Confession by XXXXX XXXXXXXXX
John! How are you old man? This is my greeting as I meet the great director, Tony X. He called himself the X in the eighties. Thought it very punk and subversive.
He leads me into the living room of his mansion. He pours two drinks, hands me one, and reclines in his leather armchair.
What have you been up to? He asks.
I just finished shooting a piece about Francesco Bandinininni, I tell him.
His face tells me he is non the wiser
The Italian performance artist. It was about his latest work called FORGIVEN. It was inspired by the Viennese Actionist Movement. Basically he dresses up like his mother, fucks himself with a wooden cock and then shits on a family portrait. Very powerful stuff.
Sounds awful. He is right, it is. How’s the wife? He asks. I am not married, I reply. He looks confused. Am I married? I ask. Don’t start this shit with me again John, he says with anger. I don’t ask him and instead look at the walls of the room. Ugly old celebrity photos going yellow at the corners.
TV is dead to me now. A dieing format. No money or creativity in it any more. Run by dolts for dolts. Now I sell directly on DVD. Make it, edit it and then distribute it myself. Now I am making what I term ART PORN. Porn to jazz with some bad dialogue here and there. Germans are my biggest audience. They can’t get enough of it.
What happened to your hair? I ask him and he touches his bald head with a laugh.
Cancer. Yeah, channel 5 will start filming their documentary about me when it gets worse. You know, me battling cancer, me losing then maybe winning at the end. Should be a good piece.
I nod in agreement.
He leads me into the living room of his mansion. He pours two drinks, hands me one, and reclines in his leather armchair.
What have you been up to? He asks.
I just finished shooting a piece about Francesco Bandinininni, I tell him.
His face tells me he is non the wiser
The Italian performance artist. It was about his latest work called FORGIVEN. It was inspired by the Viennese Actionist Movement. Basically he dresses up like his mother, fucks himself with a wooden cock and then shits on a family portrait. Very powerful stuff.
Sounds awful. He is right, it is. How’s the wife? He asks. I am not married, I reply. He looks confused. Am I married? I ask. Don’t start this shit with me again John, he says with anger. I don’t ask him and instead look at the walls of the room. Ugly old celebrity photos going yellow at the corners.
TV is dead to me now. A dieing format. No money or creativity in it any more. Run by dolts for dolts. Now I sell directly on DVD. Make it, edit it and then distribute it myself. Now I am making what I term ART PORN. Porn to jazz with some bad dialogue here and there. Germans are my biggest audience. They can’t get enough of it.
What happened to your hair? I ask him and he touches his bald head with a laugh.
Cancer. Yeah, channel 5 will start filming their documentary about me when it gets worse. You know, me battling cancer, me losing then maybe winning at the end. Should be a good piece.
I nod in agreement.
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