Reflections on ... Third Girl from the Left (1973)

 

I haven’t seen the movie The Last Showgirl yet, but I intend to! (It just recently opened in the UK). Alongside Demi Moore in The Substance, Pamela Anderson’s is the comeback story de nos jours. 

But what I did revisit in preparation is the ABC 1973 made-for-TV Third Girl from the Left, which shares a virtually identical theme. Written by singer-songwriter Dory Previn, it’s a downbeat, wistful character study starring Kim Novak (in her television debut) as Gloria Joyce, a veteran showgirl (in New York this time rather than Vegas) hitting a crisis point in her life. At 36, after years of being centre stage in the line-up, she’s been asked to “move to the back” to make space for a new girl. Has Gloria “aged out” of her showbiz career? (Isn’t it wild to reflect that 36 was considered “past it” in 1973? Novak herself is 40 years-old here). In addition, Gloria’s 13-year relationship with lounge crooner Joey Jordan (Tony Curtis, clearly having a blast luxuriating in this sleazebag role) is fizzling out. Bruised and uncertain, she embarks on a tentative romance with a younger man (Michael Brandon). 

Misty, ethereal and vulnerable, Novak seems to be deliberately evoking her earlier performance as Polly the Pistol in Billy Wilder’s Kiss Me, Stupid (1964). There are introspective songs via Previn (the genius who wrote the anguished lyrics to the Beyond the Valley of the Dolls theme, composed by her then-husband Andre Previn). In the striking opening credits, we watch Gloria in close-up applying her stage make-up as Previn sings about her on the soundtrack (“Gloria / Remember her? A flowered blouse, a ribbon bow, the night you had a year ago … Her eyes were sad … you asked if you could see her place / A pale perfume, a paler face / You stayed a while / She liked your smile …”). You’ll notice the credit “Executive Producer: Hugh M Hefner”: Third Girl from the Left is a Playboy Production (perhaps inevitably, his then-mistress Barbi Benton has a supporting role. So does Anne Ramsay from Throw Mama from the Train!). Curtis and Novak would reunite seven years later in The Mirror Crack'd (1980).

You can watch Third Girl from the Left on YouTube:

Reflections on ... Outlaws: Fashion Renegades of 80s London exhibition

 

/ Portrait of Leigh Bowery at home (note the Star Trek wallpaper) / 

Finally getting around to posting a few shots I snapped from when I visited the Outlaws: Fashion Renegades of 80s London exhibition at London’s Fashion and Textiles Museum a few weeks ago. The exhibit documents the wildly vivid, creative and fertile post-punk, post-New Romantic period when edgy nightlife bled into and informed street fashion and youth subcultures (and the emerging style press like i-D magazine) and ultimately high fashion. Outlaws locates the epicentre of this scene as Taboo, the hedonistic and anarchic anything-goes club night organised by freaky and inspired drag terrorist / performance artist Leigh Bowery (1961 - 1994) in London’s Leicester Square from 1985. (Bowery is definitely enjoying a cultural moment: a major retrospective exhibit devoted to him opens on 27 February at Tate Modern). Anyway, some of the names and reference points you’ll encounter at the exhibit include Bad boy of dance Michael Clark. Judy Blame. Princess Julia. Pam Hogg. Boy George. Mark Moore of S’Express. Scarlett Cannon. John Galliano. Neneh Cherry. Sue Tilley. Susanne Bartsch. Lana Pellay. Kinky Gerlinky. Lloyd Johnson. Kensington Market. The show closes on 9 March 2025 so don’t delay!

/ Mannequins representing Scarlett Cannon and Leigh Bowery /

/ Mannequin representing Pete Burns of Dead or Alive /

/ Ensemble by Pam Hogg /

/ Polaroid of adorable young Princess Julia - the queen of my heart! /

/ Can't vouch for everything the mannequin is wearing, but I know that the gold leather fringed biker jacket and matching jeans are definitely by Lloyd Johnson and that Lux Interior of The Cramps wore this outfit in the 1980s /

My First Article for Interview Magazine: “I’m a Woman, Darling”: The Life and Times of Warhol Superstar Holly Woodlawn

 

/ Pic: portrait of young Holly Woodlawn by Jack Mitchell, 1970 /

What a trip to be published in Interview (as in, the esteemed Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine, which celebrated its fifty-fifth anniversary last year). Believe me, as a teenager, I used to hungrily devour issues of Interview and the original incarnations of Details and Paper magazines every month! Read my ultra- juicy interview with author Jeff Copeland about his new book Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn: A Walk on the Wild Side with Andy Warhol’s Most Fabulous Superstar (published this month by Feral House!). Copeland first met Woodlawn in 1989, co-wrote her rollicking 1991 memoirs A Low Life in High Heels and now – almost a decade after her death in 2015 – reflects on their stormy friendship in Love You Madly. Read the article to find out why Copeland calls Woodlawn his “auntie Mame”! 

To whet your appetite, a snippet from my introduction .. 

“Holly Woodlawn was Andy Warhol’s spiciest superstar, the Factory’s own Anna Magnani. Following her volcanic breakthrough performance in the Warhol-produced, Paul Morrissey-directed Trash (1970), the Puerto Rico-born transgender trailblazer would be immortalized by Lou Reed in the lyrics to his 1972 hit “Walk on the Wild Side,” dressed by Halston, photographed by Richard Avedon and feted by Truman Capote as “the face of the seventies” (although rumour has it the writer may have said those exact words to Woodlawn’s peer, Candy Darling, too). By the time the naïve aspiring screenwriter Jeff Copeland encountered Woodlawn in Los Angeles in 1989, the diva’s fortunes had taken a downturn. The odd couple would collaborate on Woodlawn’s 1991 autobiography A Low Life in High Heels and now, almost a decade after Woodlawn’s death, Copeland reflects on their friendship with exasperated affection in his juicy new book Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn: A Walk on the Wild Side with Andy Warhol’s Most Fabulous Superstar …”

Read my article here. 

Reflections on ... The Mafu Cage (1978)

 

/ Above: Carol Kane (as Cissy) and Lee Grant (as Ellen) in The Mafu Cage directed by Karen Arthur /

Recently watched: The Mafu Cage (1978). Tagline: “A terrifying love story.”  

Basically, nothing I say can prepare you for this truly disturbing and hypnotic oddity. Ellen (Lee Grant) and Cissy (Carol Kane) are two adult sisters leading an isolated, codependent existence in a palatial mansion somewhere in Los Angeles. We gradually learn that both their parents are dead; they grew up in the jungles of Africa, there’s a vague sense of unspecified trauma in their past, and that their father was an anthropologist who studied simians. Cissy still yearns for Africa and has seemingly never adjusted to life in the US. Level-headed, responsible and maternal Ellen combines her career as an astronomer at Griffith Observatory with caring for mentally fragile Cissy, who is childlike, ethereal – but also capable of shocking brutality. When Ellen develops romantic feelings for a male colleague, the sisters’ delicate equilibrium swiftly unravels with horrific consequences ... (Note that while Kane has the showier role, Grant is equally remarkable. Both actresses are exemplary). 

/ Carol Kane in The Mafu Cage /

The Mafu Cage is “horror adjacent” without being remotely kitsch, camp or exploitative: it's a deeply cerebral psychological meditation on insanity and claustrophobic, dysfunctional family dynamics. I’d argue relevant reference points would include What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) by Robert Aldrich, Secret Ceremony (1968) by Joseph Losey, That Cold Day in the Park (1969) and 3 Women (1977) by Robert Altman and the 1975 documentary Grey Gardens. Unsurprisingly, the distributors were flummoxed about how to promote this curiosity: it was marketed as a horror flick under various titles including Don’t Ring the Doorbell (“Chop, chop … Slice, slice … Another man would be so nice!”), My Sister, My Love and Deviation. The Mafu Cage was little seen at the time but has gradually been embraced as a cult film. Warning: some of the images in The Mafu Cage will haunt your subconscious forever! A bonus: the supporting cast includes Will Geer (Grandpa Walton)!

Watch The Mafu Cage on YouTube. 

Reflections on ... Nina Hagen in Ekstasy (1985)

 

“Nina Hagen is at once the most outlandish of rock clowns and the most intensely committed and flaked-out female pop visionary since Patti Smith herself.” From Tim Holmes’ review of the album Nina Hagen in Ekstasy (1985) in Rolling Stone. 

Released forty years ago this month (February 1985) by CBS records: Nina Hagen in Ekstasy, the berserk German punk diva’s third solo studio album. Don’t compare it to Hagen’s earlier futuristic avant-garde science fiction tour de force Nunsexmonkrock (1982) and Ekstasy is a blast on its own terms (and it’s been a perennial favourite of mine since I was a teenager). 

/ Nina Hagen photographed by Paul Natkin in 1985 / 

The cover depicts Hagen as a punk rock Jayne Mansfield complete with shocking fuchsia hair extensions. The music inside more than lives up to this persona (aptly described by The Village Voice’s Evelyn McDonnell as “extraterrestrial demon-child”): it’s an anything goes explosion of lurid maximalist bad taste, gleefully throwing heavy metal, punk, psychedelia (she covers “Spirit in the Sky” by Norman Greenbaum), hip hop, reggae and dance music into the mix. As ever, Hagen’s lyrics offer her crackpot ruminations on religion ("Gott im Himmel”), spirituality, UFOs and politics (especially Russian politics). Never one for false modesty, on “Prima Nina in Ekstasy" Hagen declares, “I love myself and I know who I am / Don't you be afraid, doc / I'm the queen of punk rock …” “Universal Radio” is one of the catchiest things she ever did. Her version of “My Way” matches Sid Vicious’ rendition for ferocity. Growling “Go down on your knees and pray for peace …” on “The Lord’s Prayer”, Hagen seemingly channels Linda Blair in The Exorcist. The freaky “Atomic Flash Deluxe” (which ends with her chanting / warning “Babylon will fall”) could be an off-cut from Nunsexmonkrock. And her repeated references to “ekstasy” perhaps hint at what she was dabbling in at the time. 

To be fair, CBS gave the album a major promotional push: did they think Hagen could be their equivalent to Cyndi Lauper or Madonna? But of course, she was never destined for that kind of pop stardom. As Trouser Press’ critic concluded, “Hagen’s rampant individuality almost precludes mass comprehension, let alone full-scale popularity.” And in retrospect, Ekstasy represents Hagen’s artistic last gasp. After this, aside from a fun, trashy heavy metal cover of Elvis Presley’s “Viva Las Vegas” in ’89, she well and truly abandoned quality control and pretty much never recorded a decent note of music again!

Listen to Nina Hagen in Ekstasy below. 

Reflections on ... My Favourites of 2024!

 

/ Pictured: portrait of Kim Gordon by Danielle Neu, 2024 /

Better late than never, let me regale you with my “Favourites of the Year!” 

To start: Song of the Year. On her challenging and confrontational solo album, The Collective (released in March 2024), the now 70-year-old former Sonic Youth singer-bassist, multi-disciplinary conceptual artist and intensely fierce babe Kim Gordon reasserted her status as the epitome of unassailable, ineffable deadpan cool with nonchalant authority. Understandably, listeners went nuts for crunching first single “Bye Bye”, in which Gordon hisses and whispers what sounds like a “to-do” list (“Buy a suitcase, pants to the cleaner / Cigarettes for Keller / Call the vet, call the groomer, call the dog sitter / Milk thistle, calcium, high-rise, boot cut, Advil, black jeans / Blue jeans, cardigan purse, passport, pajamas, silk …”) over juddering, anxious trap beats. But my song of 2024 was the ominous industrial grind of follow-up “I’m a Man”, on which Gordon (who’s always loved a feminist diatribe) steps into the psyche of an alienated alt-right man to icily scrutinize toxic masculinity (“Dropped out of college, don't have a degree / And I can't get a date / It's not my fault … I'm not bringing home the juice / I'm not bringing home the bacon …”). “I’m a Man” makes a political point (Gordon’s lyrics demonstrate more empathy than you might expect) AND rocks like a mutha. Watch the video below:

Most noteworthy passing: American author, playwright, actor, essayist, art critic and all-round bête noire Gary Indiana (né Gary Hoisington, 16 July 1950 – 23 October 2024) died of lung cancer aged 74. (As Indiana told an interviewer in 2014 “I’ve been smoking since I was practically two years old.” His brand of choice was Camel Filters. It’s amazing the dissolute Indiana lasted this long, considering his peers were people like David Wojnarowicz, Peter Hujar and Cookie Mueller). Anyway, words like “lacerating” and “scathing” barely suffice when discussing Indiana’s oeuvre. When I was in my twenties, buying each new work by Indiana and Dennis Cooper was de rigueur. (I probably purchased them at the long-defunct radical Compendium bookstore in Camden Town). I moved around a lot and wound up re-selling them to used bookstores for a pittance. Then Indiana’s books mostly lapsed out of print! (In more recent years, they’re gradually being reissued by Semiotext(e)). It didn’t help that Indiana gleefully burnt bridges throughout his life. As one of his associates noted almost admiringly, “He went through agents the way I go through T-shirts.” Some of his most noteworthy books were speculative fiction inspired by true crime figures like the Menendez brothers (Resentment: A Comedy (1997) and Andrew Cunanan (Three Month Fever (1999). (The viewers who clutched their pearls over Ryan Murphy’s recent Menendez miniseries would REALLY lose their shit over Indiana’s book. Indiana would have swooned over Luigi Mangione). For anyone interested in investigating Indiana, his memoirs I Can Give You Anything But Love is available in paperback. And his interview with Butt in July 2024 is essential. (I assume it's Indiana's last-ever interview, but don't quote me on that). As its intro summarizes: “Gary earned his notorious reputation over the course of his unflinching, decades-long career. He writes about addiction, alienation, corruption, exploitation, obsession, perversion, power and sexuality with unfiltered candour, leaving no room for politeness … His tendency toward destructive obsession was kept in check by his brilliance, cutting humor and heart.” 

/ Pictured: “Gary Indiana Veiled” by Peter Hujar, 1981 / 

“Maybe one reason I like female-fronted punk bands is my mother was a yeller. Gives me a homey feeling,” Nate Lippens muses in Ripcord (my favourite book of 2024 – well, tied for top spot with Candy Darling: Dreamer, Icon, Superstar by Cynthia Carr). “The anger of my old punk albums is still fresh. This fearful rage sung in wild harmonies with sped-up rockabilly guitar riffs is about careening drunk through disappointment and sadness as time slips away, leaving something half-healed and half-wounded. The singer keens, “A life of intermission, a life of intermission …””. Even if you don’t recognize the lyrics to “Beyond and Back” from their 1981 album Wild Gift, you’ll instantly identify the unnamed band Lippens cites as X. The definitive and most enduring of original Los Angeles punk bands released their ninth and final studio recording Smoke & Fiction in August 2024, and it’s my album of the year. All the essential components that make X unique are present and correct. Brevity (the album is 28-minutes long). Despairing low-life beatnik poetry. The fiery zap of Billy Zoom’s punkabilly guitar. Exene Cervenka and John Doe’s signature dissonant, spine-tingling harmonies. And they wail and shred like their lives depend on it. (X still sounds reassuringly desperate!). But Smoke & Fiction is also rueful, with reflections on ageing and the passage of time. Its messages are bittersweet and unconsoling. “There is no upside / Only your flipside / That's where the dark side resides” they conclude on “Flipside”, while on the title track Exene laments “Wrapped up tight in twilight / In a bed I am borrowing / My face turns to sorrowing / When I'm dreaming about tomorrowing / I still hurt a little bit / But there's no cure for this.” If this is indeed X’s swansong (and let’s face it, considering their ages and Zoom’s health travails it probably is), they are ending on a dignified creative high.

/ Above: portrait of Exene Cervenka of X. Below: the video for "Ruby Church" /

And finally, the cinematic event of 2024 MUST be French director Coralie Fargeat’s disturbing and provocative modern horror The Substance. Pal and I revisited it on Amazon Prime on New Year's Eve (crashed out on the sofa, drinking prosecco) for the first time since seeing it at the cinema (it hadn’t occurred to me that The Substance is the PERFECT film to watch on New Year’s Eve night!). What I love about The Substance: how it combines universal anxieties about aging with classic tropes of David Cronenberg-inspired “body horror” and hagsploitation (I see The Substance as an update of late 1950s movies The Wasp Woman and The Leech Woman), all filtered through an ultra-stylish, coolly detached European art house sensibility. The pervading sense of dread from the very beginning. Its alienated, almost post-apocalyptic “outsider” view of Los Angeles with perennially deserted streets. (This is partly because The Substance was entirely filmed in France, masquerading as Hollywood! The palm trees we keep seeing are in Antibes!). How the luxuriously appointed, pink-carpeted penthouse apartment of protagonist Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) - with its eerie, cavernous, white-tiled bathroom - gradually becomes the epicenter of hell. And the gutsy, committed performances of Moore and Margaret Qualley. (Moore’s is truly the comeback of the year. That Golden Globe award was well deserved). Of course, The Substance - with its prosthetics and geysers of blood and gore - works as a gross-out satirical black comedy, but its quieter moments are haunting, like Elisabeth savagely smearing red lipstick across her face in the bathroom mirror in a fit of self-loathing. Or her jittery, panic-stricken trips to the derelict graffiti-scarred building (with the metal shutter that only partially opens!) to collect her refills of The Substance – the indelibly chic image of Elisabeth in THAT yellow coat, sunglasses and gloves! My second favourite film of 2024 was Love Lies Bleeding by Rose Glass (female directors were on fire last year). Further reading: I originally wrote about The Substance here. 

Next Lobotomy Room film club: Dead Ringer (1964) on Thursday 16 January 2025

 

For the first film club presentation of the New Year, Lobotomy Room comes screaming back (out of the gutter and into your arms!) with ultra-campy 1964 psychological thriller Dead Ringer (aka Who Is Buried in My Grave?)! Thursday 16 January at Fontaine’s! Starring volcanic grande dame of golden age Hollywood Miss Bette “Mother Goddamn” Davis in dual roles! (As Eric Henderson of Slant magazine puts it, “It features the compelling spectacle of Bette Davis competing for screen space with the only actress capable of upstaging her: Bette Davis”). 

Made between What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and Hush … Hush, Sweet Charlotte, it sees Davis portraying long-estranged identical twin sisters (Margaret is now an affluent socialite, while Edith is impoverished, seething with resentment - and vengeful). Veteran Davis’ career was so long at this point she’d already made a variation of this film in the 1940s with A Stolen Life (1946)! Packed with juicy suspenseful twists and turns, Dead Ringer is a blast! And Davis in full blowtorch abrasive, gloriously self-parodic Medusa-like mode is simply magnificent. (This is precisely the incarnation of Davis that nightclub female impersonators like Charles Pierce and Craig Russell would seize on). 

Lobotomy Room is the FREE monthly film club devoted to Bad Movies for Bad People! Third Thursday night of every month downstairs at Fontaine’s cocktail lounge in Dalston. Numbers are limited, so reserve your seat via Fontaine’s website. Alternatively, phone 07718000546 or email bookings@fontaines.bar. (Fontaine’s is closed until 10 January so don’t be surprised if you don’t hear back until later in month). The film starts at 8:30 pm. Doors to the basement Bamboo Lounge open at 8:00 pm. To ensure everyone is seated and cocktails are ordered on time, please arrive by 8:15 pm at the latest. Facebook event page. 

And remember -- the only thing more fun than a movie starring Bette Davis – is a movie starring TWO Bette Davises!

Watch the trailer below: