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Reviews Counted: 10
Fresh: 3
Rotten:7
Average Rating: 4.2/10
Consensus: Self absorbed piece of Warhol/New York art scene cine-marginalia, which probably should have stayed exactly that, seeing as no-one seems to remember a great deal about the time anyway.
Contemporary footage of various pseuds, wannabe artists and hangers-on fails to establish what made any of them interesting in the first place, and if you don't revere the cult of Warhol, the entire project looks quite pointless.
I start to think there should be a charity called Amnesia International, which compels forgetfulness in former hangers-out with Andy Warhol.
This documentary about the Big Apple’s artistic community in the Seventies and Eighties makes the Black Hole Of Calcutta seem more enticing.
But some are capable of articulacy and Bertoglio provides the odd ghostly image: primarily, middle-aged fashionista Wendy Whitelaw, who sprays her suburban lawn in regulation Factory chic. The happy ending is welcome, too.
Arty-farty, cheap and dreary, Edo Bertoglio’s post-mortem of New York’s Seventies creative in-crowd is exactly the sort of self-absorbed guff that makes people glad to be square.
The film is flatly shot, as though to illustrate the dimensional difference between stills photography and cinematography.
Top Critic Drugs and Aids have wiped most of these memories away. But the film is at a loss what to do about it.
Top Critic What should be an intriguing look back at an exciting period in New York's cultural history becomes a scrappy, self-involved, and not-that-informative documentary.
Regrettably, the film’s intended air of melancholy is all but annulled by Bertoglio’s wan, haughty and utterly pretentious narration about how wonderful New York was at that time.
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