Half of one star for the memory of Laurent's greatest designs, which can only fade after this. Minus 4.5 for the film, rendering the final score -3.5, for a thinly veiled excuse for putting gay porn into mainstream cinemas. If you are thinking of taking your daughter along for the glamour and haute couture, think again. That part is depicted only prosaically, and does not qualify as biopic because it only skims his best achievements. The film concentrates on a voyeuristic account of Laurent's personal life, and even that is done badly. There is copious drug abuse, male homosexual pornography verging on hard core and pretty sordid, without any meaningful connection of these to Laurent's work, and relentless product commercialism to put the holiday shop sales to shame. There is so much cigarette smoking that you are in danger of asphyxiation just by watching. The film is patronising to women, contrary to even the tokenistic mention of women at the end. There is an unforgivable and all too real looking scene of animal suffering. Worst of all, Laurent is depicted as a vapid type, when his work was full of edge and bite and assurance. You see very little of the creative soul of the man. If this film was a dress, it would be on special in a low grade novelty store, in a dingy market somewhere not nearly as nice as you want to think that Paris is.