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What was the big deal? Languid displays of male and female genitals. As one of Smiths avatars, John Waters, says: "Seeing a limp penis — in an arty way, in a way that was intellectual — was revolutionary. The police came because of it! Imagine, calling the cops because you saw a dick in a movie." The furor made Smith notorious but not famous. Within a few years of the
Flaming Creatures fracas, new and more lurid displays of artistic obscenity were on display without police interruption. Smith kept at his mission for another quarter century, but audiences didnt always come. Yet he soldiered on— even, one night, when no paying customers showed up for one of his live performances. He did it anyway, all seven hours.
Avant-garde art is hard; dying is easy. In 1991, languishing with a fatal bout of AIDS in a Manhattan hospital, the lifelong kvetch was suddenly buoyant. The longtime starving artist told playwright Ron Tavel, "Its the best food Ive had in my life." His mind has sustenance too: dreams of his eternal movie goddess, Maria (not Mario) Montez.
It would be lovely if lots of people saw this documentary about an avant-gardist who loved old Hollywood movies. It might remind them that there are lands beyond todays blockbusters and timid dramas that are worth visiting and, for an hour and a half, living in.
