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Haynes’ dazzling visuals are grounded by interviews with the two living band members - most extensively John Cale, the Welshman and classically trained violist who formed a potent partnership with the Long Island-born Reed. The spirit seems aligned with those multimedia shows in the mid-’60s, where Warhol would project his dreamlike screen visuals as the Velvets played and an eclectic audience danced (even Rudolf Nureyev.) At points, there are 12 screens telling the story, combinations of still and moving images. Or munching on a Hershey’s chocolate bar.Īnd we don’t just mean two screens. It’s as if one viewpoint would never suffice there’s always another, even if it’s just a photo of a pensive Reed, implicitly casting skepticism over what someone is saying. Most importantly, Haynes uses a split-screen technique for virtually the entire two hours, an effect that is much more than technical. He seems, in his idiosyncratic, non-linear style, to be trying to create the documentary version of a Velvet Underground show. His aim is not merely to tell the story of the Velvet Underground, through interviews and an astonishingly vast collection of archival material (all shot before the early ’70s), including generous snippets of avant-garde filmmaking. Whatever your level of familiarity, Haynes’ doc - the first for this accomplished director - is so stylistically compelling, it doesn’t really matter what you knew coming in. Review: ‘House of Gucci’ is pure, unapologetic decadence