Recently watched: Blaze Starr Goes Nudist (1962), also known
as Blaze Starr Goes Back to Nature, Blaze Starr Goes Wild, Blaze
Starr the Original and Busting Out.
Blaze Starr is frazzled! In fact, her nerves are shot from
the high-pressure rigors of being a famous sought-after actress. Flame-haired
and buxom sex goddess Starr (1932 - 2015) plays herself and was of course one
of the top striptease headliners of the post-war era (billed as "The
Hottest Blaze in Burlesque”), but weirdly, her occupation throughout the film
is referred to as “actress” rather than dancer. Happily, the stressed-out Starr
unexpectedly finds ecstatic serenity in nudism - naked as nature intended! - at
the Sunny Palms Lodge retreat, a sun-kissed nudist camp in Homestead, Florida. To
paraphrase Starr herself: she swaps the hot lights of the film studio for fresh
air and sunshine, heavy make-up for suntan lotion and the hectic social whirl
of glitzy show biz cocktail parties for al fresco picnics! (As the film’s trailer
exclaimed: “Yes, it’s finally happened! One of the most beautiful women in the
world let’s down her hair and finds relaxation at a nudist camp! In blazing
Eastman colour!”). But how will Starr’s suavely-moustached fiancé and manager respond
to this new lifestyle choice? Will she lose her film contract if the studio
finds out? And is she developing romantic feelings for the nudist camp’s bronzed
and hunky director?
Understandably,
director Doris Wishman (1912 -2002) is often likened to her b-movie contemporary,
boob-fixated trash maestro Russ Meyer (1922 - 2004). Thematically and stylistically
their careers overlapped during the atomic-era while both were working in the
disreputable realm of low-budget grindhouse and drive-in sexploitation titillation.
But by any standards Meyer was a virtuoso filmmaker: his absolute mastery of
composition and editing ensure his films zip-along fast and are always exquisite
to look at. By comparison, the endearingly clunky and pedestrian style of
Wishman – responsible for lurid titles like Bad Girls Go to Hell (1965) and
Another Day, Another Man (1966) - is more like “the female Ed Wood Jr.” Like
Wood, I’d describe Wishman as a genuine naïve outsider low-brow artist. (Note: Wishman makes a fleeting cameo appearance as one of Starr's agents. Her acting ability pretty much equals her directing ability). Wishman's approach to storytelling and film-making is painfully literal and plodding. Wishman’s insistence on never “cutting away”
when any other sane and competent director would is borderline avant-garde. (If
you’re feeling generous, you’d describe it as “attention to detail”). Starr
does loads of uninterrupted walking back and forth. For example, we repeatedly
see Starr drive up to her mid-century moderne bungalow, get out and walk to the
front door in real time. My boyfriend Pal pointed-out her house has a perfectly
good paved driveway – why does she park on the curb and do the lengthy pointless
journey? On plus side, this means we get to see Starr do her ultra-femme Jayne
Mansfield-style hip-swaying, mincing bombshell sashay – breasts thrust forward
and hobbled by her skin-tight clothing - over and over.
About that clothing: because of the film’s el cheapo budget,
I suspect Starr is wearing her own personal wardrobe onscreen. And what a
wardrobe! Think extreme fetishistic silver stripper heels, mink stoles, conical bullet bras, waist
cinchers, sheer peignoirs and negligees, painted-on cocktail dresses with plunging
necklines and best of all, a sensational pair of gold lamé Capri pants –
in fact, seemingly the exact same pair Starr wore when Diane Arbus photographed
her in that famous 1964 portrait.
/ Burlesque entertainer, Blaze Starr, in her living room,
Baltimore, 1964 by Diane Arbus /
The stark early
1960s interior décor is gorgeous too. And once again, due to budgetary
restraints this would have inevitably been filmed on location in someone’s
actual home rather than in a studio. Watch
for the curving wrap-around sofa and kidney-shaped Formica coffee table in the living
room, and Starr’s powder-blue boudoir. At one point a fraught Starr calms
herself by mixing a stiff drink and the ultra-desirable swanky cocktail bar (with a mural on
the wall behind it) will make you gasp.
/ Check out Blaze's minimalist living room. Is that a Klaus Nomi doll on the bar stool? /
Blaze Starr Goes Nudist belongs to the “nudie cutie” school (a genre which
John Waters has affectionately reminisced about, a precursor to porn), but like
most nudist films of its period, seen today it is resolutely un-erotic. The
ultra-tame antics at the nudist colony include picnics, archery, splashing and frolicking
in water, picking fruit and wildflowers, playing chess, sunbathing and the
inevitable volleyball game. There is seemingly one man for every ten women at
the Sunny Lodge: Wishman clearly knew that her target audience (horny hetero
men hungry for female nudity) had zero interest in viewing naked flesh of the
male variety. For example, Andy the camp director keeps his shorts on throughout.
(Bob Mizer of Athletic Model Guild had
the homoerotic baby-oiled beefcake / posing pouch market sewn-up anyway).
Female boobage and buttage abounds, but no full-frontal, pubic hair or reproductive
organs – which means everyone must always unnaturally contort their bodies to
ensure there is never a fleeting glimpse of genitals.
And to make the film feel even more stilted and weird, Wishman’s
technique was to film without audio and then “dub” dialogue in afterwards. (To
compensate for this, one of her trademarks is to cut to the person being spoken
to during dialogue scenes rather than the speaker, which presumably made
dubbing easier. In one hilarious instance, Starr makes an urgent telephone call
and angles the phone to conceal her mouth while she talks the entire time. The effect is jarring).
/ Hell-o? Yes, this is Blaze speaking! /
Voluptuous showgirl deluxe Starr (whose measurements at the
time were reportedly 38-24-37) is undisputed burlesque royalty, possesses star
quality and charisma, and certainly looks gorgeous (albeit a bit heavy-handed
with the powdered blue eye shadow). Like her peer Liz Renay, Starr resembles a Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue illustration come to life. It’s a pleasure to watch her disrobe (her
flesh has the texture of white marshmallow), swivel her hips, pout and luxuriate
in bubble baths. But as an actress she is gloriously wooden and inept. Called
upon to emote, she grimaces, rolls and bulges her eyes in the broad style of a
particularly pungent early silent movie star. Things reach a kind of
zenith (or nadir, depending on your point of view) in a scene where Starr and
two female fellow-nudists stop to “converse” at a clothesline. Except none of
them bother to even pretend to talk or even mumble “rhubarb, rhubarb” in the
accepted style, so Wishman cuts back and forth between the three of them
standing and smiling at each other awkwardly and silently for an interminable
amount of time. The purpose of this sequence is for Starr to indicate how
joyously abandoned and liberated she feels at the nudist colony, worshiping the
sun naked. Starr expresses this by throwing her head back, roaring with
life-affirming laughter, and stretching her arms outward. You must see it for
yourself! Suffused with innocence, Blaze Starr Goes Nudist is an oddity with
genuine charm.
Postscript: Starr was long synonymous with The Block (Baltimore’s
gritty neon-lit red-light district) since the 1950s. In 1968 she bought The Two
O'Clock Club where she regularly performed until retiring in 1975. John
Waters has spoken and written with great fondness about skipping school to sneak-in
with Divine when they were both still underage teenagers to watch Starr’s
routines (when I attended Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender this April,
Waters emceed the Burlesque Showcase and in his introduction he reminisced
about being fortunate enough to have seen old-school legends like Lily St Cyr,
Irma the Body and Blaze Starr perform in the 1960s). Starr was a beloved figure in Baltimore (in her
obituaries Waters described her as "the best tourist attraction Baltimore
ever had"). Asked later in life if
she regretted anything, Starr concluded "Not a thing. I would just do a
lot more of it and try a lot harder – and seduce a lot more men."
/ Note: all of the screen grabs above are via /
/ Below: the trailer for Blaze Starr Goes Nudist /
In August 2018 I spoke my brains to To Do List magazine about the wild, wild world of Lobotomy Room, the monthly cinema club – and my lonely one-man mission to return a bit of raunch, sleaze and “adult situations” to London’s nightlife! Read it - if you must - here.
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