Lonesome Cowboys

I thought it was pretty funny, a little dirty, but funny. Taylor Mead's so giddy and girlish, he really makes the movie worth watching. Joe Dallesandro has a small role, but does a hilarious dance scene with Mead! The songs are good too! Who knew Eric Emerson could sing?

This is practically a vignette of the lives of some 'cowboys' in Nowhere, Arizona and a 'married' couple whom they met. In the arid weather, they talk and mess around and lives on.

I personally love this films. I think Trash and Flesh has a similar aesthetic in that it borders into incoherence. Its a free form narrative. Its like visual stream of consciousness. Morrissey happens to have his camera on, with the smallest inputs to their character. He just let his actors speak with almost no direction. The structure here is not what drives the film but MOMENTS. Its is a high risk , high reward film style that I can only described as a Abercrombie commercial meets Kenneth Anger.

And it works. The film's success is heavily lifted by the charms of it actors, led by Viva, Tom Hompertz (who out sleazed everyone even the latter) and Joe. They are not the best actors but they have natural magnetism and quirky disposition. With the aid by Morrisey's janky but weirdly effective editing style, they become stars you cannot just look away.

In my eyes, it just feels so alive. Its so uniquely different but it never bores me. I do get why people might hate it BUT I did it specifically for that. It moves when it needs to.

Morrisey clearly would shift towards more classical narrative in his later films BUT I always feel that this and the other films that precedes this are his masterpieces. Its a narrative style that I personally still think about everytime. I still think that it precursors Akerman's Je Tu Il Elle and the slow cinema movement of the coming years.

Leather chaps, stetsons and tassled jackets never did it for me, so I have always been avoiding western bars, western movies and western clothes. Too alien, too rural, too American. Every time I have been to America - only twice for more than one night's stay - it has been a disappointing and depressing experience: I've encountered far more snobbery and contempt for the way I looked, dressed or talked in the USA than at any time in so-called class-ridden, uptight and elitist Britain. And this was not in some forsaken prairie in Wyoming, but in "urbane bohemian" lower Manhattan and "the centre of the gay universe", the Castro. Wearing cameo gear and sporting a shaved head was not de rigueur there during the late 1980s - too subcultural, too fetishistic, whatever, it fitted in badly in those rigid beige compartments: the clone look, the western look, the preppy look. Unlike nowadays of course, when even women are starting to complain their men look gay: a Marine haircut, square-jawed and blockheaded. But despite all this invasion of gay looks, styles and sense (more queer eye - the Ivorean, Tongan or Uzbek editions, anyone?) into the cultural mainstream, radical gender or sex politics, as in wrestling with icons and meaning, is out, and "culture wars" and marriage aspirations are in.

Liberating male iconography from its perceived sexual orientation - as in all cowboys, soldiers, oil men and sports stars are straight and you mess with that at your own risk - has been Mark Simpson's major theme in his columns, books and commentary. So when he reviewed the latest Hollywood attempt to convince middle America there is a love that dares not speak its name on the prairie, I had to sit up and take notice. I don't think I will rush to my local cinema to watch Brokeback Mountain any time soon.

I think I will stick with that absolutely wonderfully funny Andy Warhol movie Lonesome Cowboys instead: after watching that one in my youth I have to admit I tried a tassled jacket on for size.

This movie is great. Joe Dallesandro is young and full-on hot and sexy. The dialogue is pure camp. The performances are funny, goofy, and stupid. Totally crazy bordering on dumb scenes. Similar in style and feel to a pre-Pink Flamingo John Waters low budget film. At times you'll wonder how in the hell they ever got it made, or why they bothered to spend time on the project. Ultimately, you appreciate the time piece that it represents. These artists and the works they produced were the "burning bush" to that era's counter-culture Moses. Irreverent and living out of bounds.

I had heard of this movie and was expecting something artistic and unique. It was absolutely devoid of artistry and the only thing unique about it is that it stands out as probably the worst film I have ever seen.

It was just plain sloppy on every level of film making possible: camera work, editing, sound editing, acting, cinematography...any aspect of movie making found it's low point in this film. The plot is utter crap, with explicit homosexual overtures that are simply lewd. Warhol does not even attempt to portray sexuality (homo or hetero) as anything more than indiscriminate slut-dome. And for that it's not even erotic!

This flick is utterly worthless and there's a reason why no one would distribute it and there are so few copies of it out there.