Was Alexander McQueen's concrete padded cell a metaphor for the madness of fashion or the madness of modern business? In McQueen's current state of mind as he fights for more creative control at Givenchy, it could have been either. My money, however, is on the latter, judging by the slick, aggressively 1980s tailoring paraded around inside, which every professional working woman would give her eye-teeth to wear.
McQueen took over an abandoned bus depot near the Thames and built a large sealed white box with walls of mirrors that meant the audience could see inside but the trapped models couldn't see out.
This was a disturbing act of voyeurism. With their heads wrapped in white bandages, to make their faces look more angelic, models stumbled about trying to peer through the walls in a deranged manner. They anxiously plucked at their clothes and smiled in a strange idiotic way. It was a sinister piece of theatre but was executed magnificently to show off one of the best collections McQueen has produced.
As fashion moves around to the sort of sharp-looking tailoring that McQueen is so skilled in creating, we witnessed lean tailored pant suits in Prince of Wales check, one with chinoiserie-embroidered kimono sleeves, slim leather dresses and elegant belted coats. This may be great showmanship, but these clothes are very practical.
The chinoiserie embroideries were exquisite, as was the jigsaw waistcoat, but they were eclipsed by the two remarkable shell dresses modelled by Erin O'Connor and Amy Wesson. Wesson clawed and ripped her mussel shell dress, angrily stamping on the broken shells. O'Connor plucked at her razor shell dress as if in anguish. A third dress, a full stiff silhouette made of beautiful Tahitian shells, however, survived the show.
For his finale, McQueen was inspired by the images of photographic artist Joel Peter Witkin. A glass tank in the middle of the padded cell shattered to release a cloud of moths and butterflies and the sight of a naked painted woman with feathered ears and tubes coming out of her, proffering a disturbing modern rendition of a classical artist's Odalisque.
For sheer scale and spectacle how can anyone in London beat that? Sadly not Nicole Farhi or Ronit Zilkha whose shows come in the closing stages of London Fashion Week. Their clothes are lovely, and wearable, notably Farhi's wonderful buccaneer shirts and bloused tunics over drainpipe trousers; and Zilkha's pretty pink sequin and rose-print wrap dresses and skirts. However, in terms of creating images that last I am afraid McQueen's collection will be remembered for a long time to come.