still defends the concept of ‘mental youth’; that the mind does not age, only the body. He also defends his light-hearted portrayal of Bond with a suggestion that the supposed ‘spy’ is actually scripted very unlike any spy would ever be; “who turns up in bars and hotels around the world and everyone says ‘Ah, Mr Bond. We’ve been expecting you.’” Normally, the interviews at this level are gushing and blushing; bouts of obsequious comments and over generous praise, however this was a rather tame affair. So tame in its fawning stamp in fact that criticisms, and there were a few, stood out rather strongly.

One criticism was that Mr Moore dressed ‘rather ridiculously.’ My eyes rolled at the suggestion; here was a man approaching old age rather graciously, who does not seem to take himself too seriously. While his dress sense is certainly classic, almost textbook regal, it is far from ridiculous. Why should smart jackets and carefully woven ties, not to mention excellent colour understanding and coordination, be considered so on a healthy old gentleman? Moore, in my opinion, rightly eschews the casual carelessness of actors in his generation who are happy to be ordinary, even over-the-hill, in terms of dress. Not for him the tired dishevelled ‘No one cares about me anymore anyway’ self-pitying (or loathing in some cases); Moore, despite having a rather humorous view of himself, actually considers that self-presentation should not wither with age.  He is, for some tastes, perhaps a little brash (French collars and cuffs and large shiny silk ties) but he dresses for the occasion rather perfectly and his jovial, winking smile as his ally, looks all the more youthful for his consideration.

Although it was remarked that Mr Moore dresses ‘like Bond’, I would in fact suggest almost the opposite. Aside from his immaculate black tie ensembles, Moore’s wardrobe leans more toward the archetypal Bond enemy; the sort who owns pet crocodiles, gigantic yachts and cavorts carelessly with young attractive women. The large collection of sunglasses, in an interesting array of tints, lend something of a continental finish to a very English Englishman; putting one in mind of the late Yves Saint Laurent. He is marvellously self-deprecating, referring to the royalty cheques for his Bond work which still flow steadily in through the door of the Moore household; his professional life after Bond, which he exited in his late fifties, was not exactly firing on all cylinders. There must have been offers, which makes one wonder whether he always did want to be remembered as the man who replaced Sean Connery; or whether, the Moore ambition and artistic ejection complete, he more or less retired to his current life; official ambassador for UNICEF, unofficial ambassador for well dressed gentlemen everywhere.

Leave a Comment

The Style of Sherlock Holmes

One of my favourite treats of entertainment is settling down, in great comfort, to watch a period detective mystery. My two favourites are undoubtedly Agatha Christie’s Poirot, as portrayed by David Suchet and Sherlock Holmes as portrayed by Jeremy Brett. I admire the detectives for their manner; their habits logically conform to their methods. They are introverted but fully capable of a civility that borders on seduction. They are powerful, mesmerising figures – glorious creatures of detective fiction that expose the weaknesses and strengths of humanity in one intoxicating character. In addition, the soundtracks are fabulous and grandiose; tender touches of romantic melodies that lift the heart and glorify the imagination.

My admiration for Brett’s Holmes is relatively recent – I had always been a Poirot man but I have enjoyed Holmes, altogether a different character, in many ways. I had always marvelled at the costumes of Poirot; particularly the elegant ensembles for Hercule himself. Wonderfully tailored items, exquisite crispness to the cloth and an enviable shine to the polished shoes. Poirot could also be quite decorative. Holmes by comparison is invariably clothed in gloomy black; a simple white shirt and that curious necktie that is mostly hidden under a turndown collar. In many shots, Holmes is attired as darkly as an undertaker; it is only that Brett’s Holmes possesses such outrageous wit and brilliance that we come to accept his Dracula-like dress as part of his wonderful character.

However, such simplicity is seductive. As costume, Holmes’ clothing is revolutionary and distinctly modern. He is also clean shaven and, rather famously, does not conform to the strict day and evening dress codes of Victorian England. The plainness of his attire is in a sense soothing as well as surprising; as his dignified appearance and perfect diction lend to an image in the imagination of a conformist. The reality is somewhat different. He has, of course, his own methods and his wardrobe perfectly illustrates this trait; a simple bow to decency and honour, that he should always be turned out exquisitely but simply. Following from that everything about his dress suggests a lofty contempt for the inadequacies of a fashion follower. A confident introvert, you have every sense that Brett’s Holmes is as concerned with evening dress as he is with the asinine mutterings of the bumbling Lestrade; whether this attention to detail is to accentuate his eccentricity I do not know, however if it were for the reasons I have advanced I would surmise that such an intent shows a greater understanding of subtlety. Brett’s portrayal is eccentric enough and to believe that the great detective dresses in a modern but very well-tailored manner because of his deep understanding of the ultimate unimportance of trend and at the same time, the mystical allure of a signature, is rather satisfying. While not flowery or effete, Brett’s portrayal of Holmes borders on a variety of cold dandyism; he has all the hallmarks of a superiority complex and the languid poses of a late Victorian lounge lizard. And yet, he is so much more. There is, I would wager, a varying amount of Brett’s Holmes in all of us.

Leave a Comment

Style Movie: Easter Parade

Of all the appropriate ‘Sunday afternoon movies’, the classic American musical is one of the most magical; particularly if it happens to feature the one and only Fred Astaire. Mr Astaire is such an entertainment on screen. He has a glorious gazelle like form; slight and compact but also svelte and terribly elegant. His acting is watchable and often amusing; his singing is, if not that of Sinatra’s category, competent and tuneful. However, the quality that Astaire possessed for captivating audiences and Audrey Hepburn alike was his ability to dance. I watched the pleasant Irving Berlin musical ‘Easter Parade’ recently to enjoy Astaire’s dancing and Berlin’s songs but I found myself equally transfixed with the glorious costume.

Set in the early half of the twentieth century, Easter Parade’s costume is faithful to the high-starched-collar world of New York in the era of the industrialists. Bow ties, round collars, boaters and button holes; indeed, in some scenes, the gentlemen manage to look more decorated than the ladies. However, whereas other films might represent this era religiously, garbing the leads in blacks and greys, avoiding the merry and fanciful Hollywood interpretation, Easter Parade embraces it fully. Astaire is easily the most dandified and elegant creation of the film; needing outfits that sing and dance as much as he, wonderful ensembles are provided of high wing collars, striped ties, cream waistcoats, striped trousers and spectators that give Astaire the exotic air of an eccentric patrician.

His ‘Easter Parade’ outfit itself is quite glorious; a black silk topper (natch), an off-white double breasted waistcoat, a starched shirt with detachable wing collar, an interesting houndstooth cravat, striped trousers (not spongebags) and a black morning coat. The only items that look a little antiquated, even cartoonish, are the spats. It’s unsurprising, and quite appropriate, that Judy Garland should sing these lines as she dresses Astaire in his parade clothing; “Never saw you look quite so pretty before/
Never saw you dressed quite so lovely what’s more”

Sadly, we live no longer in the natty world of the Gilded Age. However, the enduring lesson in the film is that of the timeless appeal of crisp elegance and tasteful adornment. There is something so vitally ethereal about the image of Astaire in a sports jacket, bow tie and boater, clicking his spectators along the floor, something that would almost certainly not be present were he to click around the same floor in an unbuttoned shirt and Armani suit. However, this is not to suggest that one needs the valuable feet of Fred Astaire to produce such an effect with the clothing but simply an attitude that conveys the same elegance.

As a muse and a clothes horse, Astaire is unmatched. He brings a character and warmth to the clothing that releases it from the cold and distant historical context of early twentieth century history; that time of smoke, suffering and sepia into the brilliant Technicolor world of music and dancing. The razzmatazz works its charm on clothing symbolic of propriety and dignity by gilding and yet softening such rigidity; Astaire in a bow tie and buttonhole is the very picture of elegant, and playful, innocence.

Leave a Comment

Brad Pitt / Tom Ford Sartorial Arrangement

An elderly acquaintance of mine once patted me on the shoulder, and drawing in breath, calmly stated; ‘You’re young, you make mistakes; but you’ll get older.’ How true. Mistakes are best made when a man is young; mistakes in old age can be rather costly. Youth is the asbestos that guards us from the lasting damage caused by our various misdeeds; we learn early, we change. If we learn too late, we are already lost.

Even in the light-hearted arena of fashion it is possible to recognise the importance of evolution and learning. The phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ has often been used for women who are disinclined to let go of the fashions for youth and there is a curious belief that men are not subjected to similar ridicule or scrutiny. This is untrue, and particularly untrue of men who spend their lives being scrutinised, not merely by those within their small sphere of existence but by the entire world, however remote and detached it may be.

Brad Pitt is an excellent example of a man who finds himself in such a position. As an actor, whose external image has been so important in assembling his phenomenal career, Pitt has attracted more scrutiny than most would be able to bear. He is fortunate in that most of the scrutiny has been to his credit; he is at the right end of the Victorian freak show of Hollywood. Despite the fact that Pitt never wants for admiration and never needs to market himself in a compromising manner, it is clear that the ‘Pitt package’ has gone through a recent change. And it is certainly a welcome change.

While never badly dressed, Pitt was never one of the Hollywood heavyweights who wowed sartorially. He was fortunate in his youth that he possessed excellent body and facial structure; that he could wear something plain and uneventful and no one would ever notice that it was so. Everything else was secondary to the physical appeal. Now that he has visibly aged a little, it seems that Pitt is determined to continue the process with grace and dignity.

His ‘partnership’ with Tom Ford, while it certainly benefits Pitt in terms of wardrobe, also benefits Ford in terms of marketing and credibility. I use the word ‘credibility’ with hesitation merely because Ford needs to garner no credibility from the fashion set – the magic he worked at Gucci earned him round after round of hearty applause. The ‘credibility’ sought is that of Joe Public; the chap who might purchase an Italian or Savile Row inspired suit from Ford’s new collection having seen Pitt look ‘mighty snappy’ in the wife’s glossy magazine.

Mercifully, Ford is a designer that adores classicism above all. Despite the variety of influences evident in his men’s collection; large lapels from the 1970s, loud checks from the 1930s and Tony Montana style satin, Ford is in love with tailoring. For the Row, he might appear a little fashion forward, but as far as the avant garde fashionistas are concerned, he is quite the opposite. He sits, very comfortably as far as I can see, between two worlds. And remarkably, there is considerable space to accommodate him. Celebrated designers have great influence in the contemporary world; a world where demand is great and supply expected to be instantaneous. Traditional tailoring is something the modern generation understand less and less. Their currency is a designer label, a brand they know and can feel secure in. Ford has the capability to sell the fundamentals of a good suit back to them, and uniting himself with Pitt is surely only the beginning.

And Pitt doesn’t do badly out of the arrangement either. Since he started sipping coffee with Ford, Pitt has really come into his own, sartorially speaking. Elegance was not a word you previously attached to the man but it is hard to deny that his recent upgrade, an acceptance of age and an agreeable willingness to polish, have given him a convincing façade of grace and style.

Leave a Comment

Style Icon: Marcello Mastroianni

La Dolce Vita was on this morning. It has been an absolute age since I have seen it and I had rather forgotten what a strange but fabulously enjoyable film it is. As I have grown, I feel I have wearied of excessive emphasis on plot; Fellini’s collection of vignettes is a wonderful antidote because, as a movie, it allows your mind to wander as your eyes indulge. And indulge they do. From the earth-shatteringly famous scene by the Trevi fountain to the tender and sweet scene of the melancholy clown, La Dolce Vita is a film of some style.

And what style! It has one of the most beautiful sets in the world in the city of Rome, appealing photography and some lovely costumes. And then there’s Marcello Mastroianni. As I was watching him in the film, it struck me how slight his natural manner could be; how his status as a style icon has a lot more to do with subtlety than beefy bravado. His entrances were not glories of beauty and costume; there was no grandstanding, no self-satisfaction. Mastroianni seemed to float gently through Rome, quietly tipping his sunglasses. He was not costumed extravagantly or outrageously but something in his carriage, the way he wore his clothes – his ‘flair’ if you will – was remarkable. Some might credit Fellini, or the excellent wardrobe department, but I think Mastroianni was a natural.

I compared his talent for wearing simple clothes extremely well to the awkwardness of Gregory Peck. Whilst Peck was a talented actor, he didn’t have the louche coolness of Mastroianni. His shoulders, though magnificent, rather got in the way of channelling any kind of chic and there was something a little too earnest in his manner. Mastroianni meanwhile could act and brood aloofly at the same time. In some people, complexity of cloth is required to make up for, or conceal, the frank but ordinary man within. Mastroianni wore lovely clothes, but they were not dandified; they didn’t need to be. There were quirks, and little touches, but largely his personal costume as well as his on-screen wardrobe never needed theatrics.

As far as style icons go, Mastroianni is one of the most genuine and also the most difficult to mock. Genuine because he possessed something worthy of iconolatry; a complete style: the smile, the look, the sweep of the hand and the crossing of the legs were all a part of it. And it is these innate qualities that make Mastroianni so difficult to replicate. It is comparatively easy to dress like him. It is next to impossible to dress as him. This point was demonstrated in the wonderful Peroni Nastro Azzuro advert. It was an elegant homage to the Fellini film but the model playing the role of Mastroianni, though clothed and styled in much the same way, didn’t have that magical Marcello sprezzatura.

Leave a Comment