Showing posts with label Tab Hunter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tab Hunter. Show all posts

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

Reflections on ... Polyester (1981)


From the Facebook event page:

Lobotomy Room Goes to the Movies is the FREE monthly film club downstairs at Fontaine’s bar (Dalston’s most unique nite spot!) devoted to Bad Movies We Love (our motto: Bad Movies for Bad People), specializing in the kitsch, the cult and the queer! For the final cinema club of 2018 (on Wednesday 19 December), let’s wind things down with a crowd-pleaser – John Water’s delirious 1981 black comedy Polyester!

A parody of 1950s “women’s pictures”, Polyester sees 300-pound drag monster / leading lady Divine cast against type (and giving one of his definitive performances) in a rare sympathetic role, as long-suffering suburban housewife Francine Fishpaw! It’s an apt choice for last film of 2018 for two reasons: 2018 represented the 100th anniversary of the birth of beloved punk granny Edith Massey (1918 –1984) and Polyester represents her last appearance in a John Waters film. And dreamboat leading man Tab Hunter (1931 – 2018) died earlier this year. 

Doors to the basement Bamboo Lounge open at 8 pm. Film starts at 8:30 pm prompt. Arrive early to grab a seat and order a drink! We can accommodate 30 people maximum. First come, first serve! Note that Fontaine’s Christmas cocktail menu will be available, and the featured cocktail of the night is hot buttered rum!




IMDb’s synopsis: “A suburban housewife's world falls apart when she finds that her pornographer husband is serially unfaithful to her, her daughter is pregnant, and her son is suspected of being the foot-fetishist who's been breaking local women's feet.”


/ Divine as Francine Fishpaw /

A twisted black comedy incorporating divorce, abortion, adultery, alcoholism, foot fetishism, pornography and Christian fundamentalism – Polyester truly has it all! In fact, I’d argue Polyester may be Sultan of Sleaze / The Peoples’ Pervert John Water’s most underrated film. (I won't lie: we had a disappointingly low turn-out for this screening, in fact – which ended the year on a bit of a downer!). I’ve cobbled together below some thoughts, reflections and fun factoids based on my introduction to the film at the December 2018 Lobotomy Room cinema club.

Polyester was filmed over three weeks in October 1979. From the opening shot, the setting is notably posher: the affluent, leafy suburbs of Baltimore this time rather than the gutters, slums and trailer parks featured in Waters’ earlier cinematic atrocities.


In terms of Waters’ filmography, Polyester comes after dystopian lesbian-punk nightmare Desperate Living (1977). There followed a lengthy gap until he made Hairspray in 1988. Polyester can be viewed as a transitional film between Waters’ ultra-raunchy earlier shockers and the relatively more polished and accessible bigger-budgeted films from Hairspray onward. Polyester was the first Waters film to receive an R rating (all his previous ones were slapped with an X).


Obviously, at Fontaine’s we watched Polyester sans the scratch-and-sniff Odorama cards (the original William Castle-inspired gimmick Waters used to promote the film with in 1981). It hardly mattered – Polyester is wildly enjoyable without them. (Trivia: for insurance reasons, Waters was obligated to prove that if anyone ate an Odorama card they wouldn’t die!).


Last time we saw Divine in a Waters film, she was screaming hideously while being electrocuted at the grisly conclusion of Female Trouble (1974). The tone of Polyester is radically different, lovingly referencing and emulating the deluxe 1950s melodramas of Hollywood maestro Douglas Sirk (it plays like a gleefully perverse soap opera) and offers him a rare sympathetic role compared to the monstrous likes of Babs Johnson in Pink Flamingos or Dawn Davenport in Female Trouble. Clad in a wardrobe of garish muumuus and resembling Liz Taylor at her most zaftig, here Divine is long-suffering, much-abused and taken-for-granted 44-year old housewife and mother Francine Fishpaw (“I’m a good Christian woman!”) and he is simply magnificent. Divine never “phoned-in” a performance in his life, but his depiction of Francine’s anguished descent into alcoholism and nervous collapse is an acting tour de force.


Polyester’s heroine Francine is tormented by her dysfunctional family. She is mortified by her sleazy husband Elmer’s hardcore porn cinema. (On the local TV news, a female protester screams, “His theatre caters to sex offenders!” “All the neighborhood women spit at me when I’m at the shopping mall!” Francine wails. “You wouldn’t be at the shopping mall if it wasn’t for my theatre!” Elmer argues). Elmer calls Francine “a fat hunk of cellulite!” and is also brazenly cheating on her with his secretary Sandra (Waters regular Mink Stole, wearing her hair in Bo Derek-inspired cornrow braids, who says things like, “Children would only get in the way of our erotic lifestyle!”). Sexpot teenage daughter Lulu is out of control – and pregnant.  (In the context of Douglas Sirk films, bad girl Lulu in her spray-on Spandex wardrobe and blow-dried Farrah Fawcet hairstyle is in the lineage of Dorothy Malone in Written on the Wind (1956) or Susan Kohner in Imitation of Life (1959)). Lulu aspires to be a go-go dancer. “You dance lewdly for the boys at lunch period?!” Francine demands. “For a quarter I will!” Meanwhile, Francine’s cruel harridan mother LaRue heaps abuse on her for her advanced avoirdupois while pilfering money from her purse. And most worryingly, Francine’s profoundly troubled delinquent son Dexter just may be the Baltimore Foot Stomper!


/ Cuddles (Edith Massey) tries to cheer up Francine (Divine) /

On the plus side, the Fishpaw home is a nouveau riche paradise with powder-blue décor (“French provincial / they do their best to stay neutral …” as the title song puts it). Francine also finds solace in her friendship with Cuddles Kovinsky (Edith Massey), her simple-minded former housekeeper who’s inherited a fortune and reinvented herself as a high-society debutante. (LaRue is horrified by the childlike and cheerful Cuddles. “Your "best friend"? She was your cleaning lady, Francine! Are you that unpopular that you seek out the social company of your maid? She was a scrub woman! Give her carfare, a ham at Easter, but for God's sake, don't hang around with her!” When LaRue encounters Cuddles in Francine’s driveway, she struggles to find conversational common ground. “Scrubbed any interesting toilets lately?”). And just who is the handsome and enigmatic Todd Tomorrow (Tab Hunter) Francine keeps encountering?


/ "Read my lips: I love you ..." Todd Tomorrow (Tab Hunter) and Francine Fishpaw (Divine) /

Waters has pointed out that with the comparatively naturalistic make-up Divine wears in Polyester hiding his five o’clock shadow was a genuine dilemma. At one point, Elmer sneers that Francine is “the hairiest woman I have ever seen!”


For any punk fans, note that Bo-Bo Belsinger (the surly boyfriend of wild child Lulu) is played by Stiv Bators (1949 – 1990), feral frontman of Cleveland punk band Dead Boys.

The major coup for Waters here was luring erstwhile 1950s Hollywood dreamboat Tab Hunter to appear as Francine’s duplicitous love interest, Todd Tomorrow.  Long before Johnny Depp in Cry-Baby (1990) or Kathleen Turner in Serial Mom (1994), this was the first time an established mainstream Hollywood super star would deign to appear in a John Waters film. (Although it must be noted Hunter was considered washed-up at this stage). Hunter (then 48-years old, still devastatingly handsome and in full DILF mode – especially in his ruffled pink formal wear) proves a great sport, happily satirizing himself, and even has an onscreen love scene with Divine. (“Let me kiss away your DTs, honey … let’s make love, you sweet little thing!” Todd purrs to Francine).


An aside: Hunter’s participation in such a brazenly queer, campy film was brave considering he was then still firmly closeted. (He wouldn’t divulge his homosexuality until he released his 2005 autobiography Tab Hunter Confidential: The Making of a Movie Star). He may have been a has-been, but Waters has pointed out Hunter didn’t come cheap - he could only afford Hunter’s services for one week. Hunter and Divine would re-team three years later for the comedy Lust in the Dust (1985) directed by Paul Bartel. (While not in the same league as a Waters film, the Spaghetti Western parody is worth catching). I have one anecdote about the sole occasion I encountered Hunter at The British Film Institute in 2015. He was then 83-years old and his devastatingly rugged good looks were still intact! Read it here.


/ Todd and Francine on their idyllic first date /

I inadvertently misled the audience about something in my introduction: I claimed the opening theme tune was composed by Chris Stein and Deborah Harry of Blondie – and sung by Bill Murray. That’s wrong! It’s Tab Hunter crooning the title song over the introductory credits. (“You know about abundant women / Well, this girl only aims to please / Outside there's a load of noisy neighbours / Upstairs there's a polyester squeeze”). Bill Murray in fact sings the tender ballad “The Best Thing” that soundtracks the romantic first date montage of Francine and Todd frolicking in soft focus. 


Hunter died on 8 July 2018, so this was Lobotomy Room’s end-of-year tribute to him. And 2018 represented the centenary of the birth of Edith Massey (she was born on 28 May 1918), so we celebrated her memory too. I venerate gap-toothed Massey as Waters’ maverick, naive “outsider actress” and punk rock granny. Polyester was Massey’s last appearance in a Waters film (she died aged 66 in 1984) and her performance as house cleaner-turned-socialite Cuddles Kovinsky is simply glorious and a worthy conclusion to her bizarre film career. I especially love Cuddles’ habit of randomly sprinkling high-toned French bon mots into her conversations. She describes Elmer’s mistress Sandra as “straight from the gutter! A regular fille de joie!” “Isn’t it ra sha sha?” she exclaims upon entering a fancy boutique. Later, she screeches at the shop assistant, “You’re a regular little cochon - and that means pig!” The scenes with Divine and Massey together can’t help but feel poignant in retrospect and offer some of Polyester’s highlights. What a lunatic, inspired comedy double-act these two were! The Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz for generations of queers, punks, misfits, drag queens and freaks! 


Further reading: 
Read my epic 2010 interview with John Waters here.
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. 
Follow me on twitter!
"Like" and follow the official Lobotomy Room page on Facebook if you dare!  
Next film club:

Lobotomy Room Goes to the Movies is the FREE monthly film club downstairs at Fontaine’s bar (Dalston’s most unique nite spot!) devoted to Bad Movies We Love (our motto: Bad Movies for Bad People), specializing in the kitsch, the cult and the queer!
For the first Lobotomy Room film club of the New Year, let’s revel in some old-school pagan diva worship with Sudden Fear (1952) starring cinema’s bitch goddess extraordinaire (and eternal Lobotomy Room favourite) Joan Crawford! Wednesday 16 January 2019!
In the 1950s the perennially-fierce Crawford made a cycle of melodramas in which she played middle-aged women-in-peril tormented by younger lovers, including Autumn Leaves and Female on the Beach. All these films are genuinely great, but the zenith is lurid film noir thriller Sudden Fear in which Crawford is a wealthy San Francisco socialite menaced by the duplicitous Jack Palance and the pouty and perverse Gloria Grahame. (Bad girl Gloria Grahame and Joan Crawford in the same film?! You DON’T want to miss this!).
Doors to the basement Bamboo Lounge open at 8 pm. Film starts at 8:30 pm prompt! Event page.



Saturday, 21 March 2015

17 March 2015 Cockabilly DJ Set List


/ Heartbreaker: luscious young Swiss greaser punk photographed by the great Karlheinz Weinberger circa 1962 /

I won’t lie! This post will be a bit of a rush job – long on pretty pictures, short on text. At the moment I am one distracted mofo. Tonight (Saturday 21 March) is the latest installment of my own semi-regular trashy club night Lobotomy Room (the first one of 2015) in Dalston and I am vibrating with nerves. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, my stomach is full of vomiting butterflies!



/ The ever-fierce Esquerita (1936-1985) is the sassy and defiant face of Cockabilly! Like his friend and contemporary Little Richard, the outrageous Esquerita qualified as both the King and Queen of rhythm and blues. Click on a pair of diamanté shades and freak out the squares in his honour! /


/ In Bed with Tab Hunter /

First off: some red-hot gossip. Courtesy of literary roué Rupert Smith I was privileged to be snuck into this afternoon’s sold-out screening of The Golden Age of The American Male at The British Film Institute’s Flare Festival as his “plus one”. Screening afterward was Tab Hunter Confidential – a revealing new documentary in which the dreamy heartthrob actor confides what it was like being a closeted gay celebrity in atomic-era Hollywood. Rupert and I were in the VIP “green room” afterwards drinking when the team behind Tab Hunter Confidential arrived – including Tab himself, his long-term boyfriend and entourage. He sat directly opposite me and as I confided to Rupert, my heart was pounding and I couldn't stop staring! A quick Google search confirmed Hunter is 83 now – and still stunningly, remarkably jaw-droppingly handsome! Silver hair, powerful shoulders, and a jaw line chiseled out of granite. (I could hear him speaking to people and his manners are old-school impeccable). Rupert and I were swooning!

 photo AMG_hillbilly_zpsnxrfgmuj.jpg

/ Sexy hillbilly Larry Harris photographed by Athletic Model Guild. Those rockabilly sideburns! /

The Golden Age of the American Male was a compilation of the Athletic Model Guild’s short homoerotic beefcake / physique films from the Fifties and Sixties. Think greaser punk hoodlums in posing pouches and engineer boots wrestling and spanking each other – delicious! About 75% of all the vintage gay porn I post on here and on tumblr inevitably originates from AMG - that studio represents the acme. It was a symphony of juvenile delinquent rough trade, all gap-toothed smiles (some of the younger models straight out of their teens still had acne), oiled quiffs and sprinkled with crude reform-school tattoos cavorting to a soundtrack of obscure rockabilly and surf music. (The most famous – and instantly recognisable – face among them was teenage pre-Warhol Joe Dallesandro). In other words – my definition of heaven!  There were nice segments with guys dressed as black leather-jacketed The Wild One-style bikers, sailors and Roman centurions. But for me the most joyous sequence was intercut bits of AMG boys frantically go-go dancing stark naked (think jiggling “helicopters”) – life-affirming! The main man behind AMG was photographer, filmmaker and connoisseur of firm male flesh Bob Mizer (1922-1992). Today The Bob Mizer Foundation is working on preserving, digitising and gradually making these films commercially available as DVDs. I dream of projecting this stuff against the wall when I DJ at Cockabilly or Lobotomy Room!

On 1 April 2015 I jet out for this year’s Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender (2-5 April) – followed by a few days of recuperation in the torrid voodoo realm of New Orleans. I've never been there before and I’m really intrigued.  I intend to luxuriate in and absorb New Orleans’ sleazy Southern Gothic underbelly by hopping between atmospheric dive bars and channeling Tennessee Williams and John Rechy’s City of Night. In my research I've already learned that Tennessee Williams’ regular watering hole was Cafe Lafitte in Exile. My guide and host will be New Orleans-based journalist Kevin Allman, who’s tipped me off that John Waters’ favourite local bars when he’s in town are the Double Play (described as “a really seedy trans/hustler bar”) and the Corner Pocket (similar to The Fudge Palace in Waters’ 1998 film Pecker. Tea-bagging ahoy!). What better recommendation?

Anyway:  this month Cockabilly (London’s only regular monthly queer rockabilly night! Rock around the cock!) fell on a Tuesday. Let’s face it: Tuesday night just isn't anyone’s idea of rock’n’roll no matter how you cut it. Nonetheless, Cockabilly boss man Mal and I did our damnedest to stir-up a raunchy and desperate ambience. Here is what I played.

Scorpion - The Carnations
Dangerous Lips - The Drivers
I Want Your Love - The Cruisers
Tina's Dilemma - Ike and Tina Turner
Bombora - The Original Surf-aris
Lucille - Masaaki Hirao
The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard
Action Packed - Johnny Dollar
Boss - The Rumblers
Jim Dandy - Ann-Margret
Gunnin' for Peter - The Fabulous Wailers
Big Bounce - Shirley Caddell
Dragon Walk - The Noblemen
Year 1 - X
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
Suey - Jayne Mansfield
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
I Love the Life I Live - Esquerita
Roll with Me, Henry - Etta James
Chicken - The Cramps
Run Chicken Run - Link Wray
Whistle Bait - Larry Collins
Jim Dandy - Sara Lee and The Spades
Cooler Weather is A-Comin' - Eddie Weldon
Cry-baby - The Honey Sisters
Party Lights - Claudine Clark
Welfare Cheese - Emanuel Laskey
Honolulu Rock'n'Roll - Eartha Kitt
Rock-a-Hula Baby - Elvis Presley
Blockade - The Rumblers
Salamander - Mamie Van Doren
Handclappin' Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Black Tarantula - Jody Reynolds



/ Ideally, the scene at the bar Tuesday night would have looked more like this /

Further reading:

Last blog post I expressed my anxiety about Google’s proposal to clamp down on “adult content” and what it meant for the future of my blog. Happy days! After a tsunami of bad publicity and much rage amongst bloggers, Google has climbed down and are now maintaining their existing policies. Phew! My message of filth continues!  

Read about the sordid antics at previous Cockabillies hereherehereherehereherehereherehereherehere,  here, herehere and here. 

Follow me on tumblr for all your retro, kitsch and homoerotic vintage sleaze needs! 

Details of my next Lobotomy Room club night (Saturday 21 March 2015 at Hysteria in Dalston)





Saturday, 14 May 2011

Reflections on ... Boom! (1968)


/ Together they devour life! Or at least chew the scenery /

Baroque. Opulent. Decadent. Berserk! I celebrated my birthday on 12 May by attending a rare screening of the infamous 1968 Joseph Losey film Boom! at The Institute of Contemporary Art with my friend Alison. I’ve long been curious about the film for its reputation as one of the biggest bombs in Hollywood history and because Pope of Trash John Waters (one of my heroes) has championed it so enthusiastically and persuasively as his all-time favourite movie. "I show it to every person I think I'm falling in love with,” Waters claims. “If they hate it, I don't talk to them anymore." And finally, it seemed like a nice way to pay tribute to the film's leading lady, Elizabeth Taylor, who died in March. (When I interviewed Waters for Nude magazine in December 2010, he recalled how in the 90s he finally met Taylor at a party and was able to profess his love for Boom! She was horrified and screamed, “That movie is terrible!”). I can confirm Boom! still hasn't lost its capacity to alienate and annoy: the screening Alison and I attended was sparsely-attended. The couple in front of us walked out early on.




/ The wonderfully lurid trailer for Boom! /

A true “film maudit”, Boom! is mainly remembered as a disastrous star vehicle / vanity project for tempestuous then-married duo Taylor and Richard Burton, at what author Lee Server has called “their jet-setting, conspicuously-consuming, bad-movie making height.” Tennessee Williams himself adapted the screenplay from his flop play The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore. Taylor plays ageing hedonist Flora “Sissy” Goforth, the much-married, drug addicted richest woman in the world (and it’s been argued, the most irritating woman in the world). From the windswept high solitude of her all-white villa on the edge of a cliff on a private island on the Amalfi Coast, the terminally ill Goforth is in denial about her imminent death, distracting herself by dictating her sensational Proustian memoirs into a tape recorder and directing her diva’s wrath at her long-suffering servants in fractured Italian (“Shit on your mother!” she screams at a maid who displeases her). "I need a lover," she growls to her secretary. Sure enough, she is visited by the enigmatic Christopher Flanders (played by Burton), a failed poet turned gigolo notorious on the international jet set as an ambiguous and parasitic Angel of Death who materialises whenever a wealthy woman is about to die.

In theory Boom! initially may have seemed promising. Taylor and Burton were show business royalty and the public was still entranced by their glitzy soap opera lifestyle. Taylor had triumphed in earlier film adaptations of Tennessee Williams plays like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) and Suddenly Last Summer (1959). Joseph Losey was a hip, art-y director of the moment, critically acclaimed for films like The Servant (1963). But considering the play Milk Train had failed on Broadway twice already in two different versions (in 1963 and 1964), it seems an odd choice as source material for a lavish big budget film adaptation. Tennessee Williams himself couldn’t be expected to be objective, but surely Losey, Taylor and Burton probably should have considered the play’s failure as an ominous premonition? The doomed 1964 Broadway production (which closed after only five performances) certainly sounds fascinating: it perversely partnered the odd couple of dissipated grand dame of the American stage Tallulah Bankhead as Goforth with wholesome 1950s teen heartthrob Tab Hunter as Flanders.


/ Tab Hunter as Christopher Flanders and Tallulah Bankhead as Sissy Goforth in the 1964 Broadway production of The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore /



/ Gruesome twosome: Bankhead and Hunter /

The resulting film is overblown, irresistibly absurd, high camp run amok and unintentionally hilarious. Losey depicts the Goforth mansion as a grotesque freak show deluxe, complete with a sadistic dwarf bodyguard in jodhpurs and riding boots, a pet monkey on a chain, a talking mynah bird in a cage and sitar-playing Indian musicians. A cadaverous-looking Noel Coward pops up in a dinner jacket as a gossipy gay socialite nicknamed the Witch of Capri. When Flanders first trespasses onto Goforth’s island, her savage attack dogs are released – just like Mr Burns does with his hounds on The Simpsons.


/ Taylor as Sissy Goforth and Burton as Christopher Flanders /

Boom! feels drenched in a boozy / narcotic haze, which apparently extended both on and off screen. “They made this film drunk …” Waters has pointed out. The Burtons were famously hard-drinking, and Losey and the cast reportedly began each day’s filming with a round of Bloody Marys, and it shows. Drunken impaired judgement would certainly explain a lot. In any given shot it’s rare for a character not to have either a drink or a cigarette in their hand -- in Taylor's case, usually both (Taylor wields an outrageously long cigarette holder). The camera lingers over characters availing themselves of huge pitchers of Bloody Marys (which, it has to be said, look pretty tempting). There’s almost as much pill-popping as in The Valley of the Dolls. At one point Taylor washes down a fistful of pain killers with a gigantic snifter of brandy.

Then there’s the eternal problem of film translations of Tennessee Williams plays: his dialogue (heightened, poetic, high-falutin’) doesn’t translate easily to the screen. The atmosphere of decadence and impending tragedy is laid-on thick; everyone seems death-obsessed and is apt to suddenly start philosophising in long, meandering soliloquies about the meaning of life. Waters has shrewdly argued Boom! should be approached as a “failed art movie”: certainly Losey (out of his depth and reportedly intimidated by Liz and Dick) seems to be striving for high European art cinema seriousness, layering on heavy-handed symbolism a-go go, soundtracked by a doom-laden John Barry score and the constant sound of waves crashing onto the rocks. The moments of Taylor suffering panic attacks on her balcony, for example, recall Monica Vitti’s existential nervous breakdown in Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1964 Il Deserto Rosso. (Maybe if Boom! was made in a different language, if Taylor and Burton were dubbed in Italian, the film would have felt less risible?).

Considering Boom! was primarily conceived as a showcase for Taylor and Burton, they’re surprisingly miscast. For one thing, their ages are all wrong: Taylor is too young and Burton too old -- the play was about the relationship between an older, dying woman and a much younger man. Sissy Goforth is supposed to be dying: when Tallulah Bankhead played the role onstage she was in her 60s and genuinely wraith-like, prematurely ravaged by emphysema and the consequences of a suicidally debauched lifestyle (it would be her last major theatrical performance and she would die within five years). The 35-year old Taylor, on the other hand, looks sun-kissed, plump and in robust good health even when coughing up blood in a consumptive fit or writhing in agony screaming for an injection.


/ Another bourbon, darling? A desiccated Tallulah Bankhead towards the end of her life /

Similarly, as an elite high society gigolo Flanders surely should be a bronzed Adonis, or something like Terence Stamp in Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1968 film Teorema. Clad throughout in a samurai warrior’s robe (complete with ceremonial sword), Burton looks haggard and faded. It's he who looks like he’s dying, instead of Taylor. (We get a few fleeting glimpses of Burton swimming naked – they’re deeply unappealing).


/ Taylor pouts through the pain. Burton as the angelo della morte looks moodily into the distance /

In any case, Boom! is overwhelmingly dominated by Taylor in full-throttle imperious, overripe, scenery-chewing diva mode. Camille Paglia has written of Taylor in another Joseph Losey film, Secret Ceremony (also 1968) as being “at the peak of her mature fleshy glamour.” That’s definitely true here, too. Shrouded mainly in floor-skimming caftans, with elaborate bouffant hairstyles augmented with hair pieces, Taylor is glamorous but prematurely matronly and slathered in thick make-up. Still channelling Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and shrieking like a harridan, Taylor’s Sissy Goforth is self-parodic, unhinged and drag queen-y: no wonder John Waters says Taylor’s appearance and abrasive performance in this film were a beloved source of inspiration for Divine. (Waters has said Divine was so influenced by Taylor that he smoked Salem cigarettes purely because they were Taylor's brand of choice).



/ So demanding ... /



Boom! is recognised today as a camp classic (it ticks all the right boxes as listed in Susan Sontag’s 1964 Notes on Camp essay, especially in terms of “failed seriousness”). It certainly seems to have a queer sensibility, and perhaps the role of Sissy Goforth is best approached as a coded drag queen. Interestingly, Rupert Everett played the role of Sissy in drag in a 1994 British stage production of Milk Train. And famously the role of the Witch of Capri was originally conceived as (and played onstage by) a woman and in Boom! it’s played by Noel Coward. (The part was originally offered to Katherine Hepburn – who was deeply offended). There’s a jaw-droppingly tasteless and misogynistic scene where the Witch of Capri describes a friend who refers to women as “poisson” and sniffs from a vial of ammonia to disguise the scent of any menstruating woman who might pass by him on the street. Seriously – what the hell were they thinking?!

While by no stretch a "good" film, Boom! is incredibly beautiful to look at, weirdly enjoyable and frequently mesmerising in a way only a truly trashy bad movie can be. There's a wonderful tension between the film's high-minded, literary aspirations and its actual lurid vulgarity. Essentially a filmed play, Boom! is extremely talk-y, but Losey’s prowling camera and elegantly composed shots ensure it’s never dull to watch. The production values were obviously high, and they're visible on the screen: the jewels Taylor wears, for example, are all genuine, on loan from Bulgari and worth an estimated $2,000,000. The art direction, sets, exteriors and Taylor’s garish wardrobe (especially her eye-popping Kabuki ensemble with the exploding headdress) are incredible. (Some of Taylor's costumes were apparently designed by Karl Lagerfeld). Captured in glorious Panavision, the sun-drenched Italian Riviera locale is exquisite (Boom! is usually described as having been filmed in Capri, but the closing credits say it was filmed on location in Sardinia). Boom! is immersive, a noble and ambitious failure, a real experience. Like Elizabeth Taylor’s interpretation of Sissy Goforth, it’s simultaneously seductive and repellent. Boom! is finally majestic in its misguided awfulness.


/ Taylor in Kabuki costume and Coward as The Witch of Capri /



/ John Waters discussing his love for Boom! /