Iris
Director: Albert Maysles
7:30 p.m. Thursday, 5:30 p.m. Friday–Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday
Oklahoma City Museum of Art
B
Some of the most powerful documentaries of late have centered on subjects of an equally powerful magnitude. But a brisk walk of a film can be just as refreshing — even more so when the most pressing issues explored are less overt. Mistaken for Strangers and Stories We Tell, for example, celebrated not only two unique characters, but also the common threads that make us so all so similar. The late Albert Maysles, in tandem with his brother David, was a master of illuminating the relatability of modern icons. With Iris, Maysles takes an autobiographical approach that thankfully dots the final exclamation point in the documentarian’s lifelong endeavor.
Iris Apfel is a beloved fashionista enjoying an international renown that began somewhat late in her career. A lifelong collector, Iris’ abundance of apparel and accessories echoes a life dedicated to the pursuit of creativity, and maybe a little haggling. Iris spends much of the film discussing her ironic entry into her craft, including her work at the White House under nine presidencies and travels to Europe and Asia. Likewise, Iris’ more recent resurgence is examined, specifically her 2005 exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
While going through several wardrobes in the film’s opening shots, Iris insists on the gravity and necessity each piece of her outfit plays. Each part, though at times incomparable, makes up something intricately whole. So, too, are the pieces of the veteran collector’s life. Each movement is considered by Maysles, revealing quite a bit more than a peculiar old woman with psychedelic dresses. A brief glimpse at some of Iris’ most influential artistic strides, including the Harlem Renaissance, grants the film a sizable nugget of Americana.
Iris’ impact on the world fashion community maintains a significant presence, and the most sentimental bits come not from the collector’s success, but something far more accessible: her marriage and business relationship with Carl Apfel. Carl is the everyman’s grandfather, cracking jokes and poking fun at Iris’ unorthodox craft. Still, poorly veiled beams of the pair’s love shine through, and it’s nothing short of adorable. Every long-winded recollection and every glittering hat Carl dons gets at something that many documentaries seem to pass by, even when focusing on an individual’s life.
Though Iris’ personal life provides the audience’s anchor, her career awards a visual splendor within each frame. Maysles does well to assemble the most important pieces of the fashion icon’s rise, paying particular note to the growth of her silky ensemble. Bounding between that and her typical day-to-day, Maysles reveals how little has changed with the designer’s success. Iris is still the curious soul she aspired to be, the would-be curmudgeon contending for the value of life each second.
Insight from some of the collector’s colleagues feels a bit out of place. Like many documentaries centering on a life’s work, commentary from the industry’s best qualifies Iris’ importance, but doesn’t really suggest why we should be watching. It’s as though her work in itself speaks more without words than Harold Koda and Dries Van Noten ever could.
Iris does little to excite, but it does encapsulate you in a soft, warm comfort. Maysle’s final documentary takes what at first seems far off, and places it at our collective doorstep. Iris doesn’t simply wear the seven-layered petticoat of timber fur; she owns it.
