It’s exciting to see Shyamalan on such confident footing once more, all these years later.
Yves Saint Laurent, the man, was a towering figure in the fashion world—a visionary haute couture designer who challenged traditional notions of feminine beauty and power.
“Yves Saint Laurent,” the movie, isn’t nearly so innovative or forward thinking. It’s a tasteful and formulaic biopic, visually lush but emotionally shallow.
Director and co-writer Jalil Lespert traces Saint Laurent’s life and work from the late 1950s in Paris, when the designer took over as artistic director of the legendary House of Dior at age 21, to the late 1970s, when his health was beginning to wane following decades of mental illness and substance abuse.
With his lanky frame and those trademark spectacles, Pierre Niney bears a striking resemblance to the designer and he does a solid job of inhabiting a legendary figure through various states in his life and looks over the decades. We see him fall in and out of love, assert his voice through an array of influential looks, attend coke-fueled orgies and rage against anyone who dares to second guess him or hold him back.