The BFI have surpassed themselves by releasing this 65-minute film by James Bidgood, which he spent 7 years trying to make against the odds. There is nothing quite like it in all cinema as far as I know, and its poetry is quite astonishing. Bidgood creates images of such ravishing texture and saturation that one is held spellbound, even though there is no plot to speak of. Pink Narcissus used to be one of the staples of London's Scala cinema, which played up its sleazier aspects, as did its anonymity. At the time I found it a bit too much and was put off by the Georg Grosz-like sequence near the end. I still think that part is a bit too long, but it is part of the bizarreness of the whole concept, and seeing it out of that cinema has revealed it as an absolute jewel, full of images that anticipate Pierre et Gilles, and somehow surpass them. They are just so beautiful, and sexy, an unimaginable farrago of tropical vegetation, butterflies of monstrous size, and drapes and undergarments of irresistible diaphanous allure, gently wafting on the close summer air, while lips pout (usually Bobby Kendall's) and bikers rev up ... There's also an extremely erotic Arabian dance with another highly alluring young male. Bidgood's interview is wonderful, explaining the extraordinary making of the film in his flat, and finally putting a face on the work, and a very engaging one at that ... I don't quite agree with his narcissist theory of homosexuality but it certainly fits the film and it is good to know that Kendall really is an absolute doll in real life as well, a fairly naive country boy at the time of filming.