"Factory Girl" affords more fame to Warhol muse

Some of the changes might have to do with Bob Dylan’s objections to the original script and threatened legal action. He apparently was concerned that the film would draw a cause-and-effect line between the end of his relationship with Sedgwick and her suicide. (Sedgwick has long been viewed as a key inspiration to "Blonde on Blonde"-era Dylan, but whether they did indeed have a love affair is less certain.) Coyly unnamed in the film, the famous, scruffy musician who temporarily draws Edie out of the Warhol orbit is clearly based on Dylan. If anything, though, the character, played by a charismatic Hayden Christensen, comes across as the sole voice of reason in Sedgwick’s increasingly out-of-control life.

"Factory Girl" draws a too-easy opposition between the musician’s authenticity and the artificiality of Warhol’s world of surfaces. But at its strongest, it explores a timeless tension between style and substance, form and meaning. At the centre of this tug of war is the blueblood gamine Sedgwick, a striking beauty and would-be artist whose unique glamour snags Warhol’s heart, inasmuch as he will admit to having one.

Perhaps the cruellest irony of Sedgwick’s story, as it’s presented here, is that she escapes her troubled family, albeit on trust-fund purse strings, only to end up in the grip of another ultimately poisonous clan. If there is a villain here besides Edie’s father (James Naughton), the part goes to Warhol (Pearce). After making Edie the "superstar" of his controversial movies, he jealously guilt-trips her over her involvement with the rock star. He’s an unlikely Oedipal figure for Sedgwick, whose suspicions towards happy-family facades are explained in all-too-familiar melodramatic fashion.

Pearce, one of the most versatile of screen actors, is compelling and witty as the pallid Svengali, for whom society gossip seeps into even Catholic confession. His anxious, hungry gaze conveys envy, self-loathing and a childlike fascination with beauty. As the beauty who for a while captivated him beyond all others, Miller delivers a powerful performance, often baring all to give us Edie at her most candlelit exquisite as well as her most degraded. From the throaty laugh and old-money inflections to the extreme vulnerability, neediness and intelligence, she brings to life Sedgwick’s legendary allure.

Supporting performances are a mixed bag, ranging from the awkward (a decidedly unflamboyant Jimmy Fallon as a "flamboyant socialite," Mena Suvari as rich girl Richie and Illeana Douglas as Diana Vreeland) to the convincing (Armin Amiri as fellow Factory girl Ondine, Beth Grant as Andy’s mother and Edward Herrmann as the Sedgwick family attorney).

Screenwriter Captain Mauzner, who co-scripted the John Holmes-centred "Wonderland," indulges in too much explanatory psychologising. But stripped of that overlay, his screenplay often sizzles with the self-conscious humour of smart nonconformists. Cinematographer Michael Grady ably helps Hickenlooper pay homage to Warhol’s inventively bad-is-good filmmaking and renowned B&W screen tests. Playing ’60s New York, Shreveport, La., lends a fitting vintage feel, while the production design by Jeremy Reed and John Dunn’s costumes create an exuberant blend of high society and underground scene.

Reuters/Hollywood Reporter