Dandy Dust follows the cosmic cunt-licking journey of Dandy Dust, a "split-personality cyborg of fluid gender" whose memory has been erased, but to its dismay, is randomly reappearing in his/her arenose mind. After crash-landing on the hermaphroditic and inorganic manmade sphere of 3075, Dust who – through a series of real and/or imaginary childhood flashbacks during her upbringing on the Planet of Blood and Swelling (a menstruating matriarchal planet, perhaps?) – comes to realize that he/she was sexually used and abused by her incestuous father who was, in turn, murdered by the guy/gal’s Xanthippe mother during a jealous and prepossessed crime of passion. The orgasmic sphere of 3075 features a variety of gaudy and gay characters that include, lesbo-Negro identical twins Mao and Lisa; scientist sistas with an aptness for reanimating phallic-like mummies, surly and sadistic Super-Mother Cyniborg; a ghoulish and (unfortunately) unclothed being obsessed with constructing a heretical hermaphrodite army that includes Dust, and father Sir Sidore; a sexually-repressed yet remarkably decadent 18th century aristocrat with a prudish and pompous persona. Of course, Dandy Dust is such an overwhelming overload of audacious aesthetic debauchery that it is nearly impossible to make any sense of the film’s plot, at least upon an initial viewing of the film. Admittedly, it took me a couple tries to actually finish the film due to its tumultuously condensed and compacted cluster of unflattering intersexual nudes, frightful lesbian fetishism, and overall deluge of eclectic seizure-inducing neon polychromasia.
Like the more inaugural films of the silent era (especially, German expressionist works) and the equally masturbatory works of contemporary Canadian auteur Guy Maddin, Dandy Dust is primarily a visual experience that reminds the viewer why that film is a virtually unlimited artistic medium that has been barely explored, at least as far as narrative structure (or lack thereof) and the mise-en-scène is concerned. Although a low-budget effort shot in a quasi-dilettantish and embarrassingly intimate manner not unlike James Bidgood’s Pink Narcissus (1971), David Lynch’s Eraserhead (1977), and E. Elias Merhige’s Begotten (1990), Dandy Dust, like the previously mentioned films, is a flick that venturesomely pushed the envelope of filmmaking, thus making its paraded status is a work of ‘Queer cinema’ of only secondary and circumstantial importance. As a result, the film will be ultimately more appealing and rewarding to ardent cinephiles than the confused teenage tomgirl who just got her first taste of her friend's meat-curtain. Like any meritorious work of art, Dandy Dust is a candid and uncompromising – if non compos mentis – expression of the filmmaker; a dignified quality that few modern celluloid works strive for, let alone possess.