If you’re wondering what the phrase “famous for being famous” means, Edie Sedgwick is the definition. She’s a beautiful and charismastic art student from California, but we never see more than fleeting glimpses of her work, even as she works among the most famous artists of her time. It’s her attitude and charisma that rockets her to the top. That’s because in Andy Warhol’s crowd, posture and artifice – the creation and maintenance of the “scene” – are more important than the art itself. But that’s one man’s opinion.

Factory Girl is Edie’s story. Heiress money puts her in the sights of Andy Warhol quickly, and the two of them form a bond almost sweet in its innocence. Warhol wears his persona like sword and shield. One gets the impression he’s not much more than a brilliant child, unable to express himself sincerely. He’s not selfish, exactly, just self-centered. And he loves Edie in his way. Once it becomes clear she’ll never be his, his affections turn to cruelty. She’s “out” of the scene. Just like that, Edie’s meal ticket is gone. The descent comes fast.

In lesser hands, Factory Girl would be just another retread down familiar Behind the Music territory: rich person meets famous people, parties, has sex, discovers drugs, and soon enough she’s almost unrecognizable in her desperation for drugs and money. “Poor little rich girl,” you might say. Our society is used to these professional spectacles by now. As I write this, I find out Anna Nicole Smith has died… and the jokes have already started. A person as disposable entertainment.

But director George Hickenlooper (Mayor of the Sunset Strip) and writer Captain Mauzner (Wonderland) know how to capture sleaze and glitz and put it all in human perspective. Edie’s fortune comes with heavy, abusive strings from a domineering father. Her close relationship with Warhol teeters on his childish temperament. She’s trapped, and only barely aware of it. Where Marie Antoinette only meandered, Factory Girl nails it cold.

The trick is to make a woman who could come off like the archetypal wastrel heiress empathetic. Sienna Miller does. Her occupation of Edie is so complete that, as with the best performances, we no longer consciously see the performance. We just see the complete character.

The same can be said for the supporting cast. I’m not ashamed to say it took me a full half hour before I realized the amusing little prig Warhol was in fact Guy Pearce, one of my favorite actors. And the single confrontation between Warhol and Edie’s would-be boyfriend Bob Dylan (Hayden Christiensen, stunningly good) grabs the audience by the collar. There’s a certain electricity in watching young actors play icons from past decades. It’s riveting stuff.

The closing title cards tell us Edie died at the age of 28. I was a little startled to see how young she died; only two years older than me, and such a full life. Sienna Miller likened Edie’s life to performance art in an interview with Esquire, and I’m inclined to agree. Her life was her show. And I think she would have liked Factory Girl.