Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Saw "Factory Girl"---what a load of crap

I have to put "Factory Girl", about Warhol associate Edie Sedgwick, in about the same category as "Die Hard" in terms of artistic quality. It's told as if from the perspective of a thirteen year old boy who just found out about Warhol. Virtually everything about it was either cartoonish, unrealistic, at odds with published accounts about what these people were like, oversimplified, over glamourized for no good reason, a movie that would do better as a promotional video for a cruise line, what else?

I can picture a kid masturbating to the idea of Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick as he writes a script for his English class, and coming up with this.

Probably made by a fucker from NYU film school. But that's another story.

The drug use was unrealistic, the film makers didn't seem to understand what Pop Art was about, they shifted around the time line of events to suit their story, they made Sedgwick the victim of everyone yet have her at the end take responsability for everything.

Bob Dylan comes off in a totally unrealistic way. Dylan is The Voice Of Truth and "genuineness" against Warhol's supposed phoniness. Never mind that at the point when Dylan knew Sedgwick he had abandoned the folk scene, abandoned traditional folk music almost entirely for a rock and roll electric sound, and was in fact mixing with just the people in the uptown crowd that he's seen deriding in the film. Talk about phony.

Oh, and the working class Dylan. Yeah. Dylan got a pink convertable from his father when he was sixteen, which he crashed, whence he got a motorcycle from said father. If you believe that Bob Dylan came from a general background where he was one of 'the folk' you'll believe that he rode box cars all over the country and lived in South Dakota and Texas growing up.

Avoid the movie---Read "Popism", by Andy Warhol, where they lifted a lot of the dialogue verbatim from.

1 comment:

Anna Aniston said...

I once read a book about Andy Warhol. It would've been quite interesting if the author didn't feel the need to mention that Andy was "an ugly homosexual" every few paragraphs.

I persevered for several chapters because I was a naive 15 year old who wanted to know about modern art... but all I got out of that book was a frustrated rant to my mum along the lines of "why does it matter so much that he was gay and ugly? Why why why?".

Urgh.