William Klein has been living in Paris since he left the army in 1948. He had been a painter (he studied with Fernand Léger) before switching to photography, then was taken up by American Vogue’s legendary art director Alexander Liberman, and given a contract. Th e magazine also footed the bill when he said he wanted to make a book about New York, since he had been living an ocean away from his hometown for six years. Th e result, Life is Good and Good for You in New York, was not what they expected; not only did the magazine refuse to run the pictures (although they continued to employ Klein) but the book wasn’t published in America until half a century later. Th e photographs are fantastic, but they cede nothing to expectation: they are blurry, or gritty, or cheeky. Th ey are smart and sassy and pull no punches. ‘I grew up with everybody saying: “Th is is the centre of the universe,’’’ says Klein, in mild disgust, of New York. ‘My father, you know, he was like Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, he used to say: “Th is is the land of opportunity!”’ Klein preferred Paris, and the aff ection was mutual: his book was published there, in 1955, and within a year its author had got himself an assistant director gig with Federico Fellini on Nights of Cabiria. ‘I was a groupie. When I wanted to meet him, I called up his hotel and said: “Can I speak to Mr Fellini?” And they said: “One second,” and put me through. Which doesn’t happen nowadays.’ He wasn’t after a job, he says, he just wanted to give Fellini his book. But the training proved useful when Klein found a young boxer as smart and sassy as he was. Actually, it was the politics – rich white men funding a young black talent – that piqued him into making a documentary. Th e boxer in question was Muhammad Ali, about to become heavyweight champion of the world. Th e two men were hardly buddies – Ali called Klein ‘England’, because that was the only part of Europe he knew – but they shared a willingness to poke American certainties in their soft belly. Or punch them in the head. Klein has made other fi lms, since: Mr Freedom, a satire on American imperialism, and Who Are You, Polly Maggoo?, a satire on the fashion industry. He’s not one for the niceties, which is what makes his photographs and fi lms so fantastic, but one does require a certain lightness on one’s feet when talking to him. We meet during the Olympics, some of which he’s enjoying and some less so. Th e Opening PRIVATPERSON Ceremony won his approval (‘What’s his name – Danny Boyle? He’s no dope’) as did the badminton and the Swedish women’s football team – the latter for reasons which may or may not have anything to do with their sporting prowess. But the synchronised swimming was, he said trenchantly, the worst kind of sport, and the wrestling he found boring (and not just ‘boring’: I’ve left out a couple of adjectives). I get the impression he was no less combative with the Tate, when organising this autumn’s exhibition. It’s a joint show with Daido Moriyama, who has also photographed If ever there was an advertisement for doing your own thing, rather than anything expect ed of you, William Klein is it New York and Tokyo, and the shared limelight was certainly their idea, not his. But it is about time he got proper consideration in the UK. He used to visit London with his wife, and waxes lyrical about the afternoon tea with thin sandwiches at Brown’s Hotel, but although he did books on Rome and Moscow as well as Tokyo and New York, he never honoured London with his gimlet attentions. Now, the city has forgiven him: there’s currently a show of his early paintings at HackelBury Fine Art as well as the Tate’s superb selection of photographs, fi lm stills and even drawings – he sketched out the costumes for Mr Freedom, he tells me, and his wife made them. Th e 1969 fi lm, which he also wrote, follows a right-wing American superhero on his odyssey to save France from communism, and Forty-Six features Delphine Seyrig, Philippe Noiret, Donald Pleasance and even, briefl y, the singer Serge Gainsbourg. Th e Americans appreciated it about as much as the French, in the fi lm, appreciate Mr Freedom’s attempts to rescue them, which include blowing up Paris. ‘I remember a couple of guys who were distributors in America came to a screening,’ laughs Klein, ‘and after about 20 minutes they got up and said: “Lots of luck,” and left.’ He doesn’t seem perturbed. Unlike Muhammad Ali, whose mouthiness seemed always to be about proving something, Klein appears entirely comfortable being at odds with pretty much everyone. He’s not grumpy: he clearly enjoys life. When he went to shoot the Royal Wedding street parties, he made up for lost mobility (he recently had a knee operation) by hiring a rickshaw. And when I ask him why he’d chosen to take that assignment – which must have been busy and dusty – he replies, simply, that it amused him. He takes jobs as and when he pleases; he has that incredible fl at, an assistant and a secretary, a son (also an artist) and he mentions a girlfriend, a Portuguese fi lm star. It’s not a bad life: if ever there was an advertisement for doing your own thing, rather than anything expected of you, William Klein is it. I am sure he has a temper, when he wants to unleash it, but I only see one fl ash. We are discussing Slovakia, and he mentions that he was invited there once, but didn’t go. ‘Well,’ I say without thinking, ‘it probably wasn’t that much fun to visit, back then.’ He snaps at me: ‘Back then? What, you think I’m older than Coca-Cola?’ I backtrack hastily, but still, he’s hardly a spring chicken. He’s done everything, worked with everyone and even a major exhibition at a prestigious institution like the Tate is nothing new: he had a retrospective at the Pompidou Centre in 2005. So, what, if anything, is he hoping to get out of this show? Th at doesn’t require much refl ection. ‘Listen,’ he tells me, ‘you have exhibitions to meet girls.’ So it seems that William Klein is likely to continue a lifetime habit of getting just what he wants, when he wants it. Tate Modern is the world’s most visited modern-art gallery; he is going to meet a lot of girls. William Klein/Daido Moriyama, 10 October – 20 January, Tate Modern, Bankside, London SE1, tate.org.uk; William Klein: Paintings, Etc, until 20 December, HackelBury Fine Art, 4 Launceston Place, London W8, hackelbury.co.uk
Clockwise from below: Isabella + Opéra, Paris fashion from 1967; Gymnasts, 1949; Muhammad Ali, Miami, 1964; Smoke and Veil, a 1958 Klein shot for Vogue; B-movies, a fashion series from 1970; Philippe Noiret as Mr Freedom with Klein’s wife Jeanne; lettrist painting for mural, 1963-64
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