Myra Breckinridge

When I saw 'Myra Breckinridge,' the projector broke down no less than eight times throughout the films's 94-minute duration. In most cases, this would be an inexcusable annoyance for me, but in this case, I was grateful. After every ten minute stretch of this film, I felt like I needed some respite.

The only reason to see this movie, the only thing I found remotely entertaining or funny, is to see film critic Rex Reed masturbating. Years later, Reed savaged David Lynch's 'Blue Velvet' with an angry zeal and called the movie "brain-damaged garbage" and also displayed a fragile sensitivity in denouncing the sickness of Pasolini's 'Salò.' Watching him in 'Myra Breckinridge' gives new dimensions to those reviews.

Whatever the merits of 'Valley of the Dolls,' it's a genuine camp movie because it achieves that status unintentionally. It played itself straight and failed as a drama. The intent with 'Myra Breckinridge' seemed to be, from the very start, to make the next camp classic, and so the film has no dramatic level on which to fail. It cuts straight to the camp and does it horribly.