Via Warhol, Lingering Fame--but No Lasting Fortune

Viva is busy rearranging her seascape paintings in the cluttered front room of her Santa Monica apartment. That’s Viva Superstar (a.k.a. Susan Hoffman), Andy Warhol’s queen of Pop. Louie is supposed to show up. Yes, Louis Waldon, as in original member of the Factory during the late ‘60s, at the height of Warhol’s career.

Viva, who’s a painter now, is relentless in her diatribe about how she only sold three paintings in her last show, how she survives only on plastic, how they should have a paintbrush-cleaning service like a diaper service and how she can’t take it anymore. It’s as if she’s talking to herself or her two fluffy, curious dogs. Waldon shows up with some Trader Joe’s sushi. Viva seems surprised to see him.

There’s an eerie feeling that this scenario isn’t too far from the antics of the Factory days, even though that would be more than three decades ago. Viva, in her late 50s, and Waldon, 67, both key players from that period, haven’t seen each other to speak of in 20 years, but they seem to pick up where they left off. They bicker like old lovers (which in fact they were, briefly), arguing about lunch, money, Andy, the hard times. Waldon takes Viva’s complaints in stride, stoking her discontent. They finally decide to go to lunch at the 18th Street Coffee House--they say it’s owned by Bob Dylan, a nice fit for the time warp.

Viva drives--and scares the daylights out of everyone. She talks constantly, throwing in her own spin on the “Andy Warhol Retrospective” at the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. “Yeah, really beautiful, gorgeous. I was surprised how good it looked. Except for those old drawings--they should never show those. The Mao Tse-tung looked really great.” And who better to offer a critique than an original Factory member, who was there when it was all happening. The Warhol show, now in its third month, has put the spotlight back on these Warhol actors.

Asked if they own any Warhols, Waldon says: “No, we wouldn’t have accepted them.” But Viva owned some Campbell soup can lithographs and sold them long ago. Was it worth it? “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Whenever it was and however much it was, it would all be gone now.”

All gone but the memories, and the lingering, lately revived fame that came from their association with the Warhol epoch. To become a member of Warhol’s Factory, which refers to both his studio and entourage, you had to fit in, have certain qualities. But once you got in, it’s as if you could never turn back. In Warhol’s book, “Popism” (co-authored with Pat Hackett, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1980), there’s a line: “Don’t be in an Andy Warhol movie--there’ll be a spell on you all your life.”

Spellbound or not, the Warhol retrospective, now in its final days, brought the Warhol players living in Los Angeles out of the woodwork for just one more quarter-hour of fame. They’ve been running into each other at parties and openings, invited to lecture and beckoned to appear at the Factory films being shown practically nonstop around town.

Joe Dallesandro and Paul Morrissey attended Cannes this summer. Mary Woronov’s second novel just got published, and Holly Woodlawn is making a movie about her/his life. Along with Viva and Waldon, they were permanent fixtures at the Factory and worked with Warhol during his most productive and creative period.

Waldon tells the story of how a PR person asked whether he’d like to speak before or after a film. Viva and Waldon both laugh and joke that the latter would be a smarter move to ensure there would still be an audience at the end of the films. They all agree that basically all Warhol’s films were boring.

But Viva Superstar gave her all to Andy and well earned her title. Warhol knew a good thing when he saw it, and the two were inseparable from the moment they met in 1967. Viva was known for her star quality and exquisite beauty, and her eagerness to be part of the picture landed her major roles in “Blue Movie” (1969), “Lonesome Cowboys” (1968) and “Nude Restaurant” (1967). She wasn’t shy about baring all. A rape scene in “Lonesome Cowboys” and an explicit lovemaking scene with Waldon in “Blue Movie” (which was seized by the FBI for obscenity during the first week of its run) earned her attention inside and outside Warhol’s world. Viva took her role as Superstar seriously, realizing the impact the Warhol gang was making in the art world. For his part, Waldon, being a working actor, looked on the roles as just another gig and kicked back and enjoyed the ride.

Waldon and Viva talk intelligently about underground and foreign films, and it’s clear they were dedicated actors once. But Viva’s celluloid palate has taken a turn. “My favorite movies to watch are films like ‘Terminator II.’ And what’s those films that Bruce Willis was in? What are those movies called? Oh yeah, ‘Die Hard.’ Yeah, I love ‘Die Hard,’ ‘Terminator.’ All that high-tech violence. They’re the only movies I really like.”

Waldon pipes up. “I like the sex movies today. Like ‘The Piano Teacher,’ ” Michael Haneke’s psychosexual summer domestic release. He describes another favorite Korean movie with kinky sex and an S&M; scene. Viva screws up her face. “I can’t even stand to see kissing on the screen. Makes me want to throw up. I can’t stand anything to do with sex on the screen. I’m getting like Paul Morrissey.... I think once your hormones are basically gone, which mine are at my age, you can’t stand it. The thought of sex is really kind of disgusting, vomitous, nauseous.”

This seems totally out of character coming from Viva, sex goddess of the Warhol silver screen. She still retains her elegant looks, with piercing blue eyes, a strong angular nose and delicate fair skin. Is she joking? “I’m totally serious. I used to say the happiest day of my life was when I lost interest in sex.”

It seems Warhol has left a mark on his actors’ souls. There’s a sourness that comes up with each mention of Andy. They feel burned. Waldon speaks for the both of them: “Andy never paid us, [at least not] very much money. Not near the money that we should have gotten paid or should be getting paid still, and that’s Viva’s big [complaint]. She felt like she helped create Andy Warhol. Right now, they’re showing the movies, but it’s the [Andy Warhol] Foundation. And they’re making lots of money, and the people who work for the foundation make incredible salaries. They’re all college-educated, but none of them ever had anything to do with Warhol.”

Warhol’s sun is still golden for the higher echelons of the art world, but these Warhol players, who were there making it happen, seem to have gotten sunburned. The peculiar nature of their predicament is apparent to the people close to them.

Jeff Poe, a friend of Waldon’s and partner in the Santa Monica art gallery Blum & Poe, recognizes the enormous role that Warhol’s entourage played in the creation of the Warhol mystique. “Never forget that Warhol has this incredible archive. Because he collected everything. Everything in his life. He taped everything. He bought junk every day; he couldn’t stop spending .... But that psychology of collecting extends even to these people. He collected them, also. Now the question is what happens when you collect something that is not an object. Something that has its own powers. It’s almost like a Dr. Frankenstein situation.”

For Waldon, it’s been a mixed bag. He doesn’t seem to feel as abused and exploited by Warhol as Viva does. He’s found a way to make the most of his Warhol days. He seems settled and content these days, living in the Marina on a houseboat. Known for his roles in “Blue Movie,” “Lonesome Cowboy” and “Nude Restaurant,” Waldon joined the Factory in the early ‘60s and really hasn’t left. He makes a living reprising Warhol’s most famous and popular images, selling silk-screen portraits of Marilyn Monroe, Liz, Jackie O., Elvis and the Electric Chair. And he’s been doing it since 1979.

Poe feels somewhat responsible for the first Waldon/Warhol knockoff. Poe found himself in Waldon’s West Hollywood basement apartment, and “during that night, Louis was talking about Warhol and pulled out the screens.” (These would be the original screens Warhol inked to produce his silk-screen images.) “It was the Electric Chair silk screen. I said, ‘Louis, what are you doing with this?’ He said, ‘I dunno, I’ve carried it around for years, I don’t know what to do with it.’ [I said,] Well, I’ll pay you right now to make me an Electric Chair. And he did. And I sold four more for him, and he’s been making them since.”

The original Electric Chair screen eventually disintegrated, but Waldon went through the same process Warhol did, obtaining the press photos, photographing them and making silk screens out of them. It’s all perfectly legal--he doesn’t claim his prints are anything they’re not--and probably the most ironic homage to his mentor. It’s hard to say if Warhol would have been proud, but he was living when Waldon started, and Waldon says he was aware.

Waldon knows he’s cashing in, but he feels it’s in the true spirit of Andy. After all, which Marilyn would you rather have--one with a “Louie Waldon Factory Superstar” stamp or one with a “Made in Japan” stamp? Waldon rationalizes his art. “I’ll tell you one thing, if you could make any money on your own with Andy, he never said a word. He was totally helpful that way. If you wanna do something and you were going to make some money, he certainly wouldn’t stand in your way.”

Asked if they felt cheated by Warhol even during the Factory days, Viva and Waldon replied “yes and no.”

“I was always mad,” Viva adds enthusiastically, tacking on some expletives. “I’ve been angry about one injustice or another, either perpetrated on myself, the female gender as a whole, or the human species. I was also on the cover of the Ms. magazine, making me an early feminist. Therefore, I feel it my duty to continue to be [enraged] at the state of affairs.”

Viva played a bigger role in Warhol’s history than Waldon did, and perhaps that explains her bitterness. She’s the No. 2 female in Warhol’s lineup, after Edie Sedgwick. Her outrageous behavior appealed to Warhol and became a major part of his life, professionally and personally. In fact, they were having one of their daily chats when Warhol was shot by Factory interloper Valerie Solanas. Viva was talking to Warhol on the phone and thought she heard firecrackers.

The Factory characters living today are talented and productive in their own right, but their Warhol sensibilities never seem to have left them. “Everyone who was involved with Andy never left Andy,” says Poe. “They’re all stuck with Warhol. It’s like a curse almost.” He pauses and adds: “It was a blessing and a curse.” Perhaps like the Warhol retrospective as it rolls out of L.A. A bittersweet treat, like an old uncle you forgot you disliked--and then remembered why.