Last night I watched Tom Ford’s A Single Man and fell in love again with the beautiful Julianne Moore. I love her va va voom eye make-up, Hollywood dresses and fabulous Pre-Raphaelite russet hair piled high on her head. There’s a wonderful scene where she’s on the phone to George (Colin Firth) and pretending to read a book, when in fact she is meticulously applying a thick and very ’60s flick of glamorous black kohl. It reminded me of dozens of works of art- paintings and photographs, of women at their dressing tables and of men’s fascination with beauty and artifice.

From the anonymous…

to the incredibly famous!

But it’s male beauty which is really the object of scrutiny in Ford’s  film- a welcome change, particularly when it is Colin Firth and Nicholas Hoult that the camera is lingering over.

 Dressed in sharp, impeccably tailored suits Firth’s style is totally inspirational; I particularly loved his thick-framed retro glasses.

It’s amazing how on trend they look right now and yet at the same time the whole, perfectly controlled aesthetic of the film oozes 1960s glamour from its every pore. For your own pair check out my friend Anna Laub’s uber fashionable Prism eyewear, available at Dover Street Market and The Shop at Bluebird or online. Her idea is that glasses should add to your personal style, not detract from it- with her immaculate designs there’s no chance of that!

Before I watched A Single Man I had read a review that accused the beauty of the film, and the main protagonist’s super-stylish lifestyle, of  detracting from Isherwood’s tender and powerful study of grief. Now having seen the film, I completely disagree- for me the beauty of George’s surroundings underlined the sense of emotional absence and there was something obsessive and melancholy about his neatly lined up bottles and compulsively folded shirts, that added to his vulnerability. Rather than  worshipping at the altar of designer goods, as the reviewer had implied, Ford’s film denounces the power of possessions and a ‘perfect’ lifestyle to deliver contentment.

That’s not to say I thought the film was perfect. Admittedly Ford does seem to luxuriate in creating frames which could easily be shots for a fashion campaign… or Perroni!

And there were aspects of George’s struggle which seemed too hackneyed to move an audience- I’m thinking of the cut-out creation of Jim’s ignorant homophobic mother and Kenny’s sham Bardot-esque girlfriend. At points the film felt unbearably prolonged and the hideous sequence in which George ‘tries’ to commit suicide seemed jarringly slap stick in a film that generally treats its subject sincerely. I longed for less of the agonising ‘will he/won’t he pull the trigger’ and more of the glimmers of thoughtful, revealing dialogue between George and Charley, and George and Kenny.

I haven’t read Isherwood’s novel but I suspect these moments of better writing were taken from his original text, and I’m definitely going to read it to find out!