Bash Compactor: Mad About Anger
Shut the fuck up! Julian Schnabel screamed from the stage of the sedate and swanky Hiro Ballroom. The crowd in the balcony had the nerve to chat during the nights program. The tickets were $100 per person, $500 a table for the Anthology Film Archives 40th anniversary benefit, called Return to the Pleasure Dome. I love it when an artist famed for smashing plates yells at big shots. Im known for temper tantrums myself.
Where the devil is the devil? I asked my friend Louis. Ive never seen Kenneth Anger in the flesh. I didnt know what to look for, although the notorious filmmaker and author of the Hollywood Babylon books was an important icon of my youth, for both his experimental films and his dishy but intensely intimate unearthing of Hollywood lore. Dont forget the supposed curses he put on naughty Marianne Faithful and Roger Ebert. I was on my best behavior; Ive already had had my share of bad luck.
It was fitting the Anthology people had snagged Anger as their special guest of honor for their gala. The Archives is a treasure trove of celluloid on First and First, where no film is too crazy or too obscure. Looking at the places schedule has always overwhelmed me with guilt. Skip that shit at the multiplexwe should all be going to Anthology Archives every damned day!
The entertainment of the night was definitely worth the three or four hours it took to unfold. The band Jihae was adorably trip-hoppy. The Virgins lead singer wore a retro pair of spandex shorts but by contrast his bands set was subdued. Sonic Youth, however, was cooking. Kim Gordon did the tango with her bass and Thurston Moore was flipping around his mop of hair like they did back when the headbangers had their own ball.
No pictures of Lou Reed, one of the PR people with a clipboard told me in a ferocious whisper. OK. But I think we should have a fundraiser in support of Lous facelift, I quipped. She smiled. Ignoring Reed wasnt much of a problem.
Cult writer Jonathan Shaw wandered by, his gold teeth gleaming in the dark. I just arrived off the plane from Brazil, he said, confirming my hunch that the freaks only come out at night for Kenneth Anger.
The man of the hour came out with Brian Butler for a set with their band Technicolor Skull. The music they made was, not surprisingly, dark and mystical, and while they played, Angers films flickered eerily on a screen and smoke floated over the stage. I could almost reach out and touch them but I didnt want to get burnt.