Noah’s Art: Bespoke Tailoring and the Movies

How did Noah fasten his clothing? At my local upscale cineplex a display case always houses a few costumes featured in some major new release. Recently I studied the drab, rough-hewn tunic worn by Russell Crowe for at least forty days and forty nights in Darren Aronofsky’s controversial blockbuster. I leave it to others to ponder Aronofsky’s vision, and whether it’s compatible with the Biblical account of Noah and the flood. Me—I wanted to check out Noah’s buttons, or the lack thereof.

My fascination with buttons comes from having read a remarkable new book called The Coat Route: Craft, Luxury & Obsession on the Trail of a $50,000 Coat. Travel writer Meg Lukens Noonan (like me a member of the American Society of Journalists and Authors) discovered that a fourth-generation tailor in Sydney, Australia had just made, for a customer with deep pockets, the world’s most sumptuous overcoat. Nothing gaudy, you understand. Tailor John H. Cutler just started with a rare and costly fabric (the fleece of a small, shy Peruvian critter called a vicuña), added a stunningly patterned silk lining (from top Italian designer Stefano Ricci), then finished off his creation with buttons molded from the horns of an Indian water buffalo by an English firm that has been doing this for 150 years. While chasing down every aspect of the fabulous coat, Noonan mulls over the fine art of bespoke tailoring. It’s in some ways the opposite of high fashion: those who’ve embraced bespoke don’t go in for flashy trends and the constant need to update one’s wardrobe. Bespoke garments, though exquisitely crafted, are subdued. And they’re intended to last for decades.

I learned from Noonan’s book about the grand tradition of Savile Row. Since the early nineteenth century, English gentlemen have come to this London street to be fitted for suits designed especially for them. Noonan vividly describes one establishment, Anderson & Sheppard, where “a hushed front room glows with an amber light, as if viewed through a glass of sherry.” Among its elite clientele have been some of the entertainment world’s most glamorous folk: Rudolph Valentino, Duke Ellington, Fred Astaire, even Marlene Dietrich, who famously favored man-tailored ensembles.

During the golden age of moviemaking, studios with well-appointed costume shops had their own version of bespoke tailoring. The stars were outfitted head to toe in garments specially made to suit their bodies as well as their roles. Such famous studio designers as Edith Head made a career out of fitting and flattering. Deborah Nadoolman (Raiders of the Lost Ark) has griped to me that, because of today’s lower budgets, a costume designer is now often treated as a “costumer,” whose job is to go out shopping for appropriate items.

In today’s world, where disposable fashion rules, few customers have the money and the patience to have their wardrobes made to order. That’s why the craftsmen to whom Noonan spoke (like those English button experts) are a dying breed. Still, there’s hope: the popularity of Downton Abbey has encouraged enthusiasts to seek out bespoke tailors and cobblers who can help transform them into English country gentlemen.

 And what of Noah? In place of buttons, his tunic is closed with crude loops and tabs, quite appropriate since the first button-holes didn’t appear until the thirteenth century. I can’t imagine this highly individual garment on the rack at H&M. And it was surely hand-loomed and fitted to Crowe’s frame. So, although the look is hardly that of an English gentleman, it may be fair to call Crowe’s costume “bespoke.” Thanks to Noonan, I now get to ponder questions like these. 

Meg Lukens Noonan will appear on my panel, ASJA Award-Winners: Making it from Pitch to Publish, at this year’s ASJA conference, coming up on April 24-26 at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City. The public is cordially welcome. 

Noah and Cesar Chavez Approach Biopic Heaven

In light of two films that opened last weekend, I’m pondering exactly what a biopic is. Cesar Chavez, a respectful salute to the Chicano labor organizer, earned tepid reviews and modest returns at the box office. And then there was Noah, which over the weekend collected a cool $44 million domestically, plus another $95 million overseas. This despite protests from those concerned that Darren Aronofsky’s Bible epic misrepresents the word of God.

Cesar Chavez was very much a living figure when I was growing up. I well remember sitting down with fellow grad students for a picnic lunch. Suddenly we were all staring at the one newcomer to California who had innocently unpacked a bunch of grapes. It was the era of the grape boycott in support of farm workers, and none of us had eaten grapes in years. Chavez and his movement did a lot of good for those at the bottom of the social ladder. Still, Chavez was—like most great leaders—a sometimes problematic human being. An important new biography by Miriam Pawel, who like me is a member of Biographers International Organization, is catching flak from Chavez admirers because it dares to point out the great man’s flaws. This film apparently goes the other route; critics are griping that it makes Chavez seem little lower than the angels.

Which of course is a complaint that’s been leveled at many biopics, like Richard Attenborough’s reverent 1982 film, Gandhi. Hollywood, especially in its early days, liked nothing better than to present an historical figure as a hero: hence admiring (though heavily fictionalized) films about such high achievers as Emile Zola and Louis Pasteur. Today we tend to be fascinated by the reality behind the legend. For me one of the triumphs of Spielberg’s Lincoln was that it presented an admirable man, but not a flawless one.    

A biopic can never be accepted as true biography because it involves actors taking on roles, and because there’s necessarily a compressing and a rearranging of incidents in order to tell a coherent story in a few hours’ time. Biographers, on the other hand, pride themselves on the lengths they will go to know everything about their subject. They conduct countless interviews, search through dusty archives, and chase down every possible lead. (No wonder biographies tend to be so very long.) A filmmaker might do some of the same research, but in the service of a relatively concise work of art, which means making major choices about what to condense and what to leave out.

I’m boggled by the fact that some religious folk are ready to condemn Noah, sight unseen, because they suspect it distorts the truths they find in the Bible. But a filmmaker working with the Bible is hardly overwhelmed by usable details. In the Book of Noah, we learn a fair amount about the  size of the ark and the height of the waves, but virtually nothing about the key personalities involved. Like: how does Mrs. Noah feel about all this? And why exactly does Noah get drunk and get naked in his post-flood vineyard? And, if the children of Noah’s sons are expected to repopulate the earth, where exactly are they going to find mates who aren’t their first cousins? All of this is, needless to say, subject to interpretation. There are no eyewitnesses to interview, no old letters to study, so the filmmaker can only try to approach the text seriously and with good intentions. Aronofsky’s take on the Noah story may be a bit bonkers, but it’s hard to say it’s wrong.

Fans of biography may want to join me at this year’s conference of BIO, also known as the Biographers International Organization. It all happens on the University of Massachusetts’ Boston campus on Saturday, May 17. The public is most welcome.