‘Avedon’ Review: Ron Howard’s Thrilling Documentary About Richard Avedon, the Great Photographer Who Turned Head-On Portraits Into an Art Form

“Avedon,” Ron Howard’s documentary about the legendary photographer, stands as a remarkable achievement. It is Ron Howard’s finest feature (my favorite before this: “The Beatles: Eight Days a Week”), and boasts a supple, artful editing that merits study in film school. (The film’s editor is Andrew Morreale.) The documentary weaves hundreds of Richard Avedon portraits throughout, creating stunning images that layer into the audience’s consciousness with nearly musical finesse. This approach captures the expansive narrative of how Avedon transformed the metaphysics of photography and reshaped our visual perception of the world.

A profound paradox runs through Avedon’s work, echoing the grandeur of the 20th century: he embodied high fashion’s glamour yet remained a democratic humanist. “Avedon” elucidates this tension, transforming its images into something lyrical. Director Howard interlaces archival footage and interviews, centering Avedon’s authoritative presence. Conversations with models, critics, and art‑world luminaries such as Tina Brown, Larry Gagosian, John Lahr, Twiggy, Adam Gopnik, Hilton Als, Calvin Klein, and his own insightful son, John Avedon, provide depth. James Martin of the Richard Avedon Foundation guides viewers into the archive’s labyrinth, revealing 16,000 sittings conducted between 1944 and 2004—equating to roughly one session daily, Monday through Friday, over six decades. The film also traces the tragic arc of Avedon’s mentally ill sister, whom he deeply revered, alongside his complex marital history.

The documentary inaugurates with a vintage clip of Richard Avedon, maintaining his distinctive bird’s‑eye perspective as he declares, “I can say very little about photography. I follow no rules, no laws, and no advice.” His earnest commitment shines through. A montage follows, set to Spoon’s upbeat track “I Turn My Camera On,” showcasing iconic Avedon portraits: John Lennon, Orson Welles, Michael Jordan, Elizabeth Taylor, Groucho Marx, Twiggy mid‑leap, Anjelica Huston, Marilyn Monroe in dialogue with Arthur Miller, Truman Capote, and J. Robert Oppenheimer.

Every portrait exudes timelessness; Avedon’s lighting renders each shot as fresh as noon. Subjects appear both as we envision them and distinct from common perception—more direct, unfiltered, and intimately honest. This embodies the Avedon ethos, yet remains shrouded in mystery. His technique is invisible: a simple setup, black‑and‑white film, a subject encouraged to simply be themselves. The result is a revelation—“Here I am, Richard Avedon.”

The film acknowledges his skepticism about technical photography. Questions of f‑stops leave Avedon uninterested; his mastery lay in session approach rather than gear. In the documentary, Isabella Rossellini notes that other photographers obsess over technique, whereas Avedon would shoot sparingly, then return with new questions to elicit authentic expressions. He might have agreed—he was not preoccupied with mechanics.

Born in New York in 1923, Avedon recalling childhood, he described pausing on daily streets—blinking briefly and closing his eyes—to preserve visual impressions before ever handling a camera. His photographic instinct emerged early. Joining the U.S. Merchant Marines at nineteen, he secured a spot in the photography department, capturing approximately 100,000 portrait files of enlisted personnel and workers for military identification purposes.

What began as routine military ID work for KP left Avedon transformed. Shooting ensembles against a white background revealed each face’s unique character without distortion. The uniform studio backdrop equalized all subjects, allowing individual identity to emerge unobstructed. Those “baffled” expressions became the foundation of his signature approach—respecting inherent differences while rendering each person distinctly visible.

Avedon evolved into an existential classicist, capturing the unsettling essence in each subject. His iconic Lauren Hutton portrait—head canted back, form unmistakably present—comports with Picasso’s sculptural precision, yet arises from pure spontaneity. Every glance, captured unintentionally, becomes revealing; there is no premeditation in such moments. This authenticity defines Avedon’s visual language, where unplanned expression speaks volumes.

In a 1953 session, Charlie Chaplin’s devil‑horn prank produced one of Avedon’s most enduring images. Such unforgettable moments—captured in a single frame—define the film. Yet “Avedon” frames these snapshots as more than accidents; they record the intangible dialogue between artist and subject, where each portrait becomes a vessel for personal truth. Chaplin chose that absurd gesture solely for his own work—a testament to Avedon’s belief in the power of genuine, unguarded exchange.

By 1957, “Funny Face”—a Hollywood musical pairing Audrey Hepburn with Fred Astaire—mirrored Avedon’s own visual vision. The Marilyn Monroe portrait, drawn from “The Prince and the Showgirl,” revealed Avedon’s method: capture a subject at her most organic, not the polished veneer she presented in portraiture. The full‑day session yielded joyous images, yet the most compelling moment emerged when she let her guard down for a heartbeat, revealing a fleeting melancholy that betrayed the composed beauty outside the frame. In that instant, we glimpse Norma Jean’s true self—beyond the iconic stereotype.

“N/A”, the documentary is replete with moving stories of Avedon’s creative process and access to his most celebrated images. Beyond the famous, he documented overlooked subjects, such as Oklahoma oil workers from 1980. Leveraging his irreverent style, Avedon coaxed fashion models into dynamic, mid‑air composites. A seven‑week stint in Vietnam yielded portraits of war’s American generals, while his series on the Chicago Seven and Warhol Factory residents captured raw authenticity—no New York museum dared exhibit the work. The narrative also follows his reconciliation with his aging father through photography, and his dual career: advertising (including surrealist Obsession perfume spots) and fine art, unified by a single purpose—each frame seeks to expand the viewer’s perspective.

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