I caught this one late at night on the culture channel and expected nothing much, except maybe a bit of skin, lots of artsy film student tomfoolery and wonky camera-work throughout. I thought I'd check out maybe 15 minutes of it so that I could make up my mind about it and then wipe it off my personal "things to do in this here life on earth"-slate. And then the film grabbed me, sucked me in and knocked me over.
OK, so this pic has the technical perfection of a VHS holiday video, and marketing it under the labels "art" and "Andy Warhol" might actually be more of a setback these days, but it's one hell of a movie. Just the characters are incredible, they are so raw it's almost painful to watch, like witnessing the divorce proceedings of an old couple. Take Pat Ast in the underpart as Lydia, the sexually predatory landlady: she is so hauntingly scary that I would prefer a blind date with Hannibal Lector over having to haggle her for the rent. Andrea Feldman as the psycho lolita brat is something else, I was very sad to learn that she committed suicide shortly afterwards; while she may be acting, when she's vying for Joey's attention or whining "I just want my money!" in a husky squeal, she gives you the impression that you couldn't fit a sheet of paper between her and her role. And I could heap equal praise on the other actors.
Forget all the gimmicky rigmarole about how little this movie cost to make, how it was being shot in just two weeks and all the other irrelevant gossip: this is great cinema, and Paul Morrissey did for a pittance what Hollywood so frequently fails to do for a budget that could send a man to Mars.
OK, so this pic has the technical perfection of a VHS holiday video, and marketing it under the labels "art" and "Andy Warhol" might actually be more of a setback these days, but it's one hell of a movie. Just the characters are incredible, they are so raw it's almost painful to watch, like witnessing the divorce proceedings of an old couple. Take Pat Ast in the underpart as Lydia, the sexually predatory landlady: she is so hauntingly scary that I would prefer a blind date with Hannibal Lector over having to haggle her for the rent. Andrea Feldman as the psycho lolita brat is something else, I was very sad to learn that she committed suicide shortly afterwards; while she may be acting, when she's vying for Joey's attention or whining "I just want my money!" in a husky squeal, she gives you the impression that you couldn't fit a sheet of paper between her and her role. And I could heap equal praise on the other actors.
Forget all the gimmicky rigmarole about how little this movie cost to make, how it was being shot in just two weeks and all the other irrelevant gossip: this is great cinema, and Paul Morrissey did for a pittance what Hollywood so frequently fails to do for a budget that could send a man to Mars.