Alexander McQueen - the bad kid of British fashion

The movie about Alexander McQueen, presented during the Sofia Film Fest, is a perfidiously satisfying direction of Andrew Haigh, who is pretty famous for his odious movies about male prostitution in London and for the pious unpleasant sides of homoerotic love and perversion. It's based on Chris Urch's script and Andrew Wilson's book 'Blood Beneath the Skin' - 'the first definitive biography' of the designer.

The director is once again on the top after his success with '45 years' - the movie titled 'British/Irish Film of the Year' at the London Critics' Circle Film Awards.

The biopic is seditiously scandalous - somehow even more than the play about the designer that everyone in London was talking about. By the way, there he was aboundingly rewarded, although they were also afraid of him...

The movie is a dignifiedly perverse look at the perverse side of fashion, but withouth moralizing pretences and 'Hallelujah'... The presentation in Sofia was accompanied by Mitko Damov's a hairstyles show in the spirit of McQueen and this doubled the fashion effect of screening... and brought a breath of fresh in Sofia fashion salons...

The director's shrewdness attracts our attention in extraordinary shock on the cuticle of the British fashion - and he is in the permanent shock; snaching to all eras in fashion; optical games with favoritism in fashion silhouettes; greedily absorption of all contexts; ironing the clichés of haute couture; sexual subtext of fashion appearance, which is always wrapped in seduction; environmental inserts for wastefulness; lethality of luxury; and the fashion variation of Eros and Thanatos...

This is an interesting but dangerous direction for dupes who think that the world of fashion is a neatly sewing workshop, where equipped with silver thimbles aunts are scalloping.

And what about McQueen's bones collection? A Baroque storyline that even brilliant Peter Greenaway would like... Even venerable auntie Suzy Menkes started crying during the presentation of Alexander's latest collection shown post mortem, and as we know, she's dumb as a goose. And I would have laughed surronded by those gilded issues... like that heroine of Michel Tournier whose suicidal ambition is to die by guillotine - a copy of the one designed for Marie-Antoinette, but seeing the object, she actually died of laughter.

McQueen committed suicide, probably because he realized the whole enormity of existence, strucken by so much imagination in an area where the greed of vanity has no limits.

And probably because he also felt the shamelessness of an industry that encashes imagination and turns it into a luxury fetish, which overwhelming power of its incomprehensibility is demonic.

Among the McQueen's triumphs is the fact that Kate Middleton's royal wedding dress was designed in his studio by his personal assistant... There he looks pious post mortem, too... What a varmint! A ridiculing enciclopedical one, lol... Golden Rain...