At some points Bill Cunningham New York is a terrifying film.
Surprising, yes. But watching a frail Cunningham weave in and out of New York traffic on his rickety bike nearly pushes this film into the action genre – it's that nerve-racking to watch. At one point he even crashes into a taxi.
But in between the small heart attacks I suffered while watching him careen between cabs and trucks, I must admit I really enjoyed watching this film. The story looks at the work of Cunningham, who has famously documented New York street-style fashion from his bicycle since the 1960s. We see that he lives in near-poverty in one of the last residences for artists in Carnegie Hall where he sleeps on his bed resting atop stacks of old magazines and boxed negatives. For the New York Times, Cunningham spends his days photographing fashion on the streets and his evenings capturing the rich and famous at charity events.
We learn that he has spent his career with a steadfast loyalty to his personal set of ethics. The inclusion of his work in a column that made fun of women for what they wore without his knowledge influenced Cunningham for the rest of his career. From that point forward, he decided to never accept money for his work. “If you don't take their money, they can't tell you what to do,” he said. “Money is the cheapest thing. Liberty and freedom is the most expensive.”
His desire to maintain his freedom is impressive, but extreme. When he takes pictures at charity functions, he refuses to even accept a glass of water because of his principles.
