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When I was thirteen or so, my movie tastes were pretty simple. I was just starting to get into movies at that time, but there was one thing that was a hallmark of a good film to me: Boobies. I didn’t appreciate things like expertly crafted dialog, breathtaking cinematography, or brilliantly nuanced acting. I liked movies with boobs, preferably big ones. Now, I didn’t go extolling the virtues of Shannon Tweed’s oeuvre (that came a couple of years later, in a rather tongue in cheek fashion), or praising Andy Sidaris’ softcore movies about busty law enforcement-y types fighting crimes and fucking everyone in Hawaii (what, you don’t remember Hard Ticket to Hawaii?) This newfound appreciation for softcore porno and erotic thrillers coincided directly with my stepfather’s decision to scrap HBO for Cinemax to save a buck or two on the cable bill. Thanks to that decision I lost Kids in the Hall and innumerable stand-up comedy specials, and I was left with a wide variety of shitty movies that I had never experienced before. And I figured out if I stayed up just a little bit later on Friday nights that I would see boobies galore. This could be the reason that I’m a night owl today.

Now that I’m a world-weary man of thirty, my movie tastes are a bit more refined. I don’t care for any one particular kind of movie, I just like them good (and calamitously bad, as it were). Many of my favorite movies feature no nudity at all, if you’d believe that. But I think I finally reached the point that even a bad movie can’t be saved by a healthy rack. Case in point, the object of my poison pen today, Factory Girl.

Factory Girl chronicles the rise and fall of Edie Sedgwick, one of Andy Warhol’s model/actress types that was the toast of New York in the mid-sixties. You could even say she was the brightest star of the bunch. Sedgwick was a trust-fund socialite that was drawn to the Factory’s art scene and became a star in her own right, until drugs became her undoing. Sienna Miller, tabloid diva, fashion whore, and all around pretty lady, plays Sedgwick with a tremendous depth and emotion that was a very pleasant surprise. Perhaps it’s her own ties to the modern day cult of celebrity that allowed her to connect with the role of a sixties tabloid diva, fashion whore and all around pretty lady, but she really knocks it out of the park in this movie.

Sedgwick starts off as an idealistic college student, ready for her big trip to New York City to make a name for herself with her art. She goes with her friend Chuck, played by motherfucking Jimmy Fallon, who I think is a no-talent ass clown and even thinking about his face makes me cuss in my head. And it’s a good thing Fallon is a real assbag in this movie, so I don’t have to pretend to like him.

After being in the city for a little while, Sedgwick and Fallon get to meet the man himself, Andy Warhol, played by Guy Pearce. Warhol is instantly taken with Sedgwick, and the rest, as they say, is history, or at least a gaudy version of it. He puts her in his movie/art projects and together they become the toast of New York, the king and queen of the pop art scene. During this time Sedgwick gets involved with drugs and her trust fund starts dwindling thanks to her extravagant spending and bankrolling of Warhol’s projects. You get the sense that Warhol wasn’t exactly the most swell cat while watching this movie. He seems manipulative and greedy and willing to do anything and use anyone to maintain his fame.

In the midst of this, an old friend introduces her to Not Bob Dylan. I say it’s “Not Bob Dylan” because they never refer to him as Bob Dylan, even though he’s supposed to be Bob Dylan. How do I know this? Well, aside from history, he’s wearing a harmonica around his neck when they meet. He goes on stage and you can tell he’s kind of a big deal. These are the only clues, because Hayden Christensen plays him, and that guy sucks rocks at acting. Apparently he never heard of Bob Dylan or did any studying of his speech or anything, because he sounds nothing like him and acts nothing like what we’ve seen in Dylan footage of that era. He’s pretty much Anakin Skywalker with funny hair and a harmonica around his neck.

The film portrays this relationship in a fairly ambiguous light, which is good for Christensen since he can only act one way, arrogant, but is a turning point in the drama. As their relationship intensifies, Warhol grows more and more jealous. His affection for Sedgwick at first seems very genuine, which is weird since that guy was mega-gay. Anywho, Warhol drops the bomb on her that Not Bob Dylan secretly got married and that’s when the shit hits the proverbial fan. Warhol, having used her for all he needed, delights in crushing her and quickly moves on to the next flavor of the month. More or less ostracized from the Factory, her trust fund tapped out, Sedgwick’s drug abuse increases and she wastes away into depravity and desperation.

The film closes with her in a clinic, presumably the Cottage Hospital where she rehabbed, and seeming to turn the page on a new and positive chapter of her life. This clinic setting is interspersed through the film, and gives you a ray of hope that everything’s going to turn out okay for Ms. Sedgwick. Then the on-screen narration says she died at the age of twenty-eight. Bummer.
 

Edie Sedgwick is a fascinating character, and would more than likely be more ubiquitous than Paris Hilton if she existed in our times. A rich girl that binds herself to a famous artist, gets fucked up all the time, dicks around with the biggest pop star of the time. Can you imagine? Sienna Miller plays the role with a depth of emotion that is wholly unexpected from someone who is known more for what she’s wearing than who she’s playing. And they’re virtually spitting images of each other. Whoever did the styling and the make-up deserves an Oscar. Sienna Miller is Edie Sedgwick in this movie.

Which one’s which? That’s Sienna on the bottom. How about them apples?

The story of Edie Sedgwick serves as a tremendous cautionary tale of the price some are willing to pay for celebrity, and what ultimate costs some pay, but something with this movie rings hollow. Perhaps it’s because everyone else’s acting in it is cruddy and unsympathetic.  The film looks cool and all, and you can sympathize with Sedgwick, but the whole of the movie feels labored. I checked the run time on it a few times throughout watching it, which is not a good sign. If you’re into the era, particularly the Warhol scene, then I’d say you should watch it, but anyone else would do well to stay away from this one.

Even a nude Sienna Miller in a few steamy scenes can’t really salvage this movie into something I’d recommend. I guess this is how it feels to be a grown-up.