Coco Chanel was mistress of the pithy phrase. Here is a sharp line: "I am neither in the past nor avant-garde. My style follows life." Her words are echoed by Karl Lagerfeld, the designer who has reincarnated Chanel for 22 years. "I like today; I am not interested in the past," he says. "My task is to anticipate for Chanel what will be in fashion tomorrow." Those phrases, running in digital letters on the white cubes that house the "Chanel" display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, sum up the essence and the limitations of this exhibition, which is devoted to fashion's incorrigible 20th-century modernist - and the designer who has kept her flame alive since 1983.
With Nicole Kidman, the face and sinuous body of the Chanel No.5 perfume, as a co-chair with Anna Wintour of American Vogue, the opening gala on Monday was designed to be as glamorous and put-together as befits the famed Parisian couture house.
As Philippe de Montebello, the Metropolitan's director, says of Gabrielle (Coco) Chanel, who died in 1971: "She became one of the first couturiers to be celebrated as much for her glamorous persona as for her impeccable designs."
"Chanel," which runs from Thursday to Aug. 7, has twin missions: to show the timeless image of a fashion house that has survived for almost a century, and to open a dialogue between Coco and Karl. The exhibition starts with Lagerfeld's slender gilded dress, its lacy leaf pattern projected as video art, which then morphs into a famous, dreamy Cecil Beaton portrait of Chanel herself. It is the only brief appearance of a designer who had an innate understanding of what it meant to be a woman of the new 20th century. In the display, Marilyn Monroe gets a better visual billing, in a floating image of the star clutching a bottle of Chanel No.5. Lagerfeld appears only as a ghostly abstraction of his silhouette. So much the better, perhaps, that instead of dwelling on personalities, the show focuses on the clothes, for they are stunning both for themselves and for their anticipation of modernist canons of dress.
Harold Koda, the curator of the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan, says, "Chanel invented a vocabulary that Karl then plays with."
He and the associate curator, Andrew Bolton, envisaged the display as a focus on codes: the invention of sportswear in the 1920s, dandyism in male-female crossover dressing, the romance of Bohemia and the allure of lace in the 1930s, and the "total look" of a tweed suit, two-tone shoes and a quilted handbag in the 1950s. Add early beauty products in graphic black-and-white packaging, jewelry like the Maltese cross and swags of fake pearls, and the camellia, which is projected in watery patterns as video "wallpaper" by the artist Marie Maillard.
Lagerfeld, who has always eschewed fashion retrospectives and who admits to problems in discussing the Chanel exhibition with the museum, had nothing to do with the scenario, which he saw only on the eve of the opening. He merely approved the choice of garments and worked on the striking and inventive catalogue. The story unfolds with a sporty beige knitted coat inspired by British aristocratic males on the polo field and a jersey dress taken from his lordship's underwear. But there is no biographical road map for those who don't know about Coco's dalliance with the Duke of Westminster nor her early days as a Deauville milliner. The display is purist to a fault, designed in four alleyways of white modules that represent "Pavillons d'Élégance" from the 1925 Exposition Universelle, according to Olivier Saillard, a consultant from the Musée de la Mode in Paris.
Porridge tweed suits that Saillard describes as "chic ennuyeux" or "boring chic" are punctuated with a Lagerfeld miniskirted version, just as the classic black-quilted handbags are displayed with moon boots and a biker jacket as Lagerfeld's take on leather.
More might have been made of this wavering waltz between Karl and Coco. Koda says that the Lagerfeld pieces are meant to "spice up" the exhibition, which might otherwise seem disconnected from a contemporary audience. Bolton's theory is that to Chanel's pure modernism, Lagerfeld plays postmodernist, which makes for eclectic mixes of elite and popular culture.
The surprises of the show are in the evening clothes: Chanel's use of lace, for which she was famous in the 1930s; her vivid red among the familiar beige, black and white neutrals; and her whimsical pieces like gypsy gowns or pajamas with lace jabot, worn by Diana Vreeland, the iconic Vogue editor.
But where are the images of Vreeland? Or of Chanel wearing a mud-brown suit, its tiny unlined jackets as light as knit?
The human body is the one strategic factor missing from this carefully thought-out exhibition. It may be, as Koda surmises, that Chanel's enthusiasm for slithering waterfalls of silk and for bared backs was to draw attention away from her flat bust. But the point is that Chanel had brought the body into focus, as she abandoned the carapaces that had previously altered and tortured the natural female body shape. Her great invention was fashions in which the body could move freely.
Given all the multimedia resources available to museums today, why do we never see the clothes as they appeared in photographs or moving on the runway? A flash of a dress appears in the camellia video. And those familiar with Chanel imagery will see in Lagerfeld's breezy pants worn with loops of pearls the photographs of Coco herself in Deauville. "Clothes for a museum can never be on a human body," says Lagerfeld, explaining the extraordinary technique he used to make the computer-enhanced photographs in the catalogue come to life. He reconfigured silhouettes, touched faces with vestiges of makeup and created period hairstyles. The complex, time-absorbing technique known as "algraphy" results in images as fluid as watercolors. "The spirit, the body, the attitude - that is what gives a dress magic," Lagerfeld says.
These vaporous, ghostly images might well have been projected, although the show's mannequins have their faces touched with color and their "hair" created from feathers.
In the evening wear, the lack of the human body seems less acute as the couture creations speak for themselves, from the soft satin dresses in face-powder colors from the 1930s, through Lagerfeld's embroidered dresses inspired by Coromandel screens. "Chanel" gives the public a chance to see some of the loveliest dresses ever created that have never exploited or ridiculed women. It also gets to the soul of what is modern in fashion and how early and timeless its invention was. But even if the Met has put this modernist beauty under the spotlight, it has not succeeded in capturing the freedom the clothes incarnated.