By Tricia Olszewski
In another realm, a more discriminating artist has devoted himself to clothing the masses instead of debasing them. At age 3, Yves Saint Laurent persuaded his aunt to change her dress before heading out to a big event, and it’s this precociousness that is the most interesting aspect of Yves Saint Laurent: His Life and Times, a short and spotty biography by filmmaker David Teboul.
Life and Times, which is being shown with another Teboul documentary, Yves Saint Laurent: 5 Avenue Marceau 75116 Paris, seems meant only for those already familiar with the reclusive designer. The director begins Saint Laurent’s story with a light touch, showing him in the present day viewing photographs from his “wonderful” childhood in Algeria and then detailing his preternatural ascent to the top of Christian Dior at age 21.
With the rest of the designer’s life, however, Teboul bobbles. Besides interviews with Saint Laurent, Teboul speaks with his mother; his lover and business partner, Pierre Bergé; and his “muses,” Loulou de la Falaise and Betty Catroux. But they’re introduced by name only, and their various relationships to Saint Laurent are hardly clear. Equally befuddling is their commentary, which forms the bulk of His Life and Times’ narrative: Each speaks generically about Saint Laurent’s talent and only cryptically about his more compelling “hard times,” or battles with depression. Bergé ends up being the most thorough source, but his fleeting mentions of Saint Laurent’s “narcissism,” “megalomania,” and stay in a mental hospital hardly give a satisfying overview of YSL’s dark side.
Saint Laurent doesn’t do a much better of job telling his own story. Though his soft-voiced, gentle demeanor is in itself captivating, he discusses little about his revolutionary approach to fashion, which included favoring pants on women and using black models on the runway before any other designer.
Teboul hits a low point about three-quarters of the way through His Life and Times by including a comment by an associate that Saint Laurent’s “style is probably how he made a name for himself.” That film, however, is a masterpiece next to 5 Avenue Marceau 75116 Paris. Opening with a chaotic scene of Catherine Deneuve trying on some of Saint Laurent’s suits, the film then moves to his design house, where the clothier and his deferential band of helpers are working on a collection.
For the next 80 or so minutes, Teboul’s camera doesn’t move. It’s unlikely that anyone besides devotees of Saint Laurent or aspiring designers will find the stuff of 5 Avenue Marceau as fascinating as Teboul does: Scenes consist of outfits getting constructed and models walking listlessly in front of Saint Laurent and his cohorts, who then mutter “Pretty,” “Ravishing,” and “Thank you” so much you start thinking that maybe these folks aren’t very creative after all.
Throughout, Saint Laurent barely changes his tone or temper—except for one instance in which he isn’t completely satisfied with a dress. “I almost cried!” his apparently hypersensitive assistant says—which is the only indication that anything upsetting occurred. Indeed, unless you’re gripped by the process of sewing on a button, Teboul’s explorations of artistry are about as exciting as watching paint dry.