Reflections on ... The Only Game in Town (1970)

 

Recently watched: The Only Game in Town (1970). Tagline: “Dice was his vice. Men hers.” 

/ Pictured: George Stevens and Elizabeth Taylor during production of The Only Game in Town /

Director George Stevens and leading lady Elizabeth Taylor triumphed collaborating on A Place in the Sun (1951) and Giant (1956). Far less well-remembered is this downbeat Las Vegas-set character study about two losers tentatively embarking on a love affair. I say “losers” – the two main characters are portrayed by ultra-glamorous and photogenic international movie stars Taylor and Warren Beatty. Joe Grady (Beatty) is a jaded lounge pianist saddled with crippling gambling debts. (The role was originally intended for Frank Sinatra). Fran Walker (Taylor) is a chorus girl who’s been waiting for her wealthy married business executive lover to leave his wife for the past five years. (To establish that Fran is a showgirl, Stevens clumsily splices fleeting close-ups of Taylor in sequins “dancing” into long shots of a huge lavish production number. It is unintentionally hilarious). Both yearn to leave Vegas and start over. 

/ Above: the leading man and leading lady of The Only Game in Town / 

(An aside: if you do any researching on Game, you’ll frequently see Fran described as an “ageing showgirl”. Taylor would be only 36 years old here! Thank God the parameters of “ageing” have changed over the years. But in this regard, Game has thematic parallels with the 1973 made-for-TV Kim Novak movie Third Girl from the Left and, more recently, The Last Showgirl (2024) starring Pamela Anderson). 

Fascinatingly, the budget for this small-scale and intimate comedy-drama promptly spiraled to $11 million. Game was made when Taylor and then-husband Burton – as author Lee Server wrote – were at “their jet-setting, conspicuously consuming, bad-movie-making height.” Taylor was still able to command her mega-star $1.125 million salary and demanded Game be filmed in Paris where Burton was currently making his own flop movie (Staircase (1969)), necessitating the construction of an “ersatz Vegas” on a French sound stage. (I’m hypnotized by the fake rear projection view of the Sahara casino from Fran’s living room window). As Wikipedia concludes: “The Only Game in Town was the second-worst financial failure for Fox, behind Cleopatra, also starring Taylor. Stevens did not direct another film.” 

/ Miss Taylor's wigs by Alexandre of Paris! / 

Anyway, Game is inconsequential and wispy but suffused with retro charm (the décor of Fran’s apartment, her groovy wardrobe of ponchos, muumuus and mini dresses. Taylor’s wild coiffures and wigs are via Alexandre of Paris). The contrasting acting styles of Taylor and Beatty is fascinating (he’s only five years younger, but Beatty embodies “New Hollywood” whereas she’s old-school). The melancholy opening montage of Fran walking through a seedy neon-lit and deserted (actual) Vegas by night is gorgeous.

Watch The Only Game in Town here:

/ Further listening: the reliably excellent Karina Longworth devotes an installment of her You Must Remember This podcast to the late-period career of George Stevens here. 

Reflections on ... Leigh Bowery! at Tate Modern

 

/ Portrait of Leigh Bowery by Nick Knight, 1992 /

“In his brief life Bowery was described as many things. Among them: fashion designer, club monster, human sculpture, nude model, vaudeville drunkard, anarchic auteur, pop surrealist, clown without a circus, piece of moving furniture, modern art on legs. However, he declared if you label me, you negate me and always refused classification, commodification and conformity. Bowery was fascinated by the human form and interested in the tension between contradictions. He used makeup as a form of painting, clothing and flesh as sculpture and every environment as ready-made stage for his artistry. Bridging the gap between art and life, he took on different roles and then discarded them, presenting an understanding of identity that was never stable but always memorable. Bowery embraced difference, often using embarrassment as a tool both to release his own inhibitions and those of people around him. He wanted to shock with his looks and performances. At a time of increasing conservative values in Britain, Bowery refashioned ideas around identity, morality and culture. At times, this caused offence ...” 

This is the introductory text at the exhibit Leigh Bowery! at Tate Modern. (Boy, is that exclamation point warranted!), which probes the life and times of debauched post-punk drag monster, performance artist, nightclub promoter, fashion designer, artist’s model, muse, musician, Australia’s twisted gift to the world and all-round visionary Leigh Bowery (1961 - 1994). I visited it on Sunday, and it scrambled my brains in the best possible way. I’m still processing it! The images Bowery created remain freaky, nightmarish and beautiful, un-mellowed by the passage of time. (Even “off-duty”, Bowery sought to freak out the squares, wanting to resemble “the weirdo on the street that you tell your mum about”). I was particularly struck by his collaborations with bad boy of dance Michael Clark and ferocious post-punk band The Fall and a video clip by Charles Atlas of Bowery miming to an old Aretha Franklin song, a pair of novelty red lips from a joke shop affixed to his face with safety pins. The exhibit is on until 31 August 2025. Here are my pics!

Reflections on ... Anne Baxter in Ritual of Evil (1970)

 

I am evangelical about my love for the Sam Pancake Presents the Monday Afternoon Movie podcast, devoted to the 1970s and 80s l'âge d'or of made-for-TV movies. In his latest installment, the effervescent Sam Pancake interrogates barely comprehensible but undeniably diverting occult nonsense Ritual of Evil (1970). 

For me, it’s chiefly noteworthy for a truly wild ripsnorting guest star performance from veteran Hollywood diva Anne Baxter as washed-up alcoholic actress Jolene Wiley. Buggin’ out in ensembles of gold lamé and marabou feathers, permanently boozy or hungover, constantly availing herself of a crystal decanter of scotch and tinkling the ice cubes in her rocks glass, no one hams it up quite like Anne Baxter in full cry. Reference points here might include Grayson Hall in Dark Shadows or Baxter herself a few years later in “Requiem for a Falling Star”, the 1973 episode of Columbo she appears in. 

We’re first introduced to Jolene on a dark and stormy night. The power has gone out and she’s wielding a candelabra straight out of Liberace’s mansion. “I think I’m going mad,” she slurs to suave French-accented psychiatrist David Sorrell (played by suave French-accented Louis Jordan). “You wanna drink?” She starts regaling him about a party she attended earlier: “I got loaded! You know how sometimes you get loaded very quickly and other times (world-weary pause and eye roll) it takes all night?” then cackles "This is absurd! I'm too sophisticated for this, I really am!" (No matter how tipsy Jolene is, Baxter’s old-school transatlantic diction is flawless. I suspect she went to the same elocution teacher as Eleanor Parker). Her finest moment: Jolene has an embittered meltdown reclining on a fur bedspread, lamenting “I’m not so old, you know. I just wear this middle-aged body on the outside. Inside, I’m really young.” Who among us can't relate to those sentiments?

You can watch Ritual of Evil on YouTube (in a beautiful sparkling print) here. 

Remembering Jackie Curtis (19 February 1947 – 15 May 1985)

 

/ Above: portrait of Jackie Curtis by the late, great Leee Black Childers /

“The first time I ever really spoke to Jackie, I saw her walking along Christopher Street, this bizarre creature with frizzy red hair, a ripped dress, no eyebrows, bee-stung lips. A Puerto Rican queen yelled out, “Girl, I could read you from blocks away!” The other drag queens didn’t really understand Jackie. She wasn’t trying to be a woman; she had this totally individual freaky style … She walked around in ripped stockings and big tears in her dresses with threads hanging off but, in her mind, she thought she was Greta Garbo. She knew she was eccentric, a freak, but in some weird way she visualised herself as Garbo or Marlene Dietrich. She had that combination of trash and glamour, and it made a really big impression on me. A lot of her dresses were from the 30s and 40s, things that she’d pick up from thrift stores for 25 cents, and most of them had big BO stains under the arms, because Miss Curtis was not renowned for her personal hygiene. She wore old lady shoes that she sprayed silver, and her tights were always ripped … nobody else was dressing like this at the time. Jackie was a total innovator. She wasn’t trying to pass as a woman; she developed her extreme style as a direct result of the way she lived. I took that idea from her; my whole attitude towards clothes and make-up and everything changed. Everyone started to deck themselves more and more. But it all started with Jackie, really.” 

/ Jayne County reflecting on the influence of her friend Jackie Curtis in her 1995 memoirs Man Enough to Be a Woman, co-written by Rupert Smith / 

To paraphrase the Ramones: Jackie Curtis was a punk rocker! The pioneering, visionary and outrageous gender-bending underground actor, playwright, Warhol superstar, amphetamine enthusiast and Max’s Kansas City habitué (19 February 1947 – 15 May 1985) died on this day 40 years ago. Search out the 2004 documentary Superstar in a Housedress. 

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.