This isn't really a movie. It's more like someone showing pictures with very little context. It's like a drug addict telling stories where the listener is expected to fill in the gaps, but it doesn't work very well if the listener doesn't know the storyteller. Luminaries of the 1960s midtown Manhattan art scene didn't so much burn into popular culture, they burned out. That's why, 60 years later, no one knows what the hell is going on in this movie. It's cobbled together with disparate footage. The later film is a deliberate framing device starring a highly liberated Edie Sedgwick in her late twenties. She reflects back on her career as a wispy young woman who was paid handsomely for wearing clothing. That's pretty much it. There is a lot of murky footage of The Man trying to control things, and other puzzling touches, but mostly it's wispy Edie and drunk Edie with her rotund synthetic breasts hanging out. The latter is incredibly annoying. So there's that. Then there are three woebegone people who share the screen with drunk Edie. I think that was supposed to go somewhere, but they ran out of film.
Review of Ciao Manhattan
