Made on Fire Island beach, this is vintage Warhol, with rather more structure than usual. The camera pans between a bronzed, blond hustler, statuesque on the sand, and an ageing queen talking on the verandah of a beach house. The queen provides most of the soundtrack: part monologue, part conversation in best New York camp style, witty, vicious, outrageous, etc. Dramatic interest of sorts is provided by the arrival of a female neighbour intent on seducing the hustler, and shortly after of the Sugar Plum Fairy, another hustler, also with a lustful eye on the beach. The three have a bet as to which one will succeed; and the second half is filmed with a static camera in the bathroom while they wash and shave. At the end, after they've all tried to pull him, offering variations on the wealth/possessions theme, we never get to know who wins out. But that's unimportant: the myth of the ending is a literary hangover.
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