New Review! FACTORY GIRL (2006, dir. George Hickenlooper)

Making art is a dirty business. And it's kind of great to see a movie that attempts to showcase that. I found myself liking parts of Factory Girl for the same reasons I found myself liking most of Basquiat because its like playing paperdolls with the entourage of Andy Warhol.

EDIE DOLL: Isn't it all so fabulous?

WARHOL DOLL: I think you're gonna be really famous.

BASQUIAT DOLL: I use a lot of colors not just black.

EDIE DOLL: YOU STOLE MY SOUL!!!

There's even a similar confrontation scene at Mr. Chow's (or some place like that) where our tear-streamed waifish heroine bobbles and thrashes like the Michael Wincott did in Schnabel's movie. Vengeful used-kleenexes trying to punch the noses who blew them. That was a heavy handed metaphor. Kind of like THIS MOVIE! But honestly, what more is there say about the myths and the legends that emerged from the Factory. They were so squeezed and scruntized for their impact on the zeigeist at the time. Now... I mean, there's nothing more to say about them. So why not parade them around in fictional situations? In cool outfits? And trendy drug problems?

Unlike Schnabel who, like, hung out with Warhol, Hickenlooper reaks of fat kid who's DYING to be Warhol's friend. The film, in hindsight, feels a little like leg-humping. Now I'm not really going to begrudge this and here's why. Having worked in Hollywood for a couple of years, I've come to the realization that whether it's Hollywood now or the art scene 50 years ago, it is pretty much high school. Some people may scoff at Factory Girl's superficiality with scenes that recall the lunch table showdowns of 10th grade. But to those scoffers I say "Hold on now! I guarantee you it was this catty and hollow."

If you're anything like me, and you feel completely isolated by people who are "doing movies" or "making art" in their pseudo-intellectual circle of friends (or murder of crows), you can be prickled by things like Factory Girl or attending Tisch School of the Arts. You start to wonder if there really is an artistic Valhalla like the one you lusted after in the pages of coffee table books and the choppy montage scenes of biopics. Is it just people trying to out-cool each other? People sleeping with people because of how cool the other person makes them look? The film's moral seems to be that when the illusive germ of "fame" is hanging in the ether... No one's art, no matter how compelling, can make one immune to the vanity or the bitterness that springs from comparing yourself to others...

Not even Dylan! Dylan played by Hayden Christensen that is. Wow. End of the world. I really loved Sienna Miller in moments. There is an opening shot of her that's pretty haunting. I think she was terribly directed but anyone who is that willing to throw themselves into a role is a good actress. Even if she's a reckless one. Guy Pearce is a pretty awesome Andy Warhol despite the fact that the movie has to villianize him in order to scare up a plot. This role and his in The Proposition earlier this year add fuel to the fire stared by L.A. Confidential. His closing moment is just as haunting as the Edie opener. Get it? Neither do I.

Bottom Line: An empty movie about empty people pleased with their own emptiness. You'll enjoy if you're in an empty mood.