‘Model’: A classic documentary shows fashion's human face

For the final flourish in a commercial for a leggings brand, a Busby Berkeley-like parabola of limbs is envisioned. Each leg will belong to the same model; the plan is to shoot the leg, matte it into the background, then shoot the leg again just above it, and so on. The ad director explains all this calmly to the model. “No pressure, we’ll just do it till it’s right… it gets very mechanical. But don’t let that concern you.” The model, Apollonia ('Apples') Van Ravenstein, replies equally calmly, “No, I couldn’t, because I don’t understand.”

With most directors, this moment would be a putdown. But as the scene continues, we see that Apples not only seems to understand exactly what’s required of her but is a thorough professional, hitting the right mark again and again. It’s the same with the other model who shoots outdoor scenes for the ad. A tough director keeps repeating the setups, adding new instructions for her every time, but she nails each iteration.

It’s typical of Frederick Wiseman to turn a lazy stereotype on its head. By the time of his passing, at 96 this February, he was widely regarded as the greatest documentary filmmaker of his age. Over almost 60 years, he made dozens of films about systems (High School, 1968; Welfare, 1975; Missile, 1988), institutions (Crazy Horse, 2011; National Gallery, 2014) and self-contained worlds (Central Park, 1990; In Jackson Heights, 2015). Whether he’s observing patients in a psychiatric ward or chefs as they create haute cuisine, his approach is equal parts understated and curious, sturdy and empathetic.

In his 1981 film Model, Wiseman trains his gaze on the fashion industry. With the New York agency Zoli as a loose focal point, we’re shown the world of modelling from the ground up. The film opens with prospective models submitting their portfolios at Zoli, which are assessed in crisp, unambiguous language by the agents (Wiseman doesn’t interview people in his films, preferring instead to observe them in conversation). “That’s too short for what we do,” one 5ft, 6.5-inch model is told; the matter-of-factness with which the woman accepts the rejection suggests she was expecting it. While talking amongst themselves, the Zoli folk have the same pithy quality. “Forget O’Shea, does not jump,” one of them says. “Does Helga ride?” another asks, which is met with the question: “I think she rides, but does she jump?”

This economy of expression is an amusing contrast to how photographers and directors talk to models on the job. One photographer keeps up a constant patter of praise and instruction while photographing the serious, quiet Romeo for a menswear brand. Another photographer’s conversation with a more responsive male model is its own little trip. He starts off discussing barbers as he fusses with the man’s hair, then veers into politics, then jumps to Japanese food and the vapidity of younger models. When the model admits being more at ease in black-and-white shoots because “you have to go back and fix the mistakes” in colour, the photographer immediately responds, “You don’t have any mistakes.” It’s a disarming bit of flattery, and a necessary one: sometimes perfection needs to be reminded how perfect it is.

Wiseman’s film is in black-and-white too, beautifully grainy 16mm—he made his first colour film in 1983. Audaciously, he situates his exploration of the fashion world against the backdrop of everyday life in New York City. These vignettes are too vivid to be considered inserts. In one scene, two Wall Street types are harangued by an agitated man with a stream of eloquent nonsense (“Do you believe I have a right on the street as the bellringer of New England?” The next shots are of passersby looking at expensive clothes in shop windows, followed by what seems at first glance to be a protest but is quickly revealed to be an ad shoot. Wiseman isn’t out to belittle the fashion industry—the film repeatedly emphasises the skill and seriousness of those who work in it. But his juxtapositions with the everyday do show the otherworldliness of high fashion. Normal life might ride, but it doesn’t jump.

Having started at the bottom, Model closes by giving us a glimpse of the peak. We see a gaggle of top models, all women, relaxing in the run-up to a Oscar de la Renta show. One gets a massage. Another reads Jean Raspail’s dystopian novel Septentrion. Several of them dance and shout. These warm scenes fly in the face of the stereotype of the aloof, severe model. Wiseman could’ve ended with the tension and glamour of fashion, models fussed over and despatched, a vessel for someone else’s creativity. Instead, as he did in all his films, he gives us an entirely human moment.

‘Model’ is on MUBI, along with a selection of other Wiseman classics.