“Just be yourself,” pop art guru Andy Warhol tells flighty socialite Edie Sedgwick after roping her into one of his experimental black and white shorts. “Which one?” she shoots back, instantly captivating this king of kitsch with her provocative self-assurance. Would that helmer George Hickenlooper had given more insight into what inspired Andy to take this trust-fund debutante under his wing and make her one of his “superstars”. Instead, Factory Girl, is content merely to paint Sedgwick as a tragic victim of Warhol’s exploitative nature, her history of mental illness and an all-consuming drug habit that saw her dead in 1971 at 28.
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