Andy Warhol's 1966 underground classic Chelsea Girls is a hipster's practical joke, on par with elementary school playground antics of "made you look." Since there's little to no story to speak of (inhabitants in a hotel during Chelsea of the '60s), omnipresenting the layout provides more information.
The setup is dual 16mm projectors screening primarily completely separate rooms and situations. The movie starts out with Nico in her kitchen with her son (presumably) and another guy. At some point, on screen left, Ondine on a chair/coach with a woman and thus begins a 3 and half hour movie experience you won't soon forget nor get over. As one reel ends, another begins. From what I read online, the sequence was left to the discretion of the theater, so one could argue seeing once is not the same experience as seeing again. Although regardless of sequencing, I don't see my opinion changing greatly.
Rene Ricard, who stars in the film, though I didn't recognize him while watching, hosted the film at Anthology Film Archives. He started discussing it shortly after the 7:30PM mark, but when asked to take advantage of the mic, he refused and continued sitting on the other side of the screen, which presented a minor problem for listening to him. Any coughs, sneezes, laughs or other interruptions, interfered with deciphering what was said. His backstory regarding the creation of the film and it's people was more rewarding than the picture itself. Some of the seats had name notes attached for reserved seating. I thought I saw one say Julian Schnabel and from the other reserves, they all seemed to know each other as they engaged before showtime. Lou Reed entered during Ricard's introduction.
In a well structured film, scenes are like dominoes, one setting up the next. Structure is Warhol's least concern. Neither are any of the other filmmaker techniques. The sound throughout the film is deplorable and mostly unintelligible. Some sequences are more understandable than others, but aside for Mary Woronov saying "Shut up!" repeatedly and Ondine outraged at being called a "phony", the majority of dialogue is lost. The lighting is either over or under exposed. The sets are marginal. The film is mostly b&w, but there are some color segments. The camera-work was an experiment in itself with all the focusing/unfocusing and zooming in and out. Whoever was working the camera, Andy or Paul Morrissey, I would completely believe it was their first day with the equipment and were literally asking themselves "what does this do?" during shooting. The Velvet Underground provided music accompaniment during segments.
But does any of that matter? Warhol's work speaks for himself. He obviously could care less about any of those above factors. He was interested in personalities. It's been argued his greatest accomplishment wasn't any film or painting he ever did, but the hype he created around himself. The people he surrounded himself with. If you have interesting enough people, it really doesn't matter what they do or how they are presented. He associated himself with some very provocative characters, i.e. Jackie Curtis, one of my favorites of Warhol's scene. Women In Revolt is a much more compelling film for her.
The movie fails because not everyone is interesting enough to stand the test of time when the viewer isn't on the inside. Because the movie is like a big inside joke. If you know who these people are, especially so I imagine if you personally had a relationship with them while alive, this makes for an enjoyable home movie memento. From that perspective, I completely get the allure. As an outsider, in the last hour plus, I kept hoping the end of a reel would not be the start of another. Sometimes it works, i.e. Nico (in color) at the end. She isn't saying or doing anything, it's just a closeup of her. She is interesting enough without anything going on. The fault of other segments are their stars, like the guy talking about sweat: I wanted to take a hammer to my head while he rambled on.
The film becomes a challenge as to how long you can stand it and will you exit prematurely. The presentation had a healthy turnout, with close to a sold out show. The film went beyond the time allotment, not helped due to screening malfunctions. After a few unintended hiccups, the film was stopped for 10 or so minutes to correct the power supply issue. Lou Reed seemed to start the trend of audience members leaving early and left shortly after the first Nico reel. During the course of the movie, many followed, specifically those with reserved seats, which I found humorous, since I imagined many of these people had some artistic relationship to those on screen. By the official end of the movie, there were less than 12 people left, including myself and it was midnight. The last 10 minutes or so was ambient music playing with nothing on screen.
Other than bragging rights about how "I saw this in a theater", I can't stress enough that this film is purely for those obsessed with either Warhol or his screen Droogs. If this movie was uncovered by space aliens or future humans with zero knowledge of Andy Warhol or his troupe, it wouldn't get a second thought. The prestige lies in the hype. There is definitely a new audience for this movie: It's called the "you didn't get it" crowd. It's garbage for garbage's sake landfill fodder you are more than welcome to swim in.
Arguably, Chelsea Girls predates reality TV by decades. On that account, it's very interesting to watch. Making people be themselves in forced situations and just do. By all means, honor Warhol with being a man ahead of his time. I'd rather be in a league with Orson Welles' legacy, ahead of his time for technical prowess and ingenuity; Rather than Warhol for tedious self-indulgent bunk.
The setup is dual 16mm projectors screening primarily completely separate rooms and situations. The movie starts out with Nico in her kitchen with her son (presumably) and another guy. At some point, on screen left, Ondine on a chair/coach with a woman and thus begins a 3 and half hour movie experience you won't soon forget nor get over. As one reel ends, another begins. From what I read online, the sequence was left to the discretion of the theater, so one could argue seeing once is not the same experience as seeing again. Although regardless of sequencing, I don't see my opinion changing greatly.
Rene Ricard, who stars in the film, though I didn't recognize him while watching, hosted the film at Anthology Film Archives. He started discussing it shortly after the 7:30PM mark, but when asked to take advantage of the mic, he refused and continued sitting on the other side of the screen, which presented a minor problem for listening to him. Any coughs, sneezes, laughs or other interruptions, interfered with deciphering what was said. His backstory regarding the creation of the film and it's people was more rewarding than the picture itself. Some of the seats had name notes attached for reserved seating. I thought I saw one say Julian Schnabel and from the other reserves, they all seemed to know each other as they engaged before showtime. Lou Reed entered during Ricard's introduction.
In a well structured film, scenes are like dominoes, one setting up the next. Structure is Warhol's least concern. Neither are any of the other filmmaker techniques. The sound throughout the film is deplorable and mostly unintelligible. Some sequences are more understandable than others, but aside for Mary Woronov saying "Shut up!" repeatedly and Ondine outraged at being called a "phony", the majority of dialogue is lost. The lighting is either over or under exposed. The sets are marginal. The film is mostly b&w, but there are some color segments. The camera-work was an experiment in itself with all the focusing/unfocusing and zooming in and out. Whoever was working the camera, Andy or Paul Morrissey, I would completely believe it was their first day with the equipment and were literally asking themselves "what does this do?" during shooting. The Velvet Underground provided music accompaniment during segments.
But does any of that matter? Warhol's work speaks for himself. He obviously could care less about any of those above factors. He was interested in personalities. It's been argued his greatest accomplishment wasn't any film or painting he ever did, but the hype he created around himself. The people he surrounded himself with. If you have interesting enough people, it really doesn't matter what they do or how they are presented. He associated himself with some very provocative characters, i.e. Jackie Curtis, one of my favorites of Warhol's scene. Women In Revolt is a much more compelling film for her.
The movie fails because not everyone is interesting enough to stand the test of time when the viewer isn't on the inside. Because the movie is like a big inside joke. If you know who these people are, especially so I imagine if you personally had a relationship with them while alive, this makes for an enjoyable home movie memento. From that perspective, I completely get the allure. As an outsider, in the last hour plus, I kept hoping the end of a reel would not be the start of another. Sometimes it works, i.e. Nico (in color) at the end. She isn't saying or doing anything, it's just a closeup of her. She is interesting enough without anything going on. The fault of other segments are their stars, like the guy talking about sweat: I wanted to take a hammer to my head while he rambled on.
The film becomes a challenge as to how long you can stand it and will you exit prematurely. The presentation had a healthy turnout, with close to a sold out show. The film went beyond the time allotment, not helped due to screening malfunctions. After a few unintended hiccups, the film was stopped for 10 or so minutes to correct the power supply issue. Lou Reed seemed to start the trend of audience members leaving early and left shortly after the first Nico reel. During the course of the movie, many followed, specifically those with reserved seats, which I found humorous, since I imagined many of these people had some artistic relationship to those on screen. By the official end of the movie, there were less than 12 people left, including myself and it was midnight. The last 10 minutes or so was ambient music playing with nothing on screen.
Other than bragging rights about how "I saw this in a theater", I can't stress enough that this film is purely for those obsessed with either Warhol or his screen Droogs. If this movie was uncovered by space aliens or future humans with zero knowledge of Andy Warhol or his troupe, it wouldn't get a second thought. The prestige lies in the hype. There is definitely a new audience for this movie: It's called the "you didn't get it" crowd. It's garbage for garbage's sake landfill fodder you are more than welcome to swim in.
Arguably, Chelsea Girls predates reality TV by decades. On that account, it's very interesting to watch. Making people be themselves in forced situations and just do. By all means, honor Warhol with being a man ahead of his time. I'd rather be in a league with Orson Welles' legacy, ahead of his time for technical prowess and ingenuity; Rather than Warhol for tedious self-indulgent bunk.
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