Vanity Fair Portraits review

I said that sometimes I'd post things that I liked didn't I? I loved the Vanity Fair Portraits exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. Here's why:

Vanity Fair Portraits at The National Portrait Gallery is truly an exhibition of two halves. Founded in 1913, the magazine ran until 1936 when it suffered the effects of the Great Depression and was absorbed into fellow Conde Nast publication, Vogue. It is clear from this impressive exhibition that, since its comeback in 1983, it has become a very different magazine.

The portraits from 1913 to 1936 reflect the burgeoning artistic movements of the time. These include modernism (with portraits of writers James Joyce and Virginia Woolf), Jazz (portraits of Fred and Adele Astaire), Art Deco (Noel Coward exactly as you want to see him, dapper and smoking) and the avant garde (Man Ray’s portrait of dancer and choreographer Bronislava Nijinska with a mask of make-up so terrifying that it defies description.)

It is clear that the intention of the magazine at this time was to provide challenging, modern content that engaged with high-culture as well as the world of entertainment. Throughout this era of Vanity Fair, there are examples of these great modern artists and thinkers in collaboration. Cecil Beaton’s portrait of Jean Cocteau features line sketches of the photographer and the sitter that they drew of each other during the sitting. And then there is Man Ray’s noble portrait of Picasso; in profile the artist looks like a roman bust. Vanity Fair photographers were obviously committed to challenging established ideas about photography and their subjects. A good example of this from the exhibition is the beautifully melancholic portrait of Charlie Chaplin, then the most famous man in the world. Best known for his riotous physical comedy, this portrait shows a different facet of his personality; the introspective thinker.

Strong, intellectual women are well represented here. Well, better represented than you’d expect from the publication and the time anyway. There are numerous portraits of Virginia Woolf by Maurice Beck and Helen MacGregor, and a wonderful portrait of actress, writer and suffragist Rebecca West. Of the female sitters, several haven’t just been ‘beautified.’ Greta Garbot (by Edward Steichen) isn’t portrayed as the glamorous movie star, but as the private, pensive woman she seemed to be in reality. The aforementioned portrait of Nijinska is the opposite of an exercise in beautification. With her gruesome mask, Nijinska becomes a canvas for Man Ray’s horrifying vision. There aren’t just female subjects in this half of the exhibition, there are more women photographers than you’d expect to see which seems to be part of the magazine’s modern approach.

Suddenly you round a corner and have to say an abrupt farewell to propriety and sepia which is replaced by the glowing skin and teeth of the 1980s. Obviously the magazine has had to keep up with modern trends and interests. From this we can deduce that nobody is interested in literature and art any more, they are too busy tanning, removing clothing, and straddling things to worry about all that fusty stuff. For many people (myself included) this was what they came to see; celebrities in beautiful clothes and in the nude.

However, despite the fact that the content of the magazine is clearly less ‘high-brow’ these days, there was still plenty to see that was of genuine interest. Much of this was due to the clever way in which the exhibition was laid out, subtly conveying messages about the portraits and the subjects. The most striking example of this is the portrait of the American War Cabinet (starring George W. Bush and Condoleezza Rice) and below it, another of Rupert Murdoch looking windswept in a yacht. It is hard to not to construe that the curators were making a link between the power held by the President of the United States of America and the power held by a man who owns newspapers and magazines around the world. Opposite this wall is a very large portrait of Margaret Thatcher. This is a wonderfully simple face-on shot of the ‘Iron Lady’ and we can assume that the lack of life and vivacity in the portrait is a reflection on the woman herself rather than the photographer. Another deceptively simple portrait is that of socialite, Claus Von Bulow. This photograph of him dressed in black leather was taken whilst his wife lay in a coma. Bulow had recently been charged with her attempted murder. There are also nods to the magazine’s more high-brow past, with portraits of the writers Martin Amis and Seamus Heaney and the artist David Hockney. Hockney is shown bare-chested, pale and bespectacled beside a pool in which a beautiful Adonis plays water polo.

Hollywood glamour is what we have come to expect from Vanity Fair since the 1980s. Most of these Hollywood portraits are attributed to Annie Leibovitz, the celebrated celebrity photographer who has worked closely with both Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone. The annual Hollywood Issue (several of which are exhibited here) features a three-page fold-out cover showcasing the most fabulous actresses in fabulous outfits. Annie Leibovitz’s portrait of Jack Nicholson is as Hollywood as it gets. Nicholson is photographed playing golf on Mulholland Drive in a dressing-gown with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. In addition to this, there are all the famous Vanity Fair photographs you would expect and want to see, from the Cruise family portrait to the beautiful and poignant portrait of Princess Diana by Mario Testino. The curators know that sex sells so we are treated to a naked Gisele straddling a white horse and Kiera Knightley and Scarlett Johansson posing in the nude on a sea of velvet.

This extensive exhibition is a tribute to a magazine that has pushed the boundaries of photography throughout its history. It hasn’t shied away from controversy and from presenting uncomfortable images (the September 11^th cover story ‘One Week in September’) as well as the glamorous images of celebrities for which it is best known. Both halves of this exhibition are equally interesting. These portraits reflect changing attitudes to celebrity and authority as well as changes in photographic technology and technique. This social dimension makes the exhibition a must-see even for people who have never picked up the glossy magazine.

(Review for the London Student.)

Foppery

If there's one thing that I hate more than anything in the world (well, currently anyway), it's pseudo-bohemia. It bothers me in several ways:

1) The people who indulge in this kind of idiocy are generally the dullest people you will ever meet.
2) They think they're better than you because you don't indulge them or have a predilection for smoking jackets/cigars/drugs/Wilde/basements/absinthe.
3) They tend to dress very badly indeed. Boys: please do not (ever) wear braces/cummerbunds/bow-ties/ill-fitting (in a bad way) shirts unless a formal occasion requires them. Faded glamour is just that. Faded and over.
4) They tend to talk loudly and say ridiculous things like, 'I think I had even done DRUGS!' Wow, we're all so very impressed.
5) Sexual deviancy is not deviant if you tell everybody about it, it's just a bit sad and tacky.

And there's more.

My main problem with all this rather silly behaviour is that it seems to be geared towards making other people believe that they are intellectuals. As far as I'm concerned, foppery does not an intellectual make. It's time for these Wilde-wannabes to realise that what they are doing is certainly not individual; they seem to run in self-congratulatory packs.

What I'm trying to say is, fellow Eeyores, that you shouldn't feel intimidated by this pseudo-intellectual, pseudo-bohemian bullshit. If they had an ounce of real intellectual integrity, they would be doing something new and different instead of just trying to shout louder, shag more people, talk about more drugs and wear more inappropriately formal garments than everybody else.

The time for quiet introspection is nigh, out with the fops!