This is a man whose volatile temperament is renowned. And who recently didn't sleep for six months due to a rare medical condition. I had been warned though...
"He is Mr Anger," cautions a neighbour of the cantankerous director while I await his arrival in the lobby of his apartment block. Actually, the author of the Hollywood Babylon books - insightful, salacious and scandalous tales from the sewers of the film industry - and experimental filmmaker described by the American Film Institute as "the magus of cinema", should be addressed fully as Dr Kenneth Anger, since he was recently bestowed an honorary doctorate in humanities. Those that do not observe his wishes are risking the very nature of their existence - with his knowledge of the Thelema religion and the black magick rites of legendary occultist Aleister Crowley, he is renowned for placing hexes and curses upon those that cross him.
My questions are pitched during car journeys: a trip to Grauman's Chinese Theatre, a tour of his youthful haunts in Hollywood - populated by many black magicians it seems - and a light lunch off Sunset Boulevard. He answers with wonderfully detailed tales of old Hollywood, stories about his long list of celebrity friends and a - shall we say -'politically incorrect' stance on California's black and Mexican communities.
Kenneth Anger was born in 1930 into the land of make-up and make-believe, amidst the dream factories of Hollywood, California. His grandmother was a silent-film wardrobe mistress, and Anger soon found himself sucked into the film industry. Aged four, he was cast as the changeling prince in A Midsummer Night's Dream (1935) - which bizarrely featured James Cagney as Bottom. Later, he danced with Shirley Temple, the blonde-haired kid with a lollipop smile. But performing was just an minor element of his artistic repertoire, for as soon as he discovered his family's home cinema camera, he quickly decided to make films. With a mere 17 years of life experience, he made his groundbreaking and influential Fireworks (1947), a dreamlike underground short flaunting iconic images of sailors who boasted lit candles for penises. Film critics place it alongside Bunuel's Un Chien Andalou (1929) and Jean Cocteau's The Blood Of A Poet (1930) as a surrealist classic, one that expanded the language of film.
After a move to Paris, Anger published the book Hollywood Babylon in 1959, which promptly became a bestseller in France. Expanded (though purportedly substantially toned-down) and released in America in 1975, it documented Golden-Age Hollywood scandals and falls from grace such as that of Fatty Arbuckle, and pulled the sordid secrets of the industry out from under the carpet.
A sequel soon followed, this time with more contemporary skeletons unearthed, such as James Dean's penchant for having men stub out their cigarettes on his torso. A third Hollywood Babylon book is now completed and after years of failed attempts to get it published - it contains taboo stories about many living personalities who might sue - Anger is selling it by mail order only.
Not included in the Hollywood Babylon books was the story of how a young Kenneth Anger was taken by his grandmother to meet Walt Disney. Uncle Walt was only too delighted to meet the "little Mousketeer", it seems:
"He put his hand in the middle of my... you can print all this if you want, I don't give a fuck. It's true. And he did it with hundreds of boys, not girls. Walt Disney liked little boys. He was a closet paedophile. He never took their pants down or sucked them off or anything like that. But this is what happened. He put me on his lap. Slowly, I felt within his pants about an 8in erection. Right in front of my grandmother. She thought he was a harmless eccentric, but he was also a calculating monster."
Still reeling in shock at this particular image, I walk with the doctor to the rental car for a tour of where he grew up. I ask him if he had many negative reactions from the publishing of the first two Hollywood Babylon books.
"I was only sued by one person," he explains, sounding almost surprised. "It was Gloria Swanson, and she was proved by my clinical psychiatrist to be mentally unbalanced and emotionally deranged through the effects of menopause. Anyway, she lost. She sued me for million for totally defaming her, humiliating her and making her seem like a common prostitute. Now, those were her words. And the judge read what I wrote - there was nothing. I never called her a common prostitute. I said that when she was poor she made some pornographic films because she needed a little money. They were like striptease films, it wasn't like she was getting fucked by a donkey."
In between endearing himself to aging starlets, Anger continued to make films. Scorpio Rising (1963) was a typically obsessive look at the leather and lust-for-speed of bikers, mixing footage of their homoerotic world with imagery of Jesus Christ, Adolf Hitler and the Devil. Anger has never limited himself to using synchronised sound, preferring instead to present silent, sensuous images, with music to support them. On Scorpio Rising, he used 13 pop songs for the score. It was a groundbreaking move that predicted the world of the MTV music video, and influenced countless filmmakers, notably Martin Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino, to use 'found' (as opposed to specially-commissioned) music as a soundtrack source.
When we arrive at my car, a problem is apparent. Overnight, some pigeons have left a friendly message on the bonnet. Dr Anger is not impressed.
"How can you drive a car with bird shit all over it - have you no pride?" he asks, screwing his face in disgust. "You must realise it's terrible bad luck."
He insists I wash the vehicle immediately, so we drive posthaste to the nearest carwash to appease him. During the journey, the director explains he is currently formulating plans for his new film project, a surrealist chapter play inspired by the old serial format that was so popular in the 1940s and 50s. He's looking for inspiration.
While the car is being cleaned, we head to one of his favourite local Italian cafes to grab some lunch but unfortunately it is closing. However, with a little Dr Anger arm-twisting, the owner Vincent is persuaded to keep his establishment open. I start a conversation about his interest in the occult. Kenneth Anger's later films are cinematic visions of occult practices and beliefs. They explode with images of demonic forces, gods and mystical energies - 1969's Inauguration Of The Pleasure Dome features the elaborate rituals practised by Aleister Crowley set to a Moog soundtrack by Mick Jagger. What's the appeal of magick and Crowley?
"It's 'Crow-lay'; rhymes with 'magic unholy'," Dr Anger corrects me. "A crow like the bird, and a lay, which is a field from England where all the crows gather on a dead tree or a field."
Fair enough, but what displays of powerful magick has he experienced?
"I never talk about it with people that aren't magicians. Because they would think you were a fucking liar. But you see, I'm not a Satanist. Some people think I am. I don't care. Some people call me a cannibal because a child disappeared at one point. I mean, I had nothing to do with it. Well, cannibalism is vulgar and I would never harm a child in any way, shape or form."
He did, however, cast several hexes during the filming of his long-term project, Lucifer Rising (1970-80). Shot in England, Germany and Egypt, the film in its current form is a haunting study of ceremonies and rituals, mixing the Rolling Stones, Marianne Faithfull, the pyramids and Satanism.
Many have said the film is cursed. Anger first tried to get the project off the ground in 1967, with Bobby Beausoleil (the guitarist in acid rock band Love) as the eponymous lead. Beausoleil was living with Anger in the old Russian Embassy in London. Events are unclear, but apparently Beausoleil was kicked out for hiding an enormous parcel of marijuana in the house.
The guitarist absconded with most of the footage, supposedly burying it somewhere in Death Valley. Furious, Kenneth Anger placed 'the curse of the frog' on him, by trapping a frog in a well. Soon after, Beausoleil became associated with the Manson family and murdered music teacher Gary Hinman. Though he escaped the death penalty because of a legal loophole, his association with the murderous clan meant a seemingly permanent incarceration behind prison walls, just like the poor frog.
Incredibly, Bobby Beausoleil eventually wrote the score for a later version of Lucifer Rising after reconciliation with his old flame, though it was composed and performed from inside prison walls. The original composer, Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page (also obsessed with the teachings of Crowley), was sacked by Anger, and he too faced a dreaded curse from the magus.
"He was a multi-millionaire miser," Anger recalls with venom. "He and Charlotte [Martin, Page's then-girlfriend], they had so many servants, yet they would never offer me a cup of tea or a sandwich. Which is such a mistake on their part because I put the curse of King Midas on them. If you're greedy and just amass gold you'll get an illness. So I turned her and Jimmy Page into statues of gold."
The dialogue is halted as a Mexican street-peddler staggers into the café with a tray full of feathered pen toys, multicoloured birds with sucker cups.
"Look. Isn't it fabulous?" he squeals with delight, holding one of the birds in his hand. "I'm going to film these and put them in a movie. If you turn them, the feathers, like this, they're totally animated. I can make this into a whole idea for my dream sequence and you'll see it. I'm going to film it this summer. That's the magical way I put my films together."
After 10 minutes of jostling with the peddler over exactly which of the feathered fiends he wants, the account is settled. Another person enters the café, this time a tall surfer dude. Again, Dr Anger takes a keen interest.
"I'm a casting director. Would you like to be in a movie?" he asks.
"Sure!" nods the blond-haired man without hesitation. This is Hollywood, after all.
"You've got an incredible face," exclaims Dr Anger. "You look rather like a young Charlton Heston. Do you want to give me your card or your phone number? I'm not trying to pick you up. Well, here's my secretary, he'll take it down."
The mischievous director points at me, forgetting my name. Unsure of how to respond, I decide to simply play along.
"That's a very interesting tattoo, how long have you had it?" he enquires of the bemused twentysomething, who later explains he is the cousin of Emilio Estevez.
Anger stands up, unbuttons his orange silk shirt and pulls it apart to reveal his own tattoo - the word 'LUCIFER' emblazoned across his chest. He then tells the young actor about his friendship with James Dean, revealing a few juicy titbits about his death. After particulars are taken, Dr Anger asks me to photograph the guy, who afterwards swiftly disappears, apparently not quite sure what to make of the director.
"I will die in the attempt to make him a star!" Anger cries. He's inspired by these recent encounters. "First came the toys, then came him and they are all part of the movie. Like he dreams they're dancing around."
I comment on the synchronicity of it all.
"It's called magick," he explains. "I caused him to happen. And you can say, 'Well it was just a fucking coincidence.' But I swear I will do it."
With determination burning in his eyes, this magus of cinema is going to be casting cinematic spells to make his visions happen. Perhaps something magical will occur.
Though Dr Kenneth Anger is a complicated and contradictory character, there's no doubt that he spins fascinating and wondrous tales, on page, on film and in person. Offscreen, his lifestyle is equally intriguing, and as enigmatic as his exotic experiments with celluloid. With so many plans afoot, I just hope he finally gets some sleep.
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