Dazz wrote:lol I like Morrissey, he's a major troll, I question the Warhol devotees but also Morrissey (but Joe Dallesandro and Holly Woodlawn back him up on things), but side more with the latter as he's films are so much different to Warhols eariler ones.
what I understand is he came to the factory with ambitions of filmmaking, knowing he would be in Warhol's shadow and got frustrated with all the little things, not least of all being Andy's laissez faire attitude.
He was the true blooded filmmaker while Warhol was just a fashionable tourist, which is true, but rather than placating Warhos's ego, he allowed his own ego to feel caged by Warhol's shadow, and rather than trudging on and improving his skills as the world fawned over Andy's ridiculousness (you do know his films were just a joke to him, right?), he internalized it with an altogether too hasty quest for fame and became embittered.
With "Beethoven's Nephew", which I liked, he seemed to be integrating himself with more commercial filmmaking, which I believe he was ready for, at least technically, and I wonder why he didn't stay the course. Of course it could all be due to the perpetual uncertainty of a fledgling filmmaker's conduit to employment, or the stink of the miasma of Hollywood, but I wonder if it was this same bitterness that held him back and adhered him to his own personal vision, which is a fine thing, but also detrimental when you need the flexibility to balance yourself between underground filmmaking and more commercial avenues of expression.
BTW I
LOVE "Bad". And yes, Dallesandro would have been a far funnier foil to Caroll Baker than Perry King. My only complaint is that the tension between King and Baker's characters that was hinted at throughout the film never came to a head, it just sort of fizzled out. And the sort-of non-sequitur ending still confuses me. Was Susan Tyrell's final line ("Looks aren't everything") supposed to be profound or absurd?
I haven't watched "The Nude Restaurant" yet. It's been like 10 years since I got the set, and I still haven't braved them all. "Nude Restaurant" is awfully talky, and while I'm anxious to see more of Brigid Berlin (my favorite superstar), every time Taylor Mead opens his mouth I want to pour concrete in my ears and bash my head against a wall. Insufferable little f-aggot that he was.