Factory made

On August 26, 1977 I landed in New York City. It was 32 degrees Fahrenheit. When I exited the plane it felt like being sucked up by a blow dryer. I had planned to stay for a week and then return to Paris, where I was scheduled to shoot a movie with Anna Karina. But as the saying goes, when you make plans, God laughs. So I spent the next three years in Manhattan working with Andy Warhol on two films, BLANK GENERATION and COCAINE COWBOYS. I also did several hundred polaroid shots with Warhol, something that he absolutely adored. When I look back at the late 70s and early 80s, all I remember are moments and flashes out of chronology. Riding along route 66 in my blue metallic Mustang convertible with my mind as wide open as the Texas panhandle around me or dazing through Death Valley at Xmas in a freaky rain storm, time and space get all mixed up in my memory. But since Andy was the force in my life that set me free, I decided to get it all organized in my head, before it disappears into an even larger pool of American anarchy. This book is dedicated to Andrew Warhola, my mystery man and his power to empower. Before him, I was just another actor/director fly on the wall from Europe. After Andy I was free. Because while Fassbinder, with whom I had made twenty-one scorching productions hardly getting any sleep prior to working with Andy, locked you up in his cell and made you dance to his far out music, Warhol gave you the keys to your cell to set you free.