"I'm rather pro-prostitution. It avoids frustration, and I admire people who do it. We can't all afford a mistress or an expensive friend. People need relief, or they become murderers. Is that a moral position?"

In Lagerfeld Confidential, a movie director finds himself under the spell of an older man. Rodolphe Marconi persuades himself that he can uncover the mysteries surrounding Karl Lagerfeld, a regal-looking fashion-industry prince whose motto for success is that "fashion is ephemeral, dangerous and unfair." Is Marconi's pact with Lagerfeld an all-access pass behind the throne, or a Faustian deal with a fashion diva who made his reputation resurrecting a dead brand, the empire of the late Coco Chanel, fallen on hard times? Lagerfeld Confidential proceeds on the assumption that the only opinions that count are those of its subject.

The film collapses over 200 hours of footage into one imaginary day in the life. We scamper after the remarkably spry 74-year-old as he hits the red carpet arm-in-arm with Nicole Kidman; does bare-chest photo shoots with two pretty-boy models; treats a luxurious corporate jet as if it were magic carpet between continents; and sketches his ideas for next season's collection with color-marker pens.

Photos and home movies reveal Lagerfeld, raised by an opinionated yet free-thinking mother in Germany, as a precocious, demanding child who knew his life's vocation by six and his sexual leanings by 12. Dismissive of both the drive for gay marriage and media mongering about pedophilia, Lagerfeld considers sexual preference to be no more complicated than hair color or fashion sense. Describing himself as unsuited for conjugal relations, he wishes that gay people would return to their old proclivity for outraging bourgeois social norms, rather than aping what he feels are outmoded institutions like marriage.

The fun you'll have in the company of this control freak may depend on how much you can appreciate a razor-sharp wit anchored in the 18th century. Lagerfeld never lets his filmmaker catch him in an unfashionable suit, without his wraparound black sunglasses or his white-powdered hair tied back in a ponytail. "It's fine for a designer to wear old jeans and disgusting T-shirts, and create dresses. But if you like fashion, you wear it."

Lagerfeld is candid about his contribution to the House of Chanel, admitting that he's an idea man who leaves the heavy lifting of outfit assembly to others. Conversely, Lagerfeld is totally in control of the elaborate model photo shoots: famous, like Kidman, or merely gorgeous like a hunky, dirty-blonde American male. The photo sessions and the resulting large-format prints are hot, and reveal a finely tuned homo aesthetic.

An intensely private man who claims that all creative souls need substantial alone time to recharge their batteries, Lagerfeld admits that he can be abrupt, almost brutal in terminating personal relationships when his code has been violated. "Friendship is like love. You can't take things for granted. You need a sword of Damocles hanging over a relationship."