I’m thrilled to be hosting a screening and Q&A of Elizabeth Sankey’s brilliant “Witches” (2024) at this year’s Flatpack Festival. Tickets are available now!

I’m thrilled to be hosting a screening and Q&A of Elizabeth Sankey’s brilliant “Witches” (2024) at this year’s Flatpack Festival. Tickets are available now!


In 1972, Lee Radziwill—the younger sister of Jackie Bouvier Kennedy Onassis—pitched a documentary about her East Hampton childhood home to the American documentary makers and siblings Albert and David Maysles. She took the brothers with her on a trip to Grey Gardens, a mansion designed in 1897 by Joseph Greenleaf Thorpe and so-called because of the colour of the dunes, the concrete garden walls, and the sea mist. In Grey Gardens, her aunt and cousin lived.
The Beale women, mother and daughter, both named Edith Bouvier Beale—or “Big Edie” and “Little Edie”—were once members of New York City’s high society, but a series of circumstances saw them withdraw from city life and live a more isolated existence together for over fifty years at Grey Gardens, which had devolved into a complete state of disrepair. Their lives in this crumbling house, surviving on limited funds and living in increasing poverty, were at odds with the glamour of the Kennedy dynasty and the affluence of the Hamptons, which has a historic reputation as home to the wealthy and summer playground to the rich. The Beales lived in such appalling living conditions—flea infestations, cats co-habiting with raccoons, no running water, and surrounded by rubbish and rot—that following an inspection by the local health department (which the Beales referred to as “raids”), Grey Gardens featured in such contrasting publications as tabloid rag the National Enquirer *and* as a New York Magazine cover story. In 1972, with eviction and the City threatening to demolish Grey Gardens, Jackie O and Radziwill provided the necessary funds to stabilize and repair the dilapidated house, hoping it would meet village codes.
Big Edie—a former socialite and singer—and her estranged lawyer/financier husband, Phelan Beale, has purchased Grey Gardens in the early 1920s. The couple separated in 1931 and were legally divorced in 1946, with Phelan notifying his wife of the divorce via telegram. Big Edie was given Grey Gardens plus child support for their daughter and two sons (but no alimony), so relied on financial support from her family and continued to give local recitals, which did not pay exceptionally well. During the late 1940s, when Big Edie’s health started to decline, Little Edie—by now a thirty-something former debutante who had spent five years unsuccessfully pursuing an acting career in Manhattan—left her life to live permanently at Grey Gardens. A dutiful daughter bound to her now ailing mother. Her brothers, obviously, had no such obligations.
The Maysles immediately expressed interest in these women–their past and present lives and Grey Gardens—and received permission to film a documentary about the Beales. While Radziwill funded what has since become known as the first, shelved, lost version of the film in 1972, the brothers returned to Grey Gardens in 1974 without Radziwill’s financial support. In 1976, Grey Gardens was released to great acclaim and screened at that year’s Cannes Film Festival (but not entered into the main competition).
Given the subject matter and the squalor the Beales lived in, ethical issues continue to circumnavigate the film, including the exploitation of what many consider to be two mentally ill women. When asked about this in a 2014 interview with the Hollywood Reporter, Albert Maysles responded so:
“As someone with a background in psychology, I knew better than to claim [the Beales] were mentally ill. Their behavior [sic] was just their way of asserting themselves. And what could be a better way to assert themselves than a film about them asserting themselves? Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just them. They were always in control.”
For the women, financial issues were also in play. In 2018, The Telegraph reported that “[The Beales’] reasoning for allowing the cameras in was also practical: they were in dire need of money.” The Beales were compensated for their cooperation—how much is up for debate—yet it’s a vicious cycle because some documentarians believe that paying subjects for their time skewers how they portray themselves and hinders their authenticity on screen.
Grey Gardens leaves you debating whether Big Edie guilt-tripped her daughter into coming home to live with her mother or whether Little Edie was given no choice but to return home out of social obligation. If you read between the lines, you can see a mother who believes her children ruined her singing career and a daughter who was coerced back home and prevented the opportunity to live a rich, independent life of her own. They clearly love one another, but their lives are filled with nostalgia, regret, lost opportunities, and “what could have beens.” Their daily arguments are fierce and constant—conversations become explosive before simmering down again, bubbling away until the next one. In one tense exchange, Little Edie says, “I suppose I won’t get out of here until she dies or I die. I don’t like it. I like freedom.” “Well,” her mother responds, “you can’t have it.”
These themes were explored in the 2009 film Grey Gardens, which starred Jessica Lange as Big Edie and Drew Barrymore as Little Edie and was broadcast on HBO. The non-linear film flashes back and forth over the years between Little Edie’s life as a young debutante in 1936, moving in and co-habiting with her mother at Grey Gardens estate, and the filming and premiere of the documentary. This version of Grey Gardens won six Primetime Emmys and two Golden Globes.
In 2010, Grey Gardens was selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the United States National Film Registry as being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.” In 2012, the documentary topped the list of 100 greatest documentary films of all time by PBS through public voting, and in 2014, a Sight and Sound poll of film critics voted Grey Gardens the tenth-best documentary film of all time. The Beales and the film continue to be referenced in various media.
Big Edie died of pneumonia at Southampton Hospital in Southampton, New York, on 5 February 1977. In 1979, following her mother’s death, Little Edie sold Grey Gardens—on the condition the mansion would not be razored—to Sally Quinn and her husband, longtime Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee, who restored the house and grounds, living at Grey Gardens for 35 years until Bradlee died in 2014. In 2017, after renting out the property, Quinn sold Grey Gardens to fashion designer Liz Lange and her husband, who extensively remodelled the house and surrounding gardens. Like the film that made it famous, Grey Gardens continues to survive.
Little Edie died in Florida in January 2002 at the age of 84. Before Big Edie passed away, Little Edie is said to have asked if her mother had any final words. “There’s nothing more to say,” Big Edie replied. “It’s all in the film.”
Juliet Bashore’s groundbreaking docu-fiction Kamikaze Hearts is very much a product of a very specific period of the late 80s – not only in content, but also cinematic and cultural legacy. Released just prior to the more marketable and popular New Queer Cinema of the 1990s, Kamikaze Hearts’s taboo subject matter (pornography, graphic sex, and drug use), not to mention unstable genre categorisation and potted release history, scuppered the film’s from achieving canon status. But a 2022 release from Kino Lorber and rounds on various festivals’ restoration circuits courtesy of such organisations as Cinema Rediscovered (also known as CineRedis) have brought the film a new audience – and deserving so, because it’s a film that should be seen by a wider audience.
In Kamikaze Hearts, Sharon ‘Mitch’ Mitchell and Tigr Mennett navigate their relationship as two active participants in the adult entertainment industry while filming a porn parody of Bizet’s opera ‘Carmen’. The production is riddled with set backs and problems, and we see how the filming impacts the couple’s relationship alongside the manipulation, abuse, and the excesses of the underground porn world during the 1980s.
Bashore conceived the idea for the 1986 American quasi-documentary film as a filmmaking student working as an assistant director on a documentary about the porn industry in San Francisco, which is where she met Tigr. Tigr was head over heels in love with Mitchell, and in Bashore’s words, Tigr’s ‘idea of doing this homage to this woman that she was in love with—just came together perfectly. And that’s how it started.’
While multiple elements of Kamikaze Hearts are genuine, the ‘Carmen’ parody and the leading couple’s arguments were scripted and storyboarded, which assists to blur the line between truth and reality. The film straddles a fine line between fact and fiction – its alternative title is ‘Fact or Fiction’ – and this remains a thorough line throughout the film. Plus, Mitchell never appears to be “off” and is constantly performing. At one point she says, ‘I get paid to wait around between shots. I don’t get paid to act. I do that all the time.’
Bashore spoke to ScreenSlate in 2022 about the film’s fluctuating perceptions, and it’s tease between documentary and fiction, saying,
‘I’ve learned to describe it differently depending on who the audience is because, from the very beginning, it was totally misunderstood. And I finally just gave in and said, Okay, it’s a documentary. I mean, people wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t really a documentary. When it first got picked up on the festival circuit it was stuck in the documentary section, and there was nothing I could do. They insisted that it was a documentary. So, I’ve learned to describe it in a way that I think the audience is gonna be able to understand, but that’s transformed. The audience is so different now and, in a way, I’m not used to talking to an audience that totally gets the way in which it is a documentary and isn’t a documentary. That’s not confusing at all to audiences now.’
The initial critical response for Kamikaze Hearts was varied, but Bashore’s filmmaking was consistently lauded, and the film has achieved something of a reappraisal in recent years. Some of the positive reviews included Kevin Thomas for the Los Angeles Times, who praised Bashore for ‘wisely’ allowing individual viewers to decide which portions are true. Liz Galst of Boston’s Gay Community News called Kamikaze Hearts “amazingly powerful,” notably Mitch and Tigr’s relationship and how pornographic performers navigate the lines between fiction and reality and went on to herald Bashore for being “at the forefront of U.S. non-fiction filmmaking”. But even the less favourable reviews could not deny the indelible images and people who linger long after the closing credits role.
As Bashore told ScreenSlate, ‘my film is about the layers of fantasy that surround that. It’s not about the the pornographic image so much as it is [about] all the layers, this other kind of striptease that’s going on, this psychic striptease.’
Aside from being an time capsule of a very specific time and an insightful depiction of the porn industry, part of Kamikaze Heart’s enduring nature – aside from Bashore’s lens – is due to Sharon Mitchell, who is one of the most charismatic screen presences you’ll encounter: glamourous, uninhibited, charming, cosmopolitan, a woman in command of her power who knows how to use her power. Mitchell made approximately 1,000 pornographic films over a 20-year career, including 38 as a director, but in 1996 she quit drugs, became a certified addiction counsellor, and obtained a MA and a PhD from the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality. Now a credited sexologist, in 1998 Mitchell founded the adult industry’s first mass testing service, which served practically every working performer in the US for 15 years, testing over 1000 performers per month (before being shut down due to data leak in 2011). That’s a film in itself.
*Film introduction for at Midlands Arts Centre, Birmingham, January 13 2024.