Perhaps we all want to find that one little thing in the universe we can claim our own – something that we excel at and enjoy, something that no one else does as well, something that will occupy our lives forever. Bill Cunningham, always on his 29th bike (just waiting to be stolen like the twenty-eight previous ones), wearing his cheap blue jacket and sporting his trusty old Nikon camera, found it in the New York street fashion photography.

Mr. Cunningham is a warm, passionate, down-to-earth person and so is this movie. It’s a shame, however, that it doesn’t ever try to go deeper. There’s a moment where the director asks Bill about his relationships and his faith, and for a moment there you can see cracks in the façade, you can sense there’s something more – but then the curtain is drawn, the trademark smile returns, and no other hard questions follow.

As a result, the movie outstays its welcome a little bit; there’s only so much one can take of repeated fashion shows or shots of Bill biking. At 60 minutes, this would have been a wonderful movie. At closer to 90, it needed a bit more colours in its palette.