Bill Cunningham New York: A review from Toronto

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.

It's fun to watch Cunningham work on a busy downtown street corner, his head moving on a swivel and eyes constantly scanning the crowds. He resembles a kid in desperate need of a dose of Ritalin as he sways while watching the hoards of people. Cunningham has been compared to a war photographer more than once and it really is fascinating to see him spring into action when something catches his eye.

The film features some real characters who add context and commentary on Cunningham's work. A former Nepalese UN diplomat provides one of the funniest moments of the film. He stands, straight-faced, in a floral suit and proclaims: “This used to be my couch” before holding up another saying, “This one used to be my ottoman.”

Cunningham is shown to be a man with the ability to talk to anyone. He barely skips a beat between chatting with WASPs and hanging out with a group of young black kids on the street. He refers to some of the most influential people in the city as “child” and “kid”. Even Vogue's Anna Wintour acknowledged Cunningham's power, saying it is “death” if he ignores you with his camera.

Not only does the film tell a really interesting story, but it also features rich cinematography. There is a lovely shot of Cunningham's blue jacket being swallowed up down the runway as a Parisian fashion show ends and the audience disperses.

We get to follow Cunningham hitting all the charity events one night and it is exhausting just to watch. One of the most beautiful parts of this segment is the stark contrast between Cunningham at the events, bombarded by the New York glitterati, and his lone bike rides to and from the venues. His silent travel by bike makes his isolation startling.

Although we spend a whole hour and half watching a film about his life, you walk away feeling like you don't know the real Bill. He keeps himself distanced from others just as he keeps himself distanced from receiving payment to remain “free.”

Although he has never been in a romantic relationship in his life, Cunningham never admits to being gay. He also never talks about what he feels he needs to repent for at church every Sunday. What we do know is that he is a man who embodies contradiction, and has lived a life of restraint and modesty while photographing the flamboyant and sophisticated.

He is of a passing era, the last of his kind. We see this in the frustrating pace that Cunningham works when he sits with the New York Times Art Director to design his pages because he doesn't know how to use In Design. We see it when he snaps two twenty-something fashionistas walking down the street and they tell him not to “take their fucking picture.” Somewhere along the line, it seems the world has outgrown him.

We won't ever know him, private as he is. But it's a pleasure to at least watch him: seeing his face light up at fashion shows with a goofy smile as he struggles to rewind his film and insert the next roll or reminiscing about his favourite outfits of the past. He's a lovely human that reminds us why “fashion is the armour to survive the reality of everyday life.”