by brenton crozier bdcrozier@gmail.com
Silver balloons and overflowing exploits of pop culture were merely minor backdrops and even props in George Hickenlooper’s Factory Girl. The story of Edie Sedgwick’s rise and fall is told from her counseling induced narrative after her time spent in New York City as the object of Andy Warhol’s obsession and Bob Dylan’s affection.
I can’t imagine a better rendering of Sedgwick than the one delivered by Sienna Miller. Her charisma is kinetic and captures the conduit that it must have took for a twenty something to win the brief but glaring spotlight of the art and fashion worlds. Andy Warhol is played with precision and even a bit of humor by Guy Pearce. Their performances are even more convincing when they are sharing the screen. It is easy to believe that she is the artificial blonde anima of his eye and he the iconoclast that she wants to absorb herself in.
The movie has a strong and stylish start as Edie relocates from a Cambridge art school to immerse herself into the NYC art scene. It is easy to fall in love with this curious and buoyant version of the girl who would soon be dubbed, although somewhat mockingly, a superstar. This part of the story is comfortably juxtaposed next to the exploration of Warhol’s work that created visceral reaction from both sides of the spectrum. It was an interesting look into the sexually charged, industrial atmosphere of The Factory where Warhol worked and artistic miscreants played.
As Sedgwick falls into the shadows of the speed scene, the swank luster and storyline take a plunge down a clichéd spiral right along with her. The Bob Dylan character that the real Dylan insisted be called Billy Quinn, enters the story and an undercurrent of blame and crookedness shifts towards the conniving Warhol. Hayden Christensen, who looks the part but fails to fully fill out the character of Quinn, is introduced like an idealistic and poetic knight sent to save Sedgwick from the exploitive clutches of Warhol. The look into Warhol’s work and the scene that budded around him ended as quickly as Sedgwick’s sobriety.
Although the depiction of Sedgwick’s fall is not glossed over with psychedelic score and pop art montage, each scene simply becomes more difficult to watch than the one before it. The director could have left more to not only the imagination, but common sense. While you will have an infatuation for Sedgwick, or at least Miller’s depiction in smart haircut and black tights, you can’t help but feel that Hickenlooper has presented her as a lamb led to the slaughter by the cruel, calculating world of the New York City avant-garde spearheaded by Warhol.
This movie does have more than 15 good minutes and is carried on the backs of Miller and Pearce’s compelling performances. With better directorial decisions and less lampooning of Andy Warhol, Factory Girl could have been the art film that crossed a lot of borders and awakened at least a handful to go beyond their conceptual comfort zone. Instead, it will merely be another art film for a niche crowd.
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