If you're looking for something that makes sense, then you're in the wrong dingy ole New York "independent film" decaying movie house.
This rancid concoction - in the good sense - was put together in that odd space between the 1950's/60's beatnik/hippie NYC and the Trumpster heyday of the 1980's - the 1970's.
For you 21century youngin's you're gonna see absolutely appalling stuff you've never seen before - telephone booths, gigantic V-8 Cadillac high octane convertibles w. No seatbelts, a smoggy NYC skyscape w. A dirty old Brooklyn bridge and a soaring new Twin Towers - a New York where you didn't need permits to film on the streets, stray dogs who just pooped in the curbs, afternoon Discoteques, corded window blinds, aluminum trash cans, etc, etc.
The dialogue is xtreme-xtemporaneous stream-of-consciousness with some very witty throwaway lines: guy falls off a roof, gets a tear in his costume and expostulates: "Ya call this a jumpsuit?!".
What's the point? Well, as the deranged "hero" character played - and I do mean "played" - by the shockingly skeletal Chaplinesque, Gumby flexible Tony Azito - a/k/a "Jacques ... Jacques (the Ace) Blinbaum" - says to a mirrored sidewalk sculpture: "I wanted him to know self-indulgence has style" (of course we don't know who "he" is, but never mind, it's not important)
In a way this is an Andy Warhol knock off in spirit - sort of a Dollar Store Warhol -
So, "a cult classic"? Yeah, I see that for it :-) - and, btw, the dinner scene near the end is absolutely hilarious - is that a "spoiler"???
And, oh, all the girls are pretty!
