Documentary maker Shirley Clarke comes to Hollywood... finding nothing there .... to negotiate with a big studio about making a movie in which movie stars play themselves. Instead, she hangs out with three fringe actors while her agent negotiates with studio brass. All this is against the background of the Robert Kennedy assassination and the shooting of Andy Warhol.
It's an Agnes Varda movie, which means there is a sarcastic edge to the affair. The actors, part of Andy Warhol's coterie, perform their ad lib roles in a very artificial manner; Miss Clarke refuses to do a particular scene, so Miss Varda comes from behind the camera to do it herself. Only the agent and studio executive give realistic performances. For the rest of it, it seems, it's a movie about movie people trying to make a movie. It's endlessly recursive, and the failure of the project means that's this winds up being a movie about not making a movie. In the end, there is no movie, no studio making a movie, no Hollywood (beyond Larry Edmond's book shop), no Robert Kennedy, and very nearly no Andy Warhol or Shirley Clarke. It's a movie about nothing, except the lights and colors of Hollywood. It's an elaborately detailed travelogue, stretched out two hours, with beautiful people who are so shallow they might exist only on a flat movie screen.
It's an Agnes Varda movie, which means there is a sarcastic edge to the affair. The actors, part of Andy Warhol's coterie, perform their ad lib roles in a very artificial manner; Miss Clarke refuses to do a particular scene, so Miss Varda comes from behind the camera to do it herself. Only the agent and studio executive give realistic performances. For the rest of it, it seems, it's a movie about movie people trying to make a movie. It's endlessly recursive, and the failure of the project means that's this winds up being a movie about not making a movie. In the end, there is no movie, no studio making a movie, no Hollywood (beyond Larry Edmond's book shop), no Robert Kennedy, and very nearly no Andy Warhol or Shirley Clarke. It's a movie about nothing, except the lights and colors of Hollywood. It's an elaborately detailed travelogue, stretched out two hours, with beautiful people who are so shallow they might exist only on a flat movie screen.