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‘Asco: Without Permission’ honors four East L.A. friends who changed Chicano art

After its SXSW premiere, ‘Asco’ filmmaker Travis Gutierrez Senger hopes the radical art collective will inspire generations of artists to come

Asco founders crouch down for a portrait.
Asco was first formed in 1972 by East L.A. teens Willie Herron, Gronk, Patssi Valdez and Harry Gamboa Jr.
(Courtesy of Asa Nisi Masa Films)

In the 1970s and ‘80s, traces of the artist collective Asco, named after the Spanish word for “disgust,” could be seen all over East L.A. The then-teenage creatives pulled all kinds of high jinks in the name of art: they taped each other to a wall and called it an “Instant Mural,” dined on Whittier Boulevard in a performance called “First Supper After a Major Riot,” and carried a life-size cross in their own “Stations of the Cross” reenactment down the street.

With their guerilla approach to performance art, Asco founders Harry Gamboa Jr., Glugio “Gronk” Nicandro, Willie Herrón and Patssi Valdez built a legacy around expanding the possibilities for Chicanos in the art world.

After the group disbanded in 1987, their work was not recognized by any major art institution until 2011. The Los Angeles County Museum of Art opened a retrospective exhibition dedicated to the group called “Asco: Elite of the Obscure,” — almost 40 years after the group vandalized the property in its “Spray Paint LACMA” series, where it confronted the museum’s exclusion of Chicano art.

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In the new documentary titled “Asco: Without Permission,” which premiered March 10 at South by Southwest, filmmaker Travis Gutiérrez Senger set out to tell their story. “We want to celebrate Asco, but also pass what Asco did on to the next generation and continue their legacy,” he told De Los.

Across Austin’s Lady Bird Lake, Asco fans and documentary enthusiasts alike gathered in the hotel ballroom-turned-movie theater. Under the executive production of Mexican filmmakers Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna, Gutiérrez Senger dedicated the past five years to this film, from its concept to its completion. Last Tuesday night he was joined by García Bernal, original Asco members Gamboa and Valdez and other collaborators on the film to celebrate its first screening.

The film chronicles the beginnings of Asco, gives background on its most famous works and highlights its influence on the contemporary Chicano art world. The storytelling format is a mixture of archival footage, artistic reenactments and on-camera interviews with Asco members.

The morning after its SXSW premiere, Gutiérrez Senger sat down with De Los to chat all things “Asco: Without Permission.”

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Do you remember the first time you encountered Asco’s work? What was it that struck you about it?
I actually remember seeing an image of the “Decoy Gang War Victim,” where Gronk is lying on the cement with these red flares around him. But what I grabbed onto was the name Asco. It got me so curious that I started looking online for more imagery.

That’s when I found the “No Movies” [a series of film stills for nonexistent movies]. As a filmmaker, seeing these stills of Chicanos reimagining Hollywood, I was so floored and excited. I had never seen anything like that. The idea of young people doing this innovative work, with such a strong story element, started to hit me very quickly.

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The group’s “No Movies” is so inventive, are there any specific stills that speak to you? Or ones that influence your understanding of film?

“The Gores” is one that really struck a chord with me. It’s their version of a Chicano sci-fi film. It’s so scintillating and so playful. You can see that they made the costumes themselves with not a ton of resources, but with a tremendous amount of ingenuity. And they all look like they’re having fun.

The “No Movies” continues to awaken something inside of me. They allow me to have more confidence, self love and inspiration. Something about Asco’s work activates your imagination, your creativity and your ambition. That’s one of the things I love so much about it. It actually makes you want to create work. That’s such a great gift. Even now I’ll look at Asco stuff and think, “OK, I got a new idea. I got something.”

Members of Asco pose for a science fiction-inspired photoshoot.
Taken in 1974, “The Gores” features the Asco founding members dressed in homemade sci-fi costumes.
(Courtesy of Asa Nisi Masa Films)

When you were first getting acquainted with Asco’s legacy, what was going on in your life as a filmmaker?
It was really when I was starting to look for more brown references. I was trying to find Latino stories and subjects. I had already been very interested in Gael [García Bernal] and Diego [Luna]. They were heroes of mine as a young person. I love their films and what they were doing in Mexico. I really identified deeply with them.

But when I found Asco, it was like the next big point of influence because they were Chicano. Seeing these brown creatives doing this really daring and radical work, but also being Chicano, resonated with me even more deeply. So, to bring all these influences together in the film was really remarkable for me personally, because those had the most important touchstones for me as a Latino.

Artist Maria Maea is dressed as an alien in blue lighting.
A short film featuring Maria Maea follows a group of teenagers who encounter an alien in their garage.
(Courtesy of Asa Nisi Masa Films)
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In the documentary, you introduce artists like Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya, San Cha and Maria Maea, who created work for the 2023 exhibition “ASCO and the Next Gen” and collaborated with you on short films which are featured in the movie. What made you want to include contemporary voices in the project?
We felt like it would be almost irresponsible to say, “Here’s a movie about Asco and here’s a call to action.” We felt like we needed to answer that call ourselves, even if it was an experiment. The results were really powerful.

If we were going to talk about the exclusions Asco faced and address them today — it couldn’t be just through conversation. Asco is really about taking action. We needed something to be a little disruptive or even alarming, to showcase who we are and to answer the question, “What kind of stories do we really want to see today?” We took a lot of influence from Asco’s work, but [the included short films are] are definitely 21st-century stories. They’re not meant to be Asco reenactments.

There’s a multigenerational aspect that comes through in the film. You include young Latino actors to reenact Asco’s lives, spotlight midcareer artists and the perspective of Asco’s contemporaries. Why was this important to Asco’s story?
Coming at it as a millennial, and thinking of the young people that I’m around, I felt like Asco’s work has spoken to us because a lot of the issues that they were dealing with then — whether it’s police brutality, representation in the media or queerness — are still on our minds. As younger Latinos, we’re hungry to create work where we see ourselves. Being able to have an intergenerational experience that we learn from and bring into the future is one of the film’s main goals.

In a black and white image, five Asco members glare into the camera.
“Asco Goes to the Universe” is an image from 1975 and spotlights members Patssi Valdez, Willie Herron, Gronk, Humberto Sandoval and Harry Gamboa Jr.
(Courtesy of Asa Nisi Masa Films)

As someone so inspired by your subjects’ work, what were some of your takeaways from the making of this film?
When I first talked with Asco, they spoke a lot about the entire enterprise of Asco and wanting to shift how Chicanos are seen. That was always something I thought about a lot, and wanted it to be a goal of the film as well. But as I continued working on it, I found that at the core of Asco’s work was self-love. It’s really about recognizing your own potential and talent.

I came out of the process feeling really proud to be Chicano and very inspired to share our stories. For me, there was a shift in making the film because I started thinking we’re gonna f— these institutions up. And I still want to do that, and I still think about that. But I also feel more of a sense of dignity, pride and a connection to my community.

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