Others brighter than me have pointed out that this is more a portrait of the 1960s New York arts scene in toto than one focused specifically on the band, and that makes sense as the narrative rushes to a close once that scene implodes. Still, it’s beautifully done; in his use of split-screen and copious archival footage, Todd Haynes channels the spirit of Andy Warhol without cosplaying him. The contrast between John Cale, the escapee from a life of abuse in the Welsh valleys, and Lou Reed, a misfit toy from the reject pile of American mass production (Henry Ford, the baby boom, what’s the difference?) is perhaps a missed opportunity for investigation; they just sort of cleave in two and that’s it. And I couldn’t listen to Moe Tucker’s observations without wondering if she’s still a dastardly right-winger. ★★★½
Cross-posted from Letterboxd