Mike Kuchar Movies

Green spills over purple ridges and into deep cut valleys. Blue surges up from rounds and hollows, blending with incandescent pink plains, revealing...

This breezy and flamboyant essay about an afternoon rendezvous is pure candy for the eyes.

In March and April of 1966, Markopoulos created this filmic portrait of writers and artists from his New York circle, including Parker Tyler, W. H....

Waiting to die and waiting to live is the same thing to him that chants: "Let me not be mad... let me not be MAD... LET ME NOT BE MAD!"

Masked men prowling in the bushes and not touching anything but satin, dandelions and flesh.

From here to there.

OverRiped words from the lips of an OverExposed boy decorates this litany in pink with purple bruises.

The comings and goings of the late underground filmmaker, Curt McDowell—and the people and activities that came and went along with...

A wide-ranging look at pictures I collect on my walls and in my head. A look at pictures I concoct with my students at the San Francisco Art...

Two earthbound bodies soul-surf into a new age of enlightenment.

The dialogue for this production, featuring Cupid, is taken from the pages of a personal diary found under a chair.

A young man's struggle with his sexuality overtakes his life, driving him deep into his subconscious where guilt and fears of physicality chase him...

He hears the whispers of gargoyles in a hall of heavy stone.

A shady motel manager becomes obsessed with a neglected wife.

'Misery' doesn't like 'company' -- but 'company' does love a 'party', so come join in on a catastrophic celebration, and do 'hang on' tight --...

An hour-long saga of Mick Terrific, rock 'n' roll star, and the cast of 50 he encounters on his search for "Mr. Wonderful." “PEED INTO THE...

In the serene zone between twilight and dawn, a lullaby of thoughts floats beneath a blanket of stars.

He made some 'love'....where has it all gone? --Mike Kuchar

Offer a pagan god only simple flowers of spring and the sparkling diamonds and opals of morning dew strung on the threads of the spider... and fear...

Amid the silence of a pastel hued room, a soul, fully-fleshed, gathers secrets whispered by the moon over his cool bedsheets.