The Life of Juanita Castro

Warhol , it is reported, had a brilliant stroke of invention. Ronald

Tavel, the co-director, staged this absurdist romp about Castro

and Che Guevara in a single crowded space, with all the

actresses (it is an all-female cast) facing front. Tavel sits among

them, telling them what to do and say. Warhol moved the camera

from a head-on position to the side. He created the sadistic

triangle that exists in all his movies. On one side, the spectator. On

the other, the actor. On the third side, some unseen force--i.e.,

Warhol himself--to whom the actors look in supplication and hate.

Apolitically surrealist, vaguely racist, and as formalist as a

Messiaen essay on birdsong, JUANITA CASTRO exists almost

exclusively from the neck up. (The grim, overcast cinematography

may be party to this.) An etude on politics and theatre as exercises

in seen and less-seen control, CASTRO doesn't pretend to be

brainless in the way most Warhol movies do. Still, it strikes me as

no loss that Warhol gave up "having something to say."

Most contemporary audiences will find this tough going. But

something about this mass of seated women, gazing offscreen in

a collective CLOSE ENCOUNTERS stupor, feels timelessly

compelling.