Scarecrow in a Garden of Cucumbers is a scrappy, loopy, gloriously unbothered underground film from 1972, directed by Robert J. Kaplan, who directed only one other film I know of. This movie lives in that same downtown New York ecosystem where plot is optional, sincerity is suspicious, and everyone looks like they just slept on a stranger’s couch and made it work.
The film stars Holly Woodlawn, and honestly, that’s the headline. Everything else is garnish.
This isn’t a movie so much as a mood swing. A fable. A walk through a city where identity is fluid, money is fake, and performance is survival. The characters drift in and out like they’re late for something they don’t believe in. Sexuality isn’t explained, it’s assumed. Gender isn’t debated, it’s worn like a second outfit. The whole thing feels playful, unstable, and just a little bit feral, which is exactly why it works.
Holly Woodlawn is the center of gravity. Trans, loud, funny, sharp, vulnerable, indestructible. She wasn’t “acting” so much as existing at full volume. By this point, she was already a Warhol Factory legend, fresh off Trash (1970), and well on her way to becoming one of the most important underground icons of the era. If you want to understand downtown New York in the early ’70s, you don’t start with critics. You start with Holly.
And yes, Lou Reed is absolutely part of this story, because of course he is. Reed ran with the same crowd, fed off the same energy, and knew a star when he saw one. Holly Woodlawn didn’t just inspire vibes, she got immortalized. “Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.” isn’t trivia, it’s a cultural tattoo. “Walk on the Wild Side” turned the Warhol Factory freak family into pop mythology, and Holly into a permanent landmark.
That’s why Scarecrow matters, even if you’ve never seen it projected on a wall with bad sound and worse chairs. It’s not about box office or polish. It’s about presence. About who was allowed to take up space before anyone asked permission. About a moment when film, drag, music, and survival blurred together into something messy and electric.
Mainstream audiences mostly missed it. Underground audiences didn’t care. They were too busy living it.
So yeah, Scarecrow in a Garden of Cucumbers isn’t a “forgotten gem” so much as a dirty fingerprint on cultural history. And Holly Woodlawn is right there in the middle of it, laughing, swaying, refusing to behave, forever walking on the wild side and dragging the rest of us with her.
Honestly?
If this movie makes you uncomfortable, congratulations.
You’re watching it correctly. 💋
—TT
