Flesh (1968)

Good concept, poorly executed.

Simple and well acted, it has tension enough to knot the stomach.

The movie really just wants to entertain people.

One of the best movies of the year! Incredible from the beginning to the end.

As a fan of Warhol/Morrisey/Factory Superstars, I enjoyed watching a movie that starred the people I've read about for years. It may not be for everyone. The story & acting is not the best. Joe Dallesandro comes off as so innocent & endearing that it's worth it to me. For any fan of the genre, Joe's or Warhol, this is a must see. There is a trilogy Flesh, Trash & Heat. In this movie, Joe plays a hustler trying to earn money for his demanding wife played by Geraldine Smith, which in real live Joe had an affair with, even though he was married at the time. Patti D'Arbanville makes a short appearance as well as Joe's real life brother Bob (who died a couple of years later). Take it for what it is, a quickly made art film starring very young "superstars" who did not think that this many years later people would still be viewing the film.

A heap of human flesh lies asleep on a red pillow. This is the hunk of naked meat that is "Little Joe", a New York hustler who lives with his bisexual wife and baby child. The film follows a day in his life, after he's woken from sleep by his wife demanding that he go out and do the traditional male thing - be a breadwinner. But the use she wants to put the bread to is to pay for her new girlfriend's abortion. We certainly aren't in the traditional family unit here...After playing with his child, Joe hits the streets to cruise for johns. The clients come thick and fast: the ordinary gay man who wants to meet him again because they "work well together", the old English classical scholar who pays $100 to see Joe pose like an ancient Greek athlete; the female topless dancer who blows Joe then boasts about being raped; the ageing gym bunny who doesn't think that what he and Joe do together is queer. After a hard day's work, Joe returns home exhausted, only to be put down by his wife and the girlfriend. He goes back to sleep as they harp and undermine him.Flesh is fascinating as it takes what is a traditional classical mainstream structure - it has an inciting incident (the money for the abortion) and set-up, a confrontation and a resolution (albeit a very downbeat one), even a protagonist with a strongly motivated goal, and then proceeds to concentrate on the details of the day to day routine of these people who are perfectly ordinary to themselves but extraordinary to most "mainstream" people. It all seems very authentic and natural - it's hard to see the acting, the actors are so fully being their roles - but yet the whole thing is a piece of cunning artifice - a beautifully drawn portrait or an intricately carved statue. Director Morrissey carefully plants every incident, every encounter around his theme of human flesh become packaged commodity but with such cunning slight of hand that you almost don't notice him doing it. The wife "packages" Joe's sexual organ, the old Englishmen laments a long gone order of classical beauty which created art and poetry from human fleshly beauty, the transvestite friends of the stripper package themselves as women whilst reading a Hollywood magazine in which "real" women are packaged as products; the gym bunny buys Joe's friendship and affection, thinks artificial porn is real and can't tell, as we can't, that Joe is performing his friendship and intimacy for the cash. The film itself presents itself as the ne plus ultra of cinematic realism but what we might as well be dealing with here is fine art or an early example of concept art.The genius - a word not lightly used - of Morrissey was to find a way of taking Warhol's arty pretensions to film-making, which were interesting sure but boring as hell, and making them into saleable products which remain amongst the most intriguing works of cinema art ever made - commercial cans labelled "Flesh" and "Trash" and "Heat" with a product label - "Andy Warhol" - which sells an idea about the product as much as the product itself. Yet just as you reel from Morrissey's cynicism, you are spellbound by his ability to still maintain the highest of standards and depth of meaning. The constant what seem like camera flashes continually draw attention to the filmic nature of what one is witnessing, yet you get drawn into the illusion all the same - Flesh is surely one of the most extraordinary pieces of cinema magic to ever spellbind an audience.

In a lot of ways this film defines the essence of everything I love about cinema, in terms of capturing those strange, elusive moments of unguarded truth. In other ways, it is undeniably an amateurish, unfocused result of junkies self-indulgently fooling around with a camera. Ultimately it comes out somewhere between pure brilliance and unwatchability (thankfully much more so the former than the latter). Part of me wants to reward it solely for it's absolute innovativeness and moments of pure sublimity, but at the same time I can't completely ignore the occasionally downright awful "acting" and overtly bad production values. At first the editing seems overwhelmingly sloppy and needlessly distracting (or maybe just wrongheadedly "innovative"), but after a while I got used to it, which is, in the end, the true sign of whether a film succeeds on it's own terms or not. I guess that answer basically sums up my all-around feelings for the film. That is, despite it's in-ignorable flaws, on a whole it does work very well. And, if nothing else, a film like this really shows how false and contrived the faux-documentary, shaky-cam style can sometimes be when it so obviously applied purely for effect (such as in films like the otherwise admirable Roger Dodger). Here the aesthetics are plainly derived from the necessities of the filming situation, and are not just used arbitrarily to make it look "cool".

Flesh is the first film of a trilogy by Paul Morrissey and Andy Warhol, and is perhaps the first attempt to create an icon of desire out of a male leading role. Although the film is focused on an uncomplicated character development of Joe (Joe Dallesandro), a gentle and subtly unhappy hustler, it depicts him as a passive and ambivalent object, who, in spite of a semi-evident sense of self-control, is possessed, shaped, and evaluated entirely by others. Joe is a young and somewhat naive Adonis who exudes comfort and beauty in his independence, but he works the streets to support his lesbian wife and her girlfriend. He is restlessly bored by an artist/customer's speeches on Greek athletic sculpture and 'body worship', but he sells his nudity anyway. He regards the increasing advances of his homosexual friend with ambivalence, but lets them happen nonetheless. This passivity dominates the film and succeeds in creating a visceral element to Dallesandro's appeal: not only is he desired, he is had.Perhaps the film's most interesting element is the balance of its obviously experimental nature with its palpable directness. The snappy editing and fragmented dialogue make it fresh and 'real', yet it manages not to rely on the clichéd abstractness of art-films. It is rough, and indeed a weaker effort than Trash or Heat, but nonetheless presents a collection of perfectly plausible characters in a light of almost absolute neutrality.