Title: We need to find some better heroes.
Product review: Andy Milligan was a terrible filmmaker, and his snail-paced movies, which blended trash and pompous period costumes, can only be called unwatchable. His final film, Monstrosity, was truly the work of an incoherent brain, blending rape, hypodermic needles, and a grinning slapstick monster wearing a Fred Flintstone suit. McDonough's book is fascinating at first, but then one realizes that these aren't artists being described with such misguided affection. Like Warhol's crowd, Milligan's world was populated by uneducated drug addicts, and people obsessed with their own fractured sexuality. One of these days, there'll be a book about a true underground filmmaker, but in the meantime, we're stuck with the sniveling praise of sycophants like John Waters, and books like this which glorify the excretions of talentless slobs.
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