Qui etes-vous, Polly Maggoo?
... was a strange movie. Was motivated to see it, only because I've had a postcard of this still since I was 16, and had no idea what or where it was from. Typical of the French New Wave, it's deconstructed, hard to follow, lots of neurotic self-examination. But its visual richness sets it apart: full of wacky whimsical visuals, and the panache of it all!
It's a total recall of my love for all things space-age: dresses made out of steel, Courreges, Paco Rabanne, Cardin, Twiggy, crazy beehive hairdo's, and Grayson Hall as out-of-this-world fashion editor (who goes "Beep beep!" non-stop when describing the Rocket look she wants) is golden. The fashion world hasn't changed much since 1966, and it's still as fantastically out of touch with reality as it was then. Sami Frey as the dashing Prince Igor is very yummy-liscious indeed, as if to compensate for the utter lack of plot.
