An American Model In Paris: Who Are You, Polly Maggoo?

by Henri Leopold



William Klein’s debut feature Who Are You, Polly Maggoo? floats across the screen in such a self-assured, breezy manner, it’s nearly impossible to imagine that this is the American auteur’s first foray into feature filmmaking. But it seems as though such a film could only come from someone like Klein, who spent years as Vogue magazine’s most renowned photographer before helming this classic absurdist satire in 1966.

This light, entertaining romp tells the story of titular Brooklyn-born model Polly Maggoo in Paris, played by Dorothy MacGowan, who serves as both the primary subject of self-doubting television director Gregoire, played by Jean Rochefort, and the delusional obsession of lovesick Prince Igor, played by Sami Frey. As Gregoire attempts to find out what makes Maggoo special - to find, as he puts it, “the truth behind the makeup” - for his television show ‘Who is Polly Maggoo?’, he can’t help but fall in love with Maggoo’s flippant persona. He feels she’s hollow and sets out to prove himself right (or wrong) through a series of nonsensical psychological tests. To him, her life is nothing more than a masquerade in which she’s always acting, always posing. But he finds her irresistible nonetheless.

The oft-indecipherable plot points are lost and found along the way, but that’s of little importance. Who Are You, Polly Maggoo? is a deft and experimental critique of modern fashion, and a humorous and poignant satire of the way Europe views Americans and their way of life. Though self-indulgent at times, it’s self-aware and cheeky, and, most of all, fun. It plays, in part, like an outrageous cinema verite documentary that evokes Godard at his most pop and Fellini at his most absurd.

Much like other films of the Nouvelle Vague, Who Are You, Polly Maggoo? is primarily concerned with the preoccupations of the bourgeoisie - fashion, celebrity, and vanity. But in this uber-serious world of high fashion, in which models must wear monstrous sheet-aluminum dresses and bear the constant wrath of media hounds, it’s a relief that Klein’s film never takes itself too seriously.