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Fassbinder's wry comedy about the trials and tribulations of filmmaking. It's gorgeously shot and very well acted (especially by Fassbinder himself and Lou Castel, who plays the director), but, truth be told, a bit on the dull side. I guess most of Fassbinder's early films are a little dull. Only fans will want to pursue them. There is plenty to like, though. The best element of the film seems to be lost on all those whose reviews I've read. The film is set mostly in an opulent Spanish hotel, and, at least for one sequence, it lapses into a deft parody of Resnais' Last Year at Marienbad. I think that, if I tried to describe it, my explanation would be too wordy and would not convey it well enough. So, if you ever do happen to watch the film, make sure to keep an eye out for that joke. 7/10.

On a film set there are two things missing, the film material and the director. So the actors and actresses as well as the crew try to make the best out of the situation. When the director arrives the material is still missing and so they still wait and try to make the best out of the situation. When the material finally arrives all folks involved into the film find themselves in a weird situation.

I love that Ulli Lommel appears as Korbinian, the manager. At this point, Lommel might have been a respected actor, but now (2016) he is better known for directing pure rubbish. He clearly did not pick up skills from Fassbinder.

The idea of the "meta" film is always fun, and I like the idea that the film is or isn't working because of shortcomings. But this really isn't my favorite Fassbinder. I like when he goes for that "Sirk touch", and that is noticeably absent here.

It's amazing to see that Rainer Werner Fassbinder made this picture when he was just 26 (and, perhaps not too oddly enough due to his reputation, looks all of 41 as the producer Sascha) and it has the kind of sad insight that an older, more experienced director would have. But from everything I've read, he was already this experienced, for better or worse, as the director depicted in the film, Jeff (Lou Castel). Jeff is hot or cold, sometimes both, and can either be sullen or deep in thought or just going completely off on someone and throwing them off the set. In Beyond a Holy Whore he's shooting- or trying or not trying to shoot- some movie starring Eddie Constantine in a role that sickens the veteran French star, and most of the crew and women around him languish in a sea of distilled despair: will the movie actually get finished? Where's the money? Who's sleeping with who? What will be the consequences of this or that?

In terms of the storytelling, I was thrown off at first by Beyond a Holy Whore. It's not really very uniformly put together, and makes 8 1/2 look about as lucid as a Hollywood Golden Age picture by comparison. It's not really dreamlike, but it's got a sad, perverse streak of rotten existentialism going on (or maybe what Fassbinder thinks it is). So, from time to time, it is a little choppy, as one scene goes into the next without much of a sense of where the story is. But after a while I got into the modus operandi; this is by design a story of this man, Jeff, and his producer, Sascha, along with various groupies, gay folk, disgruntled actors, going along with a flow that never seems to be taking any charge. What becomes clear, in segments that occasionally have comedy to them (I just started laughing at one bit where Jeff was losing it and crying hysterically while directing a scene) and sometimes have a lonesomeness as via the characters, is that film-making can be a rotten enterprise when the creative well runs dry.

But it's not just about creativity or lack of inspiration for Fassbinder; it's also a kind of mood that he sets which is important, of going through a similar self-imposed brutality that the director wants depicted in the film within the film. As far as "director self-commentary" pictures go, it's not one of the best ever made. But it is an interesting picture all the same, one that grows on the viewer accepting of its loose form and sad notes - not to mention fine points of irony like the sweet Leonard Cohen songs playing over the decay at the bar.

I saw the restored print today at the film forum it was stunning and lush and beautifully photographed. If you can't understand that Fassbinder's early films came out of his experiences in the theater in Germany, and the plays he wrote very often featured a group of people standing around talking, then you'll never understand this film or Fassbinder. This film is about Fassbinder, and like all his films it crosses genres widely mixing the obvious Warhol influence with films about films like Contempt, Day For Night, 81/2. It does feature a large cast of people and like the Chelsea Girls sitting around talking about nothing for four hours, Beware Of a Holy Whore features a large group of people doing whatever they want and catches them in various states of anger, sadness, drunkenness, etc. The dialogue is often amusing, but the monotony of the experience is what's important - again the link to Warhol. Moreover the director character in the film seems to me to be exactly a representation of Fassbinder and by the final half hour you really come to feel his frustration at everyone and life itself. This was Fassbinder when he directed, screaming , shouting at everyone. His reputation was widespread. In this film Fassbinder realizes his ridiculousness and decides to do it up - and that's where the self-parody comes in. If you want to see this movie for a comedy experience, next. The film is impressive, interesting, beautifully shot - one exceptional moment was the sunset shot where Jeff gets punched in the stomach. And the editing of the film half really worked well, cutting between scenes the way they did. Quite Effective. Really.

Fassbinder wasn't known for comic hijinx (if you've sat through SATAN'S BREW, you'd remember it), but probably the most sheerly pleasurable of all his movies is this rather premature but quite welcome self-parody.

The maestro's Bavarian-slob ripoff of Warhol's Factory is keenly lampooned in this oh-so-languid art-movie take on TWO WEEKS IN ANOTHER TOWN. Fassbinder plays a grubby and wildly sadistic producer holed up in a half-swanky, half-tatty seaside hotel with half a movie in the can and no finishing funds. That's the Beckettian setup for a lobby full of achingly sexy and heroin-esque Fassbinder heroines, pretty boys getting their feelings hurt, drinks swallowed and thrown, and a lot of people getting yelled at in public. If that sounds like par for a familiar course, the difference is that here it's all played for yuks--but with such an exquisite deadpan you can practically hear R.W.F. smothering his guffaws behind the camera.