By Amy Nicholson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Calum Marsh
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Inkoo Kang
By Voice Film Critics
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
Anne Fontaine's Coco Before Chanel gives us Belle Époque Coco, opening in 1893 with a grim scene of the 10-year-old waif and her sister being unceremoniously dumped at an orphanage, and ending around World War I, a few years before the Chanel empire is launched. Jan Kounen's moldy Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky, which premiered earlier this year at Cannes and was also bought by Sony Pictures Classics, picks up essentially where Fontaine's film ends. Both stop well short of the most shameful era of the designer's life: Coco When She Was Sleeping With the Nazi Spy. The Coco of Fontaine's project—which she co-wrote with her sister, Camille, freely adapting Edmonde Charles-Roux's book L'Irrégulière: ou, Mon itinéraire Chanel—can be described as courtesan before couturiere. Or, more cynically, Coco after corporate synergy: Audrey Tautou, who performs adequately in the title role, recently replaced Nicole Kidman as the spokesmodel for Chanel No. 5. (The lush TV spot is directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, who gave Tautou her most syrupy role in Amélie.)
The life of fashion's monster sacré has been assayed many times before: Katharine Hepburn in the 1969 Broadway musical Coco, Marie-France Pisier in the 1981 biopic Chanel Solitaire, Shirley MacLaine playing her as an old broad last year on Lifetime's Coco Chanel. Demi Moore is said to be attached to yet another Coco project. The fascination with Chanel is best explained by Judith Thurman's typically spot-on assessment in a 2005 New Yorker piece: "Her own rules of the game, distilled over the decades, were a core of beliefs that were as much about womanhood and its paradoxes as about clothing." Fontaine's film attempts to dramatize the most fundamental contradiction—the proud peasant who would liberate women from suffocating corsets, pounds of extra material, and hats that looked liked "meringues" was able to do so by lying in the beds of rich men.
Millionaire racehorse owner Étienne Balsan (Benoît Poelvoorde) first meets Coco in 1908 Moulins, where she works as a seamstress and a singer in a saloon with her sister, Adrienne (Marie Gillain). The enterprising young woman shows up at Balsan's house unannounced, soon to be his pet, hidden when the swells come over. Despite wan protests of "All I need is a job," Coco seems content with the arrangement, which gives her the time to make hats for Balsan's former conquest, the actress Emilienne (Emmanuelle Devos, excellent as always, and the only cast member capable of having any fun with her role). More money—and encouragement—will come from Arthur "Boy" Capel (Alessandro Nivola), an English industrialist and polo player, who asks his pal, Balsan, if he can "borrow" Coco for two days for a trip to Deauville, where the fishermen's striped sweaters will inspire more androgynous fashion from Coco. Capel's death sparks an interest in how to do things with black.
Coco Before Chanel concludes with an anachronistic coda: An older Coco, in a signature high-contrast black-and-white suit, sits on the famous steps of her couture house as contemporary models march past her, wearing Chanel's Greatest Hits Through the Decades (recalling a similar scene in Matt Tyrnauer's doc Valentino: The Last Emperor). The valedictory moment feels completely unearned in a film so strenuously devoted to the years before its subject's fame—and to avoiding any mention of her unconscionable compromising during World War II (even in the press notes). "Coco Chanel never married," reads the first of the closing intertitles, which the film seems to honor as the designer's most significant accomplishment. Aiming to be a tale of self-creation, Fontaine's film—swaddled in the sumptuous production designs of Olivier Radot (who devised the glorious interiors for Patrice Chéreau's 2005 movie, Gabrielle, also set right before World War I)—more often plays as a dull romance, Chanel's role as mistress somehow worthy of noble celebration. The hagiographic treatment of Coco as Legend extends even to Karl Lagerfeld, named creative director of Chanel in 1983, and the subject of Rodolphe Marconi's documentary Lagerfeld Confidential (2007). Rather than more Coco, before, during, or after Chanel, perhaps the designer's rival, Elsa Schiaparelli, who collaborated not with the Nazis but Giacometti and Cocteau, and whose life has yet to be told on-screen, would make for a more fascinating biopic.
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