Image shifters

Movies have always influenced style. In 1934 -- when Clark Gable shed his shirt in the Frank Capra comedy “It Happened One Night” to reveal his bare chest -- men’s undershirt sales reportedly plummeted. Men didn’t suddenly tire of layering. They saw an easy “in” to becoming a bit like Gable, who played an extraordinarily dashing ordinary Joe.

“The most important style movies make the audience walk out and think, ‘I wish I could look like that,’ ” says Patricia King Hanson, historian at the American Film Institute. “In the 1930s, legend has it that Al Capone wanted to dress like [the actor] George Raft, who played gangsters.”

No doubt Capone saw a chance to finesse his profile. It’s not hard to imagine hookers fashioning their street wear after Julia Roberts’ character in “Pretty Woman” or Jane Fonda’s call girl in “Klute” either. But cinema doesn’t set out to hawk clothes. The costumes -- whether it’s Faye Dunaway’s beret in “Bonnie and Clyde” or Richard Gere’s Armani suits in “American Gigolo” -- are part of the larger sell: an image.

And that’s what makes style in film, more than fashion on a runway, so marvelously democratic. A woman slips into her husband’s trousers and striped necktie and she suddenly has entree to be as zany as Diane Keaton in “Annie Hall.” A guy, tired of his milquetoast silhouette, adopts the gait of a hungry thug wearing a slim-cut suit and Wayfarers, a la “Reservoir Dogs.” Clothes help shape our identities, and copying a film icon is like taking a shortcut to cool.

“An agent once called me and said, ‘Take me shopping. I want to look like John Travolta in ‘Get Shorty,’ ” says costume designer Betsy Heimann, who also outfitted the motley gang in “Reservoir Dogs.” “He didn’t just want to look like him. He wanted to be that guy.”

And who hasn’t wanted to thieve an identity when the credits roll on a great character-driven film? The style movies that affect us most deeply are the ones that present a packaged identity. It’s not just the clothes and shoes that we covet. We want to dive inside the character headfirst and smirk like her or tango like him or even throw out a dirty frying pan instead of washing it, like Gena Rowlands did in “Gloria.” I did that once, imagining myself as a Cassavetes moll. I also bought knee-high leather boots, hot-rollered my hair and practiced flaring my nostrils like Julie Christie in “Don’t Look Now” -- just last month.

That’s the power of the movies we sought out for this list of 10 films that left us -- and still leave us -- style-struck. They’re the ones with a clear emphasis on the broader sense of style, a distinctiveness that has as much to do with subtext as surface. Designer clothes figure in a few movies. Others offer us the Pied Pipers of subcultures. One, a documentary about abject socialites, unintentionally redefines the rule of being stylish as “working with what you’ve got left in life.”

Wrapped in fantasy

Clothes don’t make the character, of course, but they’re a powerful talisman for the fantasy. Not that we could always slip right in. In the 1930s, dressing like the saucy socialites of screwball comedies -- the women in bias-cut silk gowns and dapper men in top hats -- was no mean feat.

“There wasn’t much money around, and the gap between the clothes on-screen and the clothes people were wearing was immense,” says film critic and author David Thomson. “Seeing a movie was a way to dip your toe vicariously into the great swimming pool of luxury. Back then, style hadn’t worked its way down to off the rack yet.” Meaning those sumptuous clothes were as out of reach as caviar.

Twenty years later, the economy was flush and the no-fuss looks in films couldn’t be easier to ape. Take Marlon Brando’s crisp white tee and cuffed jeans in 1953’s “The Wild One” or Elizabeth Taylor’s simple slip in “Butterfield 8” in 1960. “In the ‘50s, people were trying to find their identities through their clothes,” says Paul Duncan, editor of Taschen’s “Cinema Now” and “The Godfather Family Album.” “They were mixing classical with rebellious looks in movies, and everyone wanted to do that too.”

Brad Pitt’s red leather jacket in “Fight Club”? Uma Thurman’s white shirt and bangs in “Pulp Fiction”? Movie looks spread virally now, and cults of style multiply.

So keep in mind that picking the best style movies is as subjective as choosing flavors for a banana split. One gal’s “Network” is another woman’s “Working Girl.” Most people have a favorite era, when it comes to cinema style, that’s based on nostalgia or the period’s aesthetics. “Costume dramas are more influential to fashion designers than to the women in the street,” notes Andrew Bolton, curator of the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

How then to settle on a list of the 10 films that epitomize the power of style? We polled historians, critics, fashion designers, costumers, directors and any stylish dinner companions willing to weigh in. And we tried to reach beyond the films that come easily to mind -- because the world of great movie style is so much broader than “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” say, or “American Gigolo.”

The aim was to honor films that are sometimes overlooked. And, especially, the ones that made us identity thieves. “You can’t always predict which films will be influential in terms of style or fashion,” says Stella Bruzzi, author of “Undressing Cinema: Clothing and Identity in the Movies.” “It happens when the audience really wants to be that someone.”

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monica.corcoran@latimes.com

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Grace Kelly gets all the accolades for her chiffon confections in this frothy 1955 caper. But it’s Cary Grant, then 51, who steals the sartorial show. Alfred Hitchcock, a notorious style despot on all his films, allowed the actor to costume himself, which was unheard of until then. Grant spends much of the film, which is set in the South of France, in a jaunty striped sweat shirt that he outlandishly accessorizes with a red, polka-dotted bandanna tucked into the collar. “He was on the cusp of being dowdy, but he looks so great because he has such an ease and elegance,” says “Undressing Cinema” author Stella Bruzzi. “And it’s one of Hitchcock’s less complicated films, so you can focus on the style.”

Of course, Edith Head’s get-ups for Kelly -- from the icy blue chiffon dress to the legendary strapless white gown -- made headlines too. The costume designer introduced the actress to Hermes while shopping for the film’s wardrobe in Paris, and sparks flew. The French luxury house later named the Kelly bag after her.

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EYES OF LAURA MARS

Two models wearing sexy lingerie beneath full-length fur coats fight like hungry cheetahs, while their collided cars burn in New York’s Columbus Circle. A dream sequence? Nah. Just another decadent fashion shoot in “Eyes of Laura Mars,” a schlocky 1978 thriller beloved by fashion designers like Michael Kors and slaves to style. “It’s the core of that period’s fashion iconography,” says designer Jeremy Scott. “It’s absurd and dramatic, and high fashion had the license to be that.”

Faye Dunaway, playing a photographer who juxtaposes violence with vogue, stalks around in plaid capes, silk blouses and a different chapeau in every scene, thanks to costume designer Theoni Aldredge, who also oversaw the look of “Network” and won an Oscar for “The Great Gatsby.”

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GREY GARDENS

Necessity breeds ingenuity. “The best thing is to wear pantyhose or some pants under a short skirt, I think. And you can always take off the skirt and use it as a cape,” says Edie Beale, then 58, in the achingly tragic 1975 documentary “Grey Gardens.” Known as “Little Edie,” Beale, a first cousin of Jackie O., and her mother, “Big Edie,” lived in a decrepit, 28-room estate on Long Island and dined on crackers with cat food. Beale called clothes “costumes” and wore a silk head scarf like a diamond tiara with her moth-eaten mink coat and upside-down cashmere skirts.

“The film has been largely influential to designers like Marc Jacobs,” says Costume Institute curator Andrew Bolton. Same goes for John Galliano and Phillip Lim. The “Today” show even devoted a segment on how to get the Edie Beale look in 2007, after the doc was refashioned as a musical on Broadway. The takeaway? Anyone can buy fashion, but style is equal parts clothes and character.

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THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR

When Steve McQueen meets Faye Dunaway in “The Thomas Crown Affair,” he sizes up her punch bowl-sized black hat and mod mini-dress and asks: “Who do you work for? Bazaar? Vogue?” Enough said. Dunaway had 31 costumes in the sexy 1968 heist flick, thanks to costume designer Theadora Van Runkle. McQueen, working with Ron Postal, strode about in dapper three-piece suits, Persol tortoise sunglasses, which still sell well, and a Patek Philippe watch. “It sounds sophomoric, but seeing clothes that fit is so refreshing,” says designer Thom Browne of McQueen’s look.

Every scene merits a pause and ogle for the style-obsessed. And the haute bourgeoise aesthetic somehow managed to look hip. “When this movie came out, everyone was dressing down and the hippie, flower child look was pervasive,” says Patricia King Hanson of AFI. “Then, suddenly, Dunaway and McQueen were dressed to the nines and looked gorgeous.”

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ROSEMARY’S BABY

Mia Farrow first appears on-screen in the classic horror film “Rosemary’s Baby” as a virginal vision of 1960s chic in a lily-white baby-doll dress and pearl earrings, courtesy of costume designer Anthea Sylbert. “That intersection of the classic look with the perverse theme is what makes it so influential,” says fashion designer Kate Mulleavy. “We’re inspired by horror films when we design a collection because there are always political elements lurking in those movies.”

When the film debuted in 1968, Farrow’s adorable maternity mini-dresses had mothers-to-be hiking up their hemlines. But it was the legendary pixie cut in the movie that garnered the most attention. In the film, John Cassavetes -- as Farrow’s husband -- sees her new look and says, “I hope you didn’t pay for that.” Ha. Vidal Sassoon was actually paid $5,000 for the gamin chop that transformed Farrow into a style icon overnight.

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VALLEY GIRL

Along time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. . . . OK, it was, like, 1983 and the action took place in the nearby San Fernando Valley. But for a nation of teens -- who got their first glimpse of girls who worshiped the Galleria and screeched “Oh my God!” -- the vacuous “Valley Girl” subculture became a preferred lifestyle and put 818 on the map. So much so that MGM is doing a remake as a musical. (And never mind that ‘80s staples like headbands and geometrics are decidedly back.)

It was the modern take on Romeo and Juliet that gave both guys and girls a role model. There was Julie, with her asymmetrical sweat shirts and mirrored shades and Randy, a Hollywood punk with a predilection for skinny ties, red shirts and a fallen pompadour dyed orange. The film even had a costume jewelry consultant. And costume designer Sean Frye put the jerky, popular guy in a pink tuxedo for the prom.

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ANNIE HALL

“I love what you’re wearing,” neurotic Alvy Singer says to kooky Annie Hall in the breakthrough 1977 Woody Allen movie that launched a generation of cross-dressers. Diane Keaton -- in oversized khakis with a black vest and blue necktie -- made full-on androgyny a chic alternative to the era’s fixation on form-fitting disco wear and polyester pantsuits. Sure, ladies had borrowed from their brothers’ and beaus’ closets in the past. But filching the whole outfit? A first.

The story goes that Keaton showed up on the set wearing her own haberdashery, and costume designer Ruth Morley said: “Too crazy.” But Allen appreciated the unstudied look and, in the end, Ralph Lauren contributed key pieces. “The biggest fashion moments aren’t contrived,” says Patricia King Hanson of the American Film Institute. “It worked and made such an impact because it felt natural.” What also worked was Hall’s undeniable sex appeal in clothes that made her as shapely as a pup tent. Those ultra-tight Jordache jeans got shelved and that, alone, was liberating.

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IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE

Granted, Wong Kar-wai’s romantic film “In the Mood for Love” doesn’t directly offer a style icon. But this stunning paean to a traditional dress -- specifically, an elegant Chinese cheongsam -- shows the power of adopting a uniform and embracing austerity. (Just imagine wearing that beloved outfit that makes you seek out your reflection on elevator doors every single day.)

Actress Maggie Cheung as a mostly abandoned wife in Hong Kong in 1962, wafts from scene to scene in deliciously colorful variations of a figure-hugging cheongsam with its regal mandarin collar and dainty cap sleeves. “That dress. The style was so coherent,” says the Costume Institute’s Andrew Bolton.

Tellingly, the film’s art director and costumer William Chang tallied his personal wardrobe in 2006 as T-shirts, four pairs of jeans, four jackets and two pairs of shoes.

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RESERVOIR DOGS

“They had to look like French gangsters who got the look for less than $50,” says “Reservoir Dogs” costume designer Betsy Heimann, who bought the skinny suits, ties and white shirts at local thrift stores. The slow-motion scene in which the jittery thieves saunter down an L.A. street in ragtag formation showed off the nuances of their uniforms -- and it’s been copied and parodied countless times in films.

The movie’s director, Quentin Tarantino, cribbed the look from John Woo’s “The Killer.” And Woo copied the silhouette from Jean-Pierre Melville’s 1967 brilliant crime flick, “Le Samourai,” starring Alain Delon.

It still holds up, apparently. In October, a band of outlaw cops in Sydney, Australia, who dressed as the characters in black suits and sunglasses, were called out for excessive force. “If an action movie is doing its job, you should want to dress like the hero,” Tarantino once said. Or the anti-hero, for that matter.

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SHE’S GOTTA HAVE IT

The giant geek glasses. That ridiculous gold nameplate. Those unlaced Nike high-tops with lolling tongues. In “She’s Gotta Have It,” Spike Lee paid cinematic homage to the Brooklyn B-boy as Mars Blackmon, a lovable, scrawny gnat of a guy best known for his relentless refrain, “Please baby, please.”

Blackmon was so stylin’ and image conscious that he wouldn’t even shed his Nikes during sex. “Fifty-dollar sneakers and I got no job,” he announces in the 1986 indie film that led Lee to play his hip-hop alter ego for a lengthy stretch of hawking Nike Air Jordans alongside the basketball great in TV ads.

Two decades later, you see cool cats Andre 3000, Pharrell Williams and Kanye West co-opting the bespectacled underdog look. Lee has said the pop culture icon came from his imagination but “was probably a lot of me.”