A film more of interest as a punctuation in time than a satisfying whole in its own right, operating foremost as something of an agent provocateur, albeit on it's own territory. The curation of found music and occasionally arresting imagery fitfully takes fire, otherwise it's tediously fetishistic.
Jack Smith's vision of heaven as a haunted sound stage, where ladies of both sexes can luxuriate in the putting on of their lipstick, a friendly assault brings on an earthquake and the elegant dead dance eternity away. All of his keen understanding of photographic illusion was poured into this vessel. The portraits of his friends are especially telling of how he went about worshiping them.