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Re-Reevaluating Andy Warhol

Will we ever get tired of talking about him?

By AlexaPublished 3 years ago 8 min read
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Warhol and the Marilyn Diptych

When Andy Warhol learned of Hollywood star Marilyn Monroe’s death in 1962 and promptly stamped her face onto a canvas in 25 alternating colour schemes, he propelled his art career to new heights and solidified the themes his work would explore for the rest of his life. Whether Warhol was aware of the power of celebrity worship and intentionally set out to take advantage of it when making the Marilyn Diptych, he did just that. Since the success of this piece and others like 32 Campbell's Soup Cans, the artist has been heralded as a major influence on the artistic world. While the assertion of his impact is not unwarranted, I believe that its true scope is often under-examined in favour of exploring his work as a pop artist. I am interested not in the artistic value of Warhol’s work, but in the societal. Focusing primarily on the artist’s collaboration with actress Edie Sedgwick, I argue that Andy Warhol can be described as both the paragon and harbinger of the Western world’s current celebrity culture and reality television landscape.

Born into an extremely wealthy American family, 22 year-old Edie Sedgwick met Andy Warhol in 1965 at a party. Upon noticing her natural charm, the artist made Sedgwick the focus of several films, dubbing her his “Superstar”. The majority of the films Warhol made with Sedgwick were unscripted, the most famous of these being Poor Little Rich Girl (1965) and Beauty No. 2 (1965).

Poor Little Rich Girl is slightly more than an hour’s worth of Edie Sedgwick in her apartment, getting dressed while chatting with an off-screen friend, Chuck Wein. There is no plot, it is simply a vignette into the life of a beautiful young woman. Warhol’s fascination with celebrity served him well again when he realized that by manipulating the media to give Sedgwick a platform to showcase her “star qualities”, he could make her into one. With Poor Little Rich Girl, Sedgwick became a performance artist, her own life being the art put on display. The viewer knows that the figure on the screen is not “real”, she is an image in a recording, but she is a realistic representation of the woman Edie Sedgwick. The woman in the bedroom who knows she is being recorded resembles a scene from unaugmented reality closely enough that the representation of “Edie Sedgwick Superstar” becomes the reality. Furthermore, if the film is predicated upon its subject being captivating enough to make a film where virtually nothing happens worth watching, and the film exists, it is fair to assume that the viewer already trusts Warhol’s representation and believes that she is when they choose to watch it. Today, Edie Sedgwick is oft-cited as an original It Girl and the first person to be "famous for nothing". Many apply the same description to people like Paris Hilton or The Kardashian family members, who became famous from reality television programs. In essence, Andy Warhol created a “blueprint” for the first reality program with Poor Little Rich Girl.

Beauty No. 2 is a decidedly more sinister piece of filmmaking, though no less relevant. Throughout it, Sedgwick lounges on a bed, smoking, kissing, and talking with Gino Piserchio, a man also on the bed. Out of frame, Chuck Wein speaks as a voice in the darkness while watching the couple. Sedgwick and Piserchio are both dressed only in underwear, however, Sedgwick occupies the majority of the screen, in full view of the camera while Piserchio is obstructed by shadows and Sedgwick’s body. This setting immediately evokes themes of voyeurism and salaciousness, as well as a distinctly misogynistic gaze. For the entirety of the film, Sedgwick is antagonized by Wein as he shifts every conversation into a slight against her character. He also launches interrogations into increasingly personal subject matter, an integral aspect of many reality TV programs. His comments range from claiming that Sedgwick is an unsatisfactory sexual partner based on her limited response to Piserchio’s advances, to mocking the sexual and physical abuse she suffered from her father as a child. When Sedgwick employs the common phrase “paying attention” and Wein takes her use of the word “paying” instead of giving attention as an opportunity to call her money-obsessed, it becomes clear that Wein is unconcerned with the validity or ridiculousness of his complaints, his goal is only to provoke Sedgwick.

Sedgwick remains composed for most of the film, brushing off Wein’s remarks or retaliating with her voice only slightly raised, but by the end, she has thrown an ashtray and a glass at her interrogator. The camera, and Warhol silently operating it, also become Sedgwick’s attacker. A looming presence imploring her to perform; to choose her body language carefully so as not to reveal too much of her scantily-clad form, and choose her words to avoid becoming even more vulnerable. There is also an element of danger from Piserchio vying for Sedgwick’s attention as he kisses and caresses her, likely becoming frustrated with her constant interruption of their activity to defend herself from Wein. The result is a fraught sense of uncertainty for the viewer, 66 minutes spent wondering whether Edie Sedgwick will break under these 3 violating forces. Will Wein finally speak plainly and air his obvious grievance with Sedgwick without employing petty semantics? Will Piserchio tire of Sedgwick rebuffing him and forcibly take advantage of her? Though none of these instances occur, the possibility of them is ever-present. There are many points in the film, particularly when Wein mentions Sedgwick’s abusive childhood, that feature such questionable morality that it becomes difficult to watch. The film’s set-up with a single black & white camera fixed on Sedgwick and most of the room in shadow does not visually echo the type of media we consume today, it feels dated and more sinister than anything currently on screen. Yet this kind of exploitation and humiliation is fundamental to much of our media landscape. As Warhol’s film literally and metaphorically works to strip Edie Sedgwick bare, it exposes the disturbing foundations of reality TV.

Programs like Big Brother or the Real Housewives franchise may have more “plot” and a larger cast of characters than Beauty No. 2, but what they intend to do is the same. Look beyond embellishments in the editing room and events not being confined to a single setting, and every reality TV contestant is essentially the girl on the bed being used to titillate and entertain, forced to perform as themselves while an audience watches with baited-breath hoping they will expose themselves emotionally or physically, and deliver a good show. Reality TV contestants can be in Sedgwick’s position during one scene and take on the role of Chuck Wein in the next, having a confrontation with another contestant and delivering deeply personal attacks to each other on camera. All of these elements come together to create what Beauty No. 2 is overtly, and what reality television is on its most fundamental level: Gareth Palmer's “spectacle of shame”.

Beauty No. 2’s title is apt, as Sedgwick was not the first of Andy Warhol’s “beauties” to be made into a celebrity and used by him, nor was she the last. As well as abusive behaviour similar to her treatment in the film, Sedgwick was not paid by Warhol for her work. By the time their year-long association ended in a falling out over the money she was owed, she was broke and battling severe substance abuse issues that would lead to her death at the age of 28. Many of the films Warhol and Sedgwick made take place in the studio he dubbed “The Factory”, another telling piece of nomenclature from a man with an extensive history of churning out fresh personalities and discarding them just as quickly. With the likes of Edie Sedgwick, Paul America, Baby Jane Holzer, German singer Nico, and countless others, Warhol effectively turned real people into his walking, talking Marilyn Diptych. Creating a calculated image of a beautiful person to present to the world, repeated but slightly different with each new Superstar, until each person became more a reflection of Warhol’s own brand than of themselves. The story of a powerful man profiting off of young people, particularly women, and leaving them considerably more troubled at the end of their association than they were in the beginning is nothing exclusive to Warhol’s 20th century career. This deliberate manufacturing of celebrities and its consequences can be seen today with child stars in Hollywood, or pop musician Britney Spears’ publicized mental health breakdown. Edie Sedgwick’s story could easily be plucked from 1965 and slotted between those of women who spoke out against abusive behaviour and unequal pay in Hollywood during 2017’s Time’s Up and #MeToo movements.

Despite the aforementioned behaviour and media practices that Andy Warhol exemplified and arguably normalized, the strongest piece of evidence of Warhol’s prescience comes from the words he uttered in 1968: “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes”. In a world that seemingly manifests a new version of celebrity with each passing year, (YouTubers, Instagram influencers, TikTok stars, social media personalities, podcasters) both the validity of Warhol’s statement and the impact of his work grows exponentially. Just as reality television can be deconstructed and compared to Beauty No. 2 or Poor Little Rich Girl, nearly every piece of our current celebrity culture, including their increasingly short life-cycle in the spotlight, replaceable nature, and the misogynistic exploitation of female celebrities, can be traced back to Andy Warhol’s Factory. To erase this fact from the narrative surrounding Warhol is not only disregarding a key element of his life and legacy, but a disservice to the likes of Edie Sedgwick and every other worker on Warhol's assembly line.

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