Since the release of the Maysles’ 1968 documentary, Salesman, Albert Maysles has been an iconic figure in the world of cinema. Through the years Albert, along side his late brother David, have provided some of cinema’s greatest documentaries, including Grey Gardens and Gimme Shelter. With his latest work, Iris, Albert proves that even well into his 80s he remains among the leading pioneers of “direct cinema,” — a style of filmmaking that aims to directly capture reality.

For Iris, Albert turns his camera towards famed interior designer-turned-fashion icon Iris Apfel. The film’s greatest asset is Iris herself, a woman who at 93 exhibits a passion greater than any person with whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. For even as hyperbolic as these terms sound, iconoclastic and exuberant only begin to describe Iris’ character. During the film’s short 83-minute runtime viewers are immersed into Iris’ day-to-day life, capturing everything from humorous haggling exchanges at Harlem-based stores to high-end fashion events. Simultaneously, we learn about Iris’ life and career; her rise to notoriety within the interior design and textile industries. While the latter made her name known to the elite, including many stints working for the White House, it wasn’t until she lent her personal jewelry and fashion collection to MOMA in 2005, that Iris became a household name.

Through Iris, as well as various interviews with her friends, collaborators, and family members, an intimate portrait of Iris is painted. Impressive as they may be, it is not in Iris’ achievements or artistic creations that the film finds its most fascinating material. Where the film finds its greatest foothold is in her relationship with her husband Carl. Iris and Carl Apfel’s bond is, without exaggeration, one of cinema’s greatest love stories. Through Maysles' approach, we experience their deeply moving and endearing connection first hand, without any sense of interference or artifice. With divorce rates continually increasing, Iris gives hope to the romantic notion of true love.

While there are elements of the film that do deride a bit from Maysles’ career mantra — most apparent is the more playful use of music and stylistic editing — , at its core, Iris exudes his authorial stamp. What has always seemed apparent about his work is that Albert is able to strike through his subject’s veneers, penetrating an inner truth not always conveyed explicitly. This is no truer than in Iris, because while Iris radiates positivity and energy, there is sadness hiding just below the surface. Following his famous advice, Albert keeps the camera rolling, and it is in the moments following Iris’ confident exchanges that the camera is able to capture a glimpse of contemplation, almost sorrow in her eyes. It is a testament to the film and his career that Maysles doesn’t refrain from showing this. While uplifting, Maysles brand of realism is seen through these brief glimpses of darkness. Iris is a character study that continues a long trajectory of cinema that asks questions about life and reality, and, most importantly, how cinema can approach these issues.