Bill Cunningham’ is visual but thin

If you read the New York Times, you’re bound to have see a photograph or two taken by Bill Cunningham. According the the documentary “Bill Cunningham New York,” which is playing at the Magic Lantern, the guy — despite being in his mid-80s — still works all the time.

That much we know. We also know that he lived, for a long time, in one of a small block of apartments in New York City’s Carnegie Hall (but had to move when the hall evicted all its tenants from their rent-controlled spots). We know that he rides everywhere in the city on his bike, which at the time of the movie was his 29th (the rest had been stolen).

We know that he wears almost exclusively a kind of smock , the same kind worn by French street workers.We know he started out as a hat-maker, was given a camera and started taking pictures for such publications as Women’s Wear Daily and Details. We know that he’s the friend of such wealthy types as the late Brooke Astor (who invited him to her 100th birthday). And we know that he doesn’t like to be told what to do.

Beyond that, we don’t know much. Director Richard Press, who has made a number of documentary shorts, spends a lot of time following Cunningham as he bikes here and there, always taking pictures, never asking permission, documenting life as he sees it. He attends parties, looks through his decades of file photos, wrangles with his editor and received a medal from the French for being a champion of fashion.

Yes, we do get introduced to a lot of New York celebrities, even those who are celebrities in little more than their own minds (though, of course, Anna Wintour is pretty big stuff). And in bringing these people in, Press does give his film a greater sense of color. But even they are little more than cardboard cutouts (I wanted to know more about the former Nepali ambassador, who dresses like a cartoon character).

Press just never pins down the essentials. He tells us that Cunningham came from a normal, seemingly conservative family, that he began as a hat-maker, went into the army, worked again in the fashion industry, began documenting it and … well, go back and read what I’ve already written. He goes no further. We never find out, for example, why Cunningham seems to still be shooting film in this age of digital photography.

Press can’t even ask direct questions about Cunningham’s sex life. At one point, when trying to ask two questions — which he prefaces by assuring Cunningham that he didn’t have to answer them — he mumbles something about whether Cunningham ever had a romantic relationship. “Do you mean am I gay?” Cunningham asks. It’s a refreshing moment of candor … except that the question never gets answered.

“Bill Cunningham New York,” then, is a fascinating film for those interested in visuals and in a film about a man who has dedicated his life to the taking and preserving of them. For all the honors heaped on him, Cunningham himself seems fairly humble, as if he recognizes that this isn’t the history of fashion but only his history.

So, Press’ film is hardly the whole story of the photographer himself. It’s merely one portrait, busy but thin. Maybe there’s no more of Cunningham to unveil. It could be. Either way, we’re likely never to know.