Iris

If you've seen almost any documentary about the New York fashion scene, you've probably seen Iris Apfel. A tiny white-haired lady of a certain age wearing huge round black-framed eyeglasses, outrageously colorful clothing and a clanking collection of costume jewelry, she's the fashion industry's go-to talking head who's constantly asked to comment on style -- not only her maverick approach to the subject, but the way style is interpreted by designers and trendsetters in New York and beyond.

This time, Iris goes beyond commentator. She's the star of the show.

Iris, the next to last film by legendary documentarian Albert Maysles (he died in March at the age of 88; his final film, In Transit, debuted at the recent Tribeca Film Festival), focuses on the quirky and quotable 93-year-old interior designer's creativity, originality, flashy glamour and undeniable spirit.

Born in 1921, Iris grew up middle-class in Queens during the Great Depression. After studying at New York University and the University of Wisconsin's art school, she worked as a copy girl at Women's Wear Daily, then learned how to poke around flea markets and estate sales for hard-to-find furniture and fabrics while working for interior designer Elinor Johnson during World War II. Her work allowed her to travel, and her travels allowed her to begin collecting clothing, accessories and art. She has never stopped.

Iris and her husband, Carl, who turned 100 during filming, married in 1948. In 1950 they started Old World Weavers, a company intent on reviving exquisite long-gone textiles and discontinued patterns. Its success resulted in homes in Palm Beach and Park Avenue (the Palm Beach home is much more playful) and encouraged Iris to indulge her passion for accumulating and wearing vast collections of jewelry and clothing by some of the century's most respected designers while handling, among other work, interior decoration restoration projects at the White House for nine presidents from Truman to Bill Clinton (except George H.W. Bush).

She was the subject of Rara Avis (Rare Bird): The Irreverent Iris Apfel, a hugely popular exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute in 2005. Such attention, along with this film, has transformed her into what she cheerfully refers to as a "geriatric starlet."

Iris finds no fault with its subject. Maysles' film oozes with easygoing charm as the camera follows well-attired and ever-chatty Iris as she moves through her homes and her city with the flair and confidence that has turned her into a recognizable celebrity.

The director keeps the tone airy, only occasionally embellishing the film's good nature with more emotional scenes that border on but don't give in to sentimentality.

Iris' monologues on how she developed a sense of style and her pronouncements on others' efforts to achieve a unique look -- "the sage has spoken," she says wryly while instructing a group of supplicants -- sound like they've been well rehearsed. That doesn't make them any less relevant to the topic at hand, and her reasonable and measured delivery of fashion expertise makes those in the fashion industry who are fluttering around her, hanging on every word and gushing their allegiance, seem shallow and a bit silly.

Iris knows who she is and what she symbolizes. Self-assured but not overly self-absorbed -- "It's better to be happy than well dressed," she opines -- she appears to exist free of conflicts other than an obvious sense of the difficulties of aging, particularly where her increasingly fragile husband is concerned. "Being curious and having a sense of humor is what makes the difference," she says.

Despite being a hard-to-miss public persona, she values her privacy and fights to keep it.

"You can't do everything. Something has to give, and sometimes it's you," she says. But she hasn't yet let that part of herself go.

MovieStyle on 05/22/2015