psychiatric assistance stem from the failure of homosexuals to resolve their conflicting homosexual inclinations and the demands of an intolerant socity. Alcoholism, chronic running to psychiatrists, yes, even religion, can be escapisms for homosexuals who cannot honestly confront the fact of their homosexuality. But none of them is an adequate and comforting solution to an individual's homosexuality. F. P.

Kenneth Anger's new movie, "Scorpio Rising," reminds one of a piece of artwork by a favorite niece or nephew. It's atrociously and embarrassingly bad, yet one feels compelled to say something nice about it, since it is after all-all in the family. Well, then, what is nice about "Scorpio Rising?" Is it good and dirty, as some have suggested? Not really. People have stated that all kinds of wild sex take place in it, yet I was unable to see any of it. It is very badly edited. Scenes flashed by so quickly that I got eyestrain after the first ten minutes. It was pretty hard to see anything that made sense. As far as I was able to gather, it's a story about boys who wear chains and leather jackets and spend most of their time either lying in bed or putting on clothes or going to parties or roaring around on their motorcycles, of which they seem inordinately fond.

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When I was a kid of about twelve I was a member of a "secret club," club," and we had an elaborate initiation rite. The new recruit was called upon to take off all his clothes and around buck naked in the clubhouse for five minutes, so that everyone could get a Good Look. After that, we threw his clothes out the clubhouse door and he was supposed to run out naked and grab them and run back in. But we were usually per-

suaded to go out and retrieve them for him. When this was finished, he was a full fledged member, and allowed to put his clothes back on. We then sat around and smoked and played with each other and told enormous lies about our sexual conquests and capacities for liquor. The boys in "Scorpio Rising" remind me of nothing so much as those childhood clubmates. Their carryings on are just as absurd. Of course, they have bigger and more dangerous toysmotorcycles and death figures and leather jackets and knives. While we merely had sex with each other, they attempt Grand Atrocities and fail miserably. Where our enemies were grownups, theirs are boredom and lack of imagination. While we halfheartedly practised cruelty for its own sake, they attempt sadism with genuine zeal but not much success.

Mr. Anger makes a little self-effacing attempt to get back at The Big Guys by employing a bit of sacrilege in the film. (A gang leader is equated with Jesus Christ. The leader roars off on a bike, followed by his pack, and the scene cuts to Jesus riding on a donkey while the etc.) There disciples walk behind,

are no spoken words in the film, and the soundtrack consists solely of rock and roll music, which is often employed in a cute and effective manner.

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But for the most part, the six-foot twelve-year-olds in Anger's film are pretty dull-just as our old clubhouse gang would have been boring to adult observers. The Scorpio boys around and beat their chests and seem to shout, "Hell with you guys, we're gonna be different." But instead of being awful and horrid and shocking they're merely silly. And for all of Mr. Anger's effort, "Scorpio Rising" never gets off the ground.

Ray Johnson