The debate about what does and does not constitute Art rages—although
quite politely—at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. One would imagine
that anything within the Met’s revered galleries and extensive collections
would receive the benefit of the doubt in regards to its stature as Art. Even
so, there’s still a battle over the status of fashion among the museum’s
curators and people involved in the fashion world.
The Met’s Costume Institute is housed in the museum’s
lowest level, meaning that its collection is physically and, hence,
figuratively seen as occupying the basement of Art. Some designers assume
they’re creating art, and others believe the notion of fashion designers being
seen as or, worse, calling themselves artists is “boring” or
egotistical.
After a slow-motion montage of celebrities in designer
fashions on a red carpet, director Andrew Rossi’s “The First Monday in
May” addresses the debate about fashion’s status as Art in the
documentary’s opening scenes. The movie’s conclusion is: of course, fashion is
Art, or at least that’s what we’re apparently expected to garner from the
montage of intricately, ornately designed pieces from famous designers of the
contemporary and modern eras.
Later, Rossi returns to the dispute in a bit more detail
(mostly by juxtaposing interviews with fashion designers who are of opposing
opinions on the subject), but by that point, it doesn’t matter. The movie has
answered the question for itself, and it has moved on to its real purpose: to
offer an inside look at the creation of the Costume Institute’s 2015 exhibit
about fashions inspired by Chinese culture. Such exhibitions have become major
public events, thanks to the star-attended gala on the day of the title that
marks a Met fashion exhibit’s opening. It’s such an event that the date of the
party joins Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day as the only four days on
which the Met closes its doors to the general public.
The party is orchestrated by Anna Wintour, the
editor-in-chief of Vogue who also
serves on the Met’s board of trustees (Additionally, her name is attached to the
museum’s Costume Institute). The creation of the exhibit is overseen by Andrew
Bolton, the curator of the Costume Institute. Both possess an air of authority
and wield a presumption of certainty that serve them well in their respective
positions.
Wintour’s reputation, of course, precedes her, on account
of the book and the resulting film adaptation of “The Devil Wear
Prada,” which did not—to put it diplomatically—portray her fictional
counterpart in a particularly flattering light. Obviously, the documentary
gives Wintour and others an opportunity to address that reputation. The
counterargument is reasonable enough: She is particular in what she wants and
direct in how she states it, and if she were a man, no one would likely see a
problem with her manner.
Bolton is as particular and direct as Wintour, although
he’s quieter about it. When film director Wong Kar-Wai, who has been hired as
the artistic director of the exhibit, points out that placing a gallery focused
on the Mao era in a room featuring statues of the Buddha would be offensive,
Bolton argues that the publicity from such controversy might be worth it. Bolton
is a man who “trust[s] his instincts,” even in the face of dissent
from people, such as Wong and the administration of the Met’s Asian art
department, who might know better than him.
The relatively civil head-butting over such notions is
key here. Rossi, given (and, perhaps but understandably, influenced by being
afforded) access to these meetings of knowledgeable but conflicting minds, frames
the debates, though, as stumbling blocks to the ultimate realization of Bolton
and Wintour’s visions.
The movie gives about equal time to the planning of the opening-night
gala and the staging of the exhibit. Almost unavoidably, the celebrity-gossip
nature of the party planning comes across more forcefully, with discussions
about a headlining singer’s fee, who should sit with whom at what table, and
whether or not a certain actor’s recent career merits him receiving an
invitation. As for the exhibit, the movie shows agreements upon and dissent
about general design choices, as well as trips to Paris to visit the Yves Saint
Laurent archives and to Beijing for a publicity tour that’s met with local
skepticism about the exhibit. All the while, a ticking clock counts down the
months, then hours, until the opening event.
The two components—the gala and the exhibition itself—are
vaguely representative of the larger debate surrounding the commercial
influences on and aspects of artistic enterprises. Like so much else of any
significant substance in “The First Monday in May,” Rossi glosses
over it, finding a more comfortable narrative within the passion of his central
subjects. As for the exhibit, the question of its ultimate success is not
judged based on its cultural or curatorial merits but on whether or not it
breaks ticket-sales records and those celebrity guests like it.
