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Warhol , it is reported, had a brilliant stroke of invention. RonaldTavel, the co-director, staged this absurdist romp about Castroand Che Guevara in a single crowded space, with all theactresses (it is an all-female cast) facing front. Tavel sits amongthem, telling them what to do and say. Warhol moved the camerafrom a head-on position to the side. He created the sadistictriangle that exists in all his movies. On one side, the spectator. Onthe other, the actor. On the third side, some unseen force--i.e.,Warhol himself--to whom the actors look in supplication and hate.Apolitically surrealist, vaguely racist, and as formalist as aMessiaen essay on birdsong, JUANITA CASTRO exists almostexclusively from the neck up. (The grim, overcast cinematographymay be party to this.) An etude on politics and theatre as exercisesin seen and less-seen control, CASTRO doesn't pretend to bebrainless in the way most Warhol movies do. Still, it strikes me asno loss that Warhol gave up "having something to say." Most contemporary audiences will find this tough going. Butsomething about this mass of seated women, gazing offscreen ina collective CLOSE ENCOUNTERS stupor, feels timelesslycompelling.
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