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Tag: Alexander McQueen

Alexander McQueen CBE was an extraordinary fashion designer. Born in 1969 he was just 40 years-old when he committed suicide in 2010. He was openly gay and says that he realized he was gay when he was just six years old. He had a marriage ceremony to his partner George Forsyth in the summer of 2000. However they call quits to the marriage a year later but remained close friends.

  • FILM REVIEW | McQueen

    ★★★★★ | McQueen

    Film review, McQueen

    Fashion designer Alexander McQueen was a genius He had an eye for fashion but was also a troubled soul. The new documentary McQueen shows the highs, and the lows, of McQueen’s life.

    Alexander McQueen, born in London’s East End in 1969, seemed not to be destined to become one of fashion’s hottest and most successful designers in the 1990’s, but according to the documentary, he had talent, talent that can only be described as natural – he was born with it.

    McQueen begins with old footage of McQueen talking directly into the camera, footage that was taken at the height of his illustrious career. He enrolled as a student at Central St. Martin’s College of Fashion, and then moved on to Paris to learn the trade, then became a tailer, but it was when he met Isabella Blow, who happened to take him under his wing and, which is, according to the documentary, made him what he was. But McQueen was extremely talented, and not only did he launch his own fashion brand, but at the same time he was also head designer for fashion brand Givenchy all the while picking up various people along the way who became his trusted staff, people who speak to the camera effortlessly and honestly about McQueen and their time together.

    But all was not meant to be. McQueen dabbled in cocaine and London’s gay fetish scene, he was under enormous pressure to put together several collections a year, including haute couture, and he had a falling out with Blow, who would commit suicide at the age of 46, which put on more pressure and guilt on McQueen. But it was when his dear mother died when McQueen decided that enough was enough, and ended his pain. He committed suicide at the age of 40 in 2010.

    McQueen is an excellent testament to the man who was also called Lee. Through his friends, associates and sister Janet, we really feel that we get to know who Lee actually was ourselves. But it’s through the footage of his fashion shows where we get to see the real talent that he had. His shows were events, some very dark (which explains how deep and troubled he was), and showed how gorgeous, and emotionally beautiful, his creations were. Alexander McQueen died way too young, but through this documentary, you can at least experience his life and work, which was cut way too short.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | McQueen, Theatre Royal, Haymarket, London

    Crass yob or fashion god? Both, actually. All bile, venom and spunk, Alexander McQueen was a mutant oik messiah, a sartorial serial-killer maniacally slashing mediocrity into mouth-watering magnificence. ★★★★

    But that’s only when his brutally bi-polar, chemsex-twisted muse flew, of course, and new play McQueen – where he’s called Lee, his preferred name throughout – unflinchingly skewers his fatal, full-stop bungee-jump into oblivion.

    If the plot’s simple, the treatment, like McQueen himself, is insolently audacious. It’s the night of McQueen’s suicide, and an anxious Lee – (Stephen Wight) is surprised late at night by impulsive house intruder Dahlia (Carly Bawden).

    Instantly, Dahlia’s nerdy, conflicted, fan-girl worship acts as mental crystal-meth to Lee, and triggers an elegiac night of non-stop revelations. Burst after imagistic burst reveals Lee’s muses, mentors, likings and loathings, collapsing time and space with shockingly raw character expóses.

    That’s where McQueen truly impresses. If his supposedly blunt, scumbag genius was secretly held in contempt by snobs – Givenchy called him ‘le football thug’ – Lee in reality was painfully self-aware and insightful. One scathing scene gorgeously massacres smug faux-sophistication; a vapid reporter’s dissection of a woman is witheringly undone by Lee’s breezily compassionate take.

    So forget strict, dull, lazy biography nailed dead and rotting to the stage. Instead, this is fraught, suicide theatre superbly deployed as a multi-media, psychic minefield. Mime, pumping catwalk themes and video backdrops forensically flesh out Lee’s screaming inner self with an assurance clumsy naturalism would kill for.

    It’s an exact, brilliantly nuanced barometer of a frenzied gay genius’s mind. Time and again, music indelibly stains the action and spotlights Lee’s moods, from Nirvana’s brooding ‘Come As You Are’ to the hallucinatory grandeur of Handel’s Sarabande. And linear logic, throughout, is blatantly sacrificed for wrenchingly exact, emotional precision.

    That’s McQueen’s towering strength, shatteringly used in Lee’s lynchpin exchange with fashionista Isabella Blow, his triple-goddess muse, patron and financial angel.

    As played by Tracy-Ann Oberman, Blow’s a virtuoso study in slinky, fatally insecure hauteur. Both terminally damaged, she and Lee cling like frightened children to each other, as needy, emotionally naked and iconic as Rolling Stone magazine’s cover of John Lennon cradled by Yoko Ono.

    But that beautiful innocence makes only half of a shocking, Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf brutality. It’s as horribly fascinating as watching slow, incremental torture, a frenzied kaleidoscope of pain, grief, betrayal and back-stabbing, as Blow’s callously thrown aside, and Lee’s vicious need to succeed shapes his signature, ‘savage beauty’ ethic.

    Directly sourced from Darwin’s take on nature – ‘red in tooth and claw’ – Lee’s manic, unstable, all-or-nothing creative process was pure Russian Roulette. Onstage, nightmare despair follows each ecstatic peak, awesomely mimicked by surging son et lumiere effects, as Lee, anxious, fragile and broken, exits his unbearable, trampoline existence to Marilyn Manson’s nihilistic, misfit anthem, ‘Beautiful People’.

    Oddly inspirational, a slow-burn triumph of subtle but often savage insight, McQueen deliberately spits on hysterical, West End Wendy fireworks. Instead, it’s far more rewarding; resonant, fully adult theatre worthy of Tony Kushner and Patrick Marber, and more remarkably contemporary than either.

    Until 7 November 2015. Tickets: 020 7930 8800; trh.co.uk

    By Sasha DeSuinn | @msSashaDarling

  • Alexander McQueen; Meathead Maverick or Melancholy Martyr?

    ‘I’d rather people left my shows and vomited. I want extreme reactions. I want heart attacks. I want ambulances’ – Alexander McQueen.

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  • THEATRE REVIEW | McQueen

    ★★★ | McQueen

    Fashion Designer Alexander McQueen committed suicide in February, 2010 at the age of 39. But his work and memory lives on, including in a new play simply called McQueen.

    Stephen Wight plays (and looks just like) McQueen, who was one of the most celebrated UK fashion designers of our time. McQueen, though very successful, had a troubled life; drugs, depression, the suicide of his friend and muse Isabella Blow, who practically helped McQueen become the success that he was, and the death of his mother are some of the factors that probably led him to take his own life in his Central London flat on Feb. 11, 2010.

    McQueen is written not as a play about his life but more about the journey McQueen took to build his career. The journey is brought on by fictional character Dahlia (Dianna Agron) – the idea taken from McQueen’s 2008 collection ‘The Girl Who Lived in the Tree.’ She’s basically a stalker who breaks into McQueen’s flat. He’s startled at first, but her childlike personality and beautiful looks and curvy body appeal to McQueen in a visual sense.

    So McQueen and Dahlia travel through a few important milestones in McQueen’s life; the tailor shop where McQueen got his start and where, on the spot, he makes a dress for Dahlia. They go to his mother’s home, where she is upstairs in bed, sick. And McQueen gets to be reunited with the ghost that is Blow (a smashing Tracy-Ann Oberman), the woman who bought up all of McQueen’s first collection but who still wants to know why he didn’t take her with him to the top, and why did he leave her behind when it was she who made him what he was. In between these pit stops we are visually treated to very slow moving dancers who change the set and morph with, through and in between each other. Visually it’s stunning, you don’t realise the set is changing because the movements are so mesmerising. But this doesn’t make up for the fact that McQueen the play is a bit too thin and doesn’t provide the theatregoer with a true celebration and story of McQueen’s life.

    Wight is amazing as McQueen. In fact, he looks exactly like McQueen did in his later years. Wight captures all of his mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, including the scene where he instantaneously creates a dress for Dahlia. It’s an excellent performance. Agron as Dahlia is given lots of soliloquy dialogue to recite – is she talking to McQueen, the audience, or to herself? And yes, she does recite, likes she’s reading from a teleprompter. Hers is not a great performance as she’s with the amazing Wright during the whole show. But Oberman practically steals the show from Wright in her all-too-brief turn as Bow. It’s a showstopping performance, with Oberman dressed in a sexy negligee. Playwright James Phillips and Director John Caird have produced a play that is weak in biography but beautiful in its presentation, but we’re still left wanting to know more about McQueen and his life and his fashions. We will have to do with the V&A Museum’s Savage Beauty exhibition as well as the highly-acclaimed book about McQueen; Alexander McQueen: Blood Beneath the Skin, by Andrew Wilson, as well as Gods and Kings: The Rise and Fall of Alexander McQueen and John Galliano, by Dana Thomas.

    McQueen is playing at the St. James Theatre until June 27th:

    http://www.stjamestheatre.co.uk/theatre/mcqueen

  • ART REVIEW: Alexander McQueen God Of The Runway: Savage Beauty

    When the retrospective work of British fashion designer Alexander McQueen was exhibited at Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2011, tickets moved quicker than Naomi Campbell’s mobile during a hissy-fit.

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