Trash is too flattering a label; even refuse once meant something to someone. These dilated sketches merely constitute another Andy Warhol movie. This time the Master has tiptoed into the background as producer. The direction, writing and photography are all ascribed to Paul Morrissey, Warhol's publicist, who carries on in the gland tradition.
The victim of all this Warhollery is Joe (Joe Dallesandro), a hackneyed, acned chap who goes in for definition of musculature and vagueness of purpose. Joe turns on a chorus line of ladies, gentlemen and hermaphrodites. Alas, Joe himself turns on solely for heroin; he is impotent. Among those...
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