Don't be fooled by the ludicrous hyperbole of the synopsis on the previous page (presumably copied directly from the packaging) - this is boring, ineptly filmed, pretentious garbage. Though to be fair, I didn't see all of the thrilling dramatic spectacles promised by that summary, because this film is over three hours long, and no way was I going to sit through the whole lot!
For starters, Paul Morrisey's qualifications as a director were that Andy Warhol fancied him (Warhol himself, though listed as co-director, famously had absolutely nothing to do with any of the films he supposedly made other than sticking his name on the product so that people would think it was Art). As directors go, Paul Morrissey makes Ed Wood look like Orson Welles, and Yoko Ono look like Ed Wood. He really is that bad. His idea of making a long, totally static shot of somebody sitting in a chair talking seem interesting is to zoom in on random parts of their body, something which requires a bit of skill if the film isn't going to go out of focus. Alas, this is not a skill that Paul Morrissey possessed. Another skill he did not possess was the ability to record sound in such a way that it was clearly audible, and the entire film sounds as though it was recorded on a cheap cassette player by somebody standing too far away. Very likely it was. Mind you, on the plus side, the whole thing is shot in split-screen, so it must be Art.
The subject-matter consists of trendy sixties chicks, plus a few "girls" who nowadays we'd probably have to call "transgender women" (though they don't seem to be making much effort to appear feminine other than putting a dress on and being so camp they sound like self-parodies) talking about whatever they feel like talking about, mostly themselves. I suppose it was once genuinely shocking to see gay people, promiscuous women, and druggies discussing such matters on a cinema screen, but except from an anthropological point of view, this is simply tedious. Self-centered people who happen to have unconventional lifestyles drone on about sex and drugs and such, but it's hard to care about any of them, let alone like them. Nico's in it for a while, but she's no more interesting (or well recorded, or in focus) than anybody else.
If these basic themes appeal to you, John Waters took similar ideas much, much further, in films which had a plot, and which were directed by a real director and filmed by cameramen who knew how to operate a camera. And he didn't delegate sound recording duties to the cat. Seriously, if your movie consists almost entirely of people talking to each other and the camera for three hours, it helps if you can be bothered to point the microphone in the right direction at least some of the time.
I would strongly recommend this film to anyone writing a PhD thesis on the movies of Andy Warhol and/or Paul Morrissey. If this is not a description of you, I would strongly recommend almost any other film that isn't actually evil.