Over the weekend I was blessed enough to see a few remarkable events held in Melbourne as part of the International Arts Festival, going on here at the moment.
On Friday night, I caught Dean and Britta's 13 Most Beautiful... Andy Warhol's Screen Tests at the Malthouse Theatre. The show was captivating, utilising a four piece band playing compositions to thirteen of Warhol's iconic and legendary screen tests. I walked away just feeling enormously fortunate to have witnessed the performance. For one, it was an absolute treat being able to see some of the screen tests played on a big screen. Secondly, of course, it was a privilege watching Dean and Britta, and their accompanying band perform live. To mix them both together was enticing, but also moving in a way I hadn't expected.
I'd read numerous times before the formidable influence The Velvet Underground had on Dean and Britta, and when I heard about this show, it made obvious sense that the whole Warhol/Factory scene held great interest and meaning for them both as well. And why wouldn't it?! For those of us looking back on the era with a false and non-existent nostalgia, the whole scene surrounding Warhol is both confusing and compelling. Most of his Superstars embodied the notion of burning and fading out, their hyperactive entry into adulthood and the cultural scene cut short by their passion for staying awake and fitting as much craziness in as they possibly could. With it, comes that fatalistic legend that fascinates so many of us so much. It's that same myth that attracts a lot of us to rock and roll; the darker side of existence being let out into the open, being embraced by a select few. And it's probably one of the main reasons myths like Warhol's Factory scene still endures so strongly.
Dean and Britta brought sensitive life to each four minute portrait. At times it seemed as if it were beautifully choreographed, like in the fascinating screen test of Edie Sedgwick, where the lyrics and her actions - a slight smile in the corners of her mouth - seemed to merge completely for a moment.
I was so captivated by the seamlessness of each composition with each piece of film, I would gladly attend another performance again. Dennis Hopper's four minute showcase made me realise he would have been an ideal candidate to play Neal Cassady at that age. Lou Reed proved his authentic 'fuck you' nonchalance once again wearing his impenetrable sunglasses, sucking down a bottle of Coke. Over the top, the band performed an apt Velvet Underground cover.
My favourite piece of the evening accompanied Billy Name's screen test. Primitive tambourine beats dominated a wonderful instrumental piece, the camera lens reflecting off his aviator sunglasses. Next in line would have to be Freddy Herko's moment. His short, tragic, speed-dominated life was told before the piece began, and throughout, you could feel the tension scoping through his face and neck. And slowly the camera would pan to the left, where he'd move his arm so fluidly, dancing with his cigarette. Magical.
On Saturday I headed to ACMI to attend a Micheal Auder film, Chelsea Girls with Andy Warhol, a 1 hour and something collage from the reels and reels of film Auder had acquired of Warhol and his extended entourage between 1971 and 1976. It was messy and incoherent, but there was something ironically fascinating about it. It was a short glimpse of Warhol in his ridiculous everyday element, and it sort of gave his own brand of voyeurism - which was a factor in both his success and his legend - to the audience. Most people in the cinema didn't seem to appreciate it, and a lot walked out. It was gritty, self-edited, pure voyeurism; video tapes of Brigid Berlin and Viva having phone conversations with Andy, footage from personal photo shoots and visits to the Factory, mostly incoherent visuals taken from a party at John Lennon and Yoko Ono's apartment in the Dakota building. Like I mentioned before, having only been born four years before his death, it's hard to gauge just who Andy Warhol was - not necessarily his true self (his 'friends' didn't even know that), but besides the Campbell soup cans and day-glo Marilyn Monroes, the silver wig and the embrace of indulgence around him, what did this guy do? These tapes actually took away that enlarged and convoluted myth, and in no way was he vulnerable or genuine, but he was as those closest to him knew him as. Fascinating.
Playing next was an film credited to Warhol himself - The Velvet Underground and Nico. And dear lord, this absolutely alienated the audience. It's a legendary piece of film, the best visual record of the Velvet Underground from the 60s in existence. For those unfamiliar with it, it's 70 minutes of the band playing, non-stop, mixed with ambitious, I guess you'd say experimental camera techniques from whoever was shooting. I was really getting into it, and it was my most anticipated show at the festival... Enjoying it immensely until the lights went up and the emergency alarm went off, and the whole theatre was evacuated. There was this collective sigh of relief from a big portion of the audience - some expressing their gratitude at the alarm more vocally... I'm not sure what they were expecting, perhaps some kind of coherent documentary or live footage of the band. I thought what I saw was incredible though, it was the closest I'd ever get to what the band were actually like in 1966 - a complete capture of a moment in time.
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