oh, snap!
Last night at the screening of Haircut (No. 1) at ATA Gallery, the film started, with a scratchy flicker. 6, 5, 4... Suddenly there was the image of a shirtless Freddie Herko on the screen, wearing tight white jeans, leaving nothing to the imagination. He sort of delicately moves around the space, obviously a dancer, but with a body that defies its balletic training. Hairy chested and muscular, he's a study in contrast: feline finesse on the one hand, burly midwestern swagger on the other. The other men onscreen are talking and moving, the scenario is unclear but suggestive. The frames begin to stutter abruptly, which at first only adds to the ghost-like mystique of this 1966 film. Then, suddenly, just square white light onscreen. Somehow appropriate to the subject, we find out that the film just broke. The projectionist says he could splice it but since it belongs to the MOMA in New York, and he's not really familiar with this projector, the responsible choice is to leave it as is and cancel the event.
Thus ended the San Francisco screening of one of the only Warhol films that features Herko. There was one member of the audience, an older man, who had seen Herko perform several times and shared the experiences. But then, much like Herko's life, the event was suddenly over. Those of us who remained made our way through the drizzly night to Amnesia for a beer.