Flaming Creatures' forty-five washed out, dated minutes depict a place where
a cast of tacky transvestites and other terminal types (some costumed as re-
cognizable genre faves—a Spanish dancer, a vampire, an exotic temptress),
accompanied by recordings of popular music, shrieks, and snatches of
Hollywood soundtracks ("Ali Baba is coming! Ali Baba is coming!") dance,
grope, stare, posture, and wave their penises with childlike joy. The marriage
of Heaven and Hell presented with playful depravity.
Reprinted from Green Integer Blog (November 2009).