CONTENT WARNING
Zionism, platforming and coddling of abusers, upsetting imagery
BEFORE YOU GO
Please bear in mind that Elton John has shared zionist beliefs as recently as 2022, as well as continuously supporting/being best friends with Kevin Spacey.
As well, the V&A is funded by HSBC amongst other banks and companies. As I will be doing a talk there in three days(!!!), I will come in acutely aware of the space that will have me, and I will take it up in the best way possible for everyone involved.
Even with those downers, IT STILL BLOODY SLAYED.
Despite his questionable beliefs and buddies, Sir Elton Hercules John has, over the years, managed to whirl around on his moving piano and collect not just the best photos that he can find, but the best any photographic aficionado, let alone collector, can find.
A sequel exhibition to the Tate’s “Radical Eye” from 2016 (which showed Elton’s pre-50s photographic array), around 75% of the exhibition focuses on the cult of celebrity, that Elton himself is immersed into. Many of the photographers included were at least micro-celebrity themselves; a large amount of the show’s first half is shot by Richard Avedon, considered a GOAT by almost all photographers ever (including myself). The visions of Diane Arbus and Robert Mapplethorpe are frequently featured; Helmut Newton and Herb Ritts’ less so, but they’re still there.
In an early section dedicated to music and general fame, the Supremes put on their makeup. Miss Piggy preens. Ray Charles is at the piano. Marilyn Monroe looks concerned in front of Avedon’s lens. You could only wish you were there. Later on, introduced to the mix, are fairly early representations of queer masculinity by names like James Bidgood, Sunil Gupta and Pierre et Gilles, as well as self-portraits by Gillian Wearing and Zanele Muholi, and a reminder that I’ll never be as cool or as extroverted as Ryan McGinley. Towards the end, there’s also a shift to depictions of photography as artistic medium, one that can also be manipulated at any time.
Alongside all the portraits and glamour shots is a section on political reportage, with many of those moments instantly recognisable. Some are iconic; take the 1968 Olympic Black Power salute or the maxi-dress-clad woman calmly being handcuffed at a 2016 Black Lives Matter protest. Some are shocking, even if they’ve been diluted into the offensive “dark humour” glob on mainstream corners of the Internet (the 9/11 Falling Man, the assasination in the Turkish art gallery with the Robbie Rotten-esque assasin). All are poignant.
However, as this is Elton, a few problematic photographers are represented in this mix. These include allegation-riddled Bruce Weber and Mario Testino, as well as queen of the problematic age gap relationship, Sam Taylor-Johnson (whose photo series of crying male actors shown in the exhibition is, unfortunately, a serve). There’s also a picture with Bill Cosby in it, but that’s because the Cosby Show was incidentally on during the photoshoot (it’s part of a photo series on male sex workers).
Even if any above statements put you off, there is one major reason why I recommend this exhibition: what I call the Nan Box:
The Nan Box is a sight to behold. I almost wrote “site to behold” and, with it being a white box in the middle of an exhibition, then that descriptor kinda makes sense too.
If you’re familiar with Nan Goldin’s work, then expect to point soooo many fingers and go “HEY!”. EVERY notable picture she ever took in the 80s and 90s is there. Nan beaten and bruised. Tabboo! and Jimmy Paul in the back of the cab going to Wigstock. The open casket funerals of the married Cookie Mueller and Vittorio Scarpati. Everything is there. If you’re not familiar with her work, you will come out a much more visceral person than you were.
I really need to watch her bloody documentary.
One last note: For those, like me, too snooty to use their phone camera, I wouldn’t recommend taking your camera into this exhibition unless it was properly advanced. Most of the pics my digicam could take were dim and blurry, which means that I cannot show you any snapshots of, say, David LaChapelle’s possible finest hour, i.e. Tupac in the shower.
This exhibition really would be a five if it wasn’t for all the Debbie Downer nitpicks I’ve said above, which I don’t think I really can control. However, I do have another puzzling observation – there was nothing from 4 Inches.
Not an allusion to the size of Elton’s penis but to the height of a Jimmy Choo heel, a bunch of early/mid-00s lady celebs stripped down to said heels and posed for a bunch of female photographers, all to raise money for Elton’s AIDS Foundation. Once I have enough money to have my own studio and library of books to put it in, 4 Inches will be there. It gave us Beverley Knight’s boobs, and for that alone it’s iconic.
That being said, I’m rating it 4.5, because it’s otherwise too bloody good.
Fragile Beauty closes on January 5th 2025, so you have loads of time yet. Full-price tickets are £22 per person; Universal Credit recipients go free.
