A costume can be ‘‘built’’ (made), purchased, altered, or
rented. Often a designer will employ all four methods. A
designer always uses a crew. Some crew members, such as
pattern cutters, seamstresses, and tailors, are essential to
any project. Others are film-specific, such as specialists in
beads, embroidery, lace, feathers, leather, plastic, rubber,
straw, elastic, or netting; shirt, shoe, hat, and accessory
makers; as well as blacksmiths, armorers, jewelers, weavers, knitters, dyers, or furriers. Cloth may even have to
be made from scratch. A designer decides whether to use
vintage material, re-create the look, or blend old and
new fabrics. For example, Marilyn Vance, for The
Untouchables (1987), re-tailored 1980s leather clothing
into a 1930s style. A garment might be burned, beaten,
stained, washed, or cut to make it look genuine.
Designers must know how to achieve authenticity and
have observed everyday wear appropriate to period fabric
(which may stress differently than contemporary material). They must know how a hem frays on a floor, how
weight wears on a shirt’s shoulder, how sweat affects
LycraTM, or a how a sword cuts brocade.
Attention at every level of detail is essential; a loose
thread will ruin a close-up. The gun holster shine rubbed
on trousers such as Colleen Atwood (b. 1950) made for
Wyatt Earp (1994), for example, will convey realism. As
importantly, the designer must make the costume unobtrusive even in movies like Working Girl (1988), Jungle
Fever (1991), or Spider-Man (2002) that rely on dress
explicitly to reveal the character’s sense of self. Gabriella
Pescucci, whose work ranges from the riotous imagination of The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988) to
the historical accuracy of The Age of Innocence (1993,
Academy Award) and who trained with the great
Italian costume designer Piero Tosi (b. 1927) (who
worked primarily with Luchino Visconti) throughout
the 1970s, declared this plainly: ‘‘My greatest satisfaction
comes from having my work disappear in the film’’
(Landis, p. 91). But the costume is a subliminal vehicle
and it is the designer’s job, as Albert Wolsky (b. 1930),
Academy Award–winner for All That Jazz (1979), said,
to ‘‘identify, through elimination and simplification,
who somebody is’’ (Landis, p. 168). Years before,
Adrian (1903–1959), Head of Costume at MetroGoldwyn-Mayer (MGM) from 1928 to 1942, revealed this interior structure of costume design with his statement that ‘‘one could line up all the gowns and tell the
screen story.’’