A delightful blasphemy, [Imitation of Christ] actually looks more like Bike Boy than Lonesome Cowboys; basically, it's just a series of encounters between Patrick/Jesus/Warhol and everybody else. Endless rap, much of it funny, and more in-references than the human mind can stand. Warhol's directorial hand is stronger here than in previous films—and a lot of the time he seems to be feeding lines to the actors. Certainly, Bridget's speech about her son ("They tell me he's a genius. If that's genius, I want no part of it!") sounds too much like Mrs. Warhol to be an accident.

As usual, Warhol's illusion/reality games are right on. The tension that he sets up between his people-as-people and the fantasies they enact is stunning; the only unfailing reality is the film running through the camera. Warhol's instinctive understanding of just how far he can manipulate the situation...