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Perverse (yet true!) biopic of Valerie Solanas (Taylor), a homeless lesbian prostitute feminist militant manhater New Yorker who gave Andy Warhol a copy of her play and then shot him when he wouldn't give it back.
Or something like that. Taylor makes a vivid impression as the scrappy half-nutso, but otherwise the film falls pretty limp. There's virtually no insight into The Factory here, and one grows tired of Solanas's repetitive rants after the third of fourth retelling of the female's genetic superiority. Why did she shoot him? She's crazy. See, that didn't take two hours.
