Reflections on ... Nico in Strip-tease (1963)

 

/ Pic above via /

In June 2025, I screened Strip-tease at my monthly Lobotomy Room film club. As I put it on the event page:  

"Join us on Thursday 19 June, when the FREE monthly Lobotomy Room film club at Fontaine’s (committed to cinematic perversity!) whisks you away to early 1960s Paris with Strip-tease (1963)! Note that this film is in French (ooh la la!) and will be subtitled (so bring your reading glasses!). This one (directed by Jacques Poitrenaud) should be catnip for cult cinema connoisseurs. For one thing, it stars Nico. Yes, that Nico! Strip-tease follows the German diva’s earlier vivid appearance in Fellini’s La dolce vita (1960), but it captures her a good few years before she became a Warhol superstar and the Velvet Underground’s chanteuse. (For some reason lost in the mists of time, she’s billed as “Krista Nico” – which seems to partially acknowledge her real name, Christa Paffgen. Strip-tease would be Nico’s sole starring role in a relatively mainstream film: her destiny lay in the underground cinema of Andy Warhol and her lover Philippe Garrel). And the moody finger-snappin’ cool jazz soundtrack is by Serge Gainsbourg (and he even appears in the film! The theme tune is huskily warbled by beatnik chanteuse Juliette Greco). Not without justification Strip-tease was promoted as a sexploitation flick (it was released in the US as The Sweet Skin in 1965 with the tagline “Fills the screen with more adult entertainment than you dare to expect! The intimate story of a striptease goddess!”), but more accurately it’s a stylish, melancholy melodrama. Nico plays Ariane, an idealistic ballet-trained German dancer in Paris with high-minded artistic ambitions. Out of economic necessity, Ariane reluctantly accepts a job at Le Crazy burlesque club – and soon captures the attention of a rich, louche playboy (John Sobieski). If you’ve seen Lobotomy Room’s presentations of other burlesque-themed movies like Too Hot to Handle (1960), Beat Girl (1960) and Satan in High Heels (1962), you won’t want to miss this obscure French gem!"

/ Italian movie poster for Strip-tease / 

Strip-tease is a criminally unsung and fascinating movie and boy, do I have notes. So, I had to write a blog post about it! 

In brief: Strip-tease shows Nico like you’ve never seen her before! So why have you probably never heard of this movie? Neither director Jacques Poitrenaud nor Nico herself took a lot of pride in Strip-tease. For Poitrenaud (1922 - 2005), this was probably just another assignment and he’s also seemingly not well known outside of France. (He’s certainly not a filmmaker I’m otherwise au fait with). 

Strip-tease is Nico’s sole starring role in a relatively mainstream film, but for the rest of her life, Nico never discussed it in interviews. It most definitely didn’t align with the deeply serious, austere and gloomy “Moon Goddess” image she embraced later in the sixties. BUT: within a few years after its continental debut Strip-tease was belatedly released in the US under the title The Sweet Skin (which makes it sound like a movie aimed at cannibals). In the 1995 book The Velvet Years: Warhol’s Factory 1965-67 by photographer Stephen Shore, there’s a great shot of Nico standing outside The World Theatre in New York where The Sweet Skin is showing on a double bill (“2 Daring Adult Films!”) accompanied by a group of her Warhol Factory friends, so clearly she assembled them to “come see this film I made in France in the early 60s!” (See below. Left to right: John Cale, Dutch author Jan Cramer, Paul Morrissey, Nico and Gerard Malanga). The other “daring adult film” on the double bill is called The Love Statue (1965), which I’ve Googled and it sounds interesting. 

Similarly, in her lifetime Nico seemingly never mentioned that singing the bossa nova-tinged theme tune to Strip-tease (by none other than Serge Gainsbourg) was her true recording debut. (It’s always been widely assumed that the 1965 folk single “I’m Not Sayin’” was Nico’s debut). For whatever reason, Nico’s rendition was ultimately scrapped (we hear the sublime Juliette Greco huskily crooning it over the opening credits instead) and went unreleased for many decades. (It’s easy to hear online now, and Nico’s hushed, whispery singing is alluring in the tradition of The Velvet’s “I’ll Be Your Mirror” and “Femme Fatale”). 

Anyway, Strip-tease beautifully captures Nico (née Christa Päffgen, 1938 - 1988) at 24 years old. By this point, she had been modelling since the mid-1950s (by today’s standards, she’d be described as an international supermodel). Nico had already appeared (essentially playing herself, and beguilingly so) in Federico Fellini’s La dolce vita in 1960. Yet to come: being discovered and adopted by Andy Warhol, joining the Velvet Underground as their resident chanteuse and then her own long, erratic musical career as a solo artist. 

We do know that Nico was serious about pursuing acting: when in New York on modeling assignments, she studied Method acting at Lee Strasberg’s Actors Studio (and used to claim Marilyn Monroe was in her class – something we’ll never be able to verify).   

/ Above: Nico - like you've never seen her before! /

What is relevant for Strip-tease: Nico gave birth to her only child, a son called Ari, in August 1962. (Ari Boulogne - who died in 2023 - was her son by the French mega-star Alain Delon. Delon never accepted or acknowledged paternity). Filming began in November ’62. According to Nico’s definitive biographer Richard Witts, she was sensitive about her post-natal body (and Ari was delivered by Cesarean so there was a scar to conceal). In any case, Nico looks impressively svelte in various degrees of undress in Strip-tease – almost certainly via diet pills. (Nico always claimed her introduction to drug-taking was diet pills – which in the 1950s were essentially amphetamines). Interestingly, Witts also suggests that the reason she’s billed as “Krista Nico” in the credits might be for tax reasons! 

Strip-tease was promoted – not without reason – as a sexploitation flick, but I’d argue it’s more of a romantic melodrama – and a deeply moody and stylish one. Nico portrays Ariane, a gloomily earnest German ballet dancer barely scratching out a living in Paris. (As a bonus, we see glimpses of what Paris looked like in winter 1962, especially around Pigalle. Later we see the Seine and Notre Dame at dawn in misty grey light). Just when it appears the struggling Ariane’s dreams have come true (“I had the lead in a ballet!”), they are abruptly snatched away. Due to some bad luck, Ariane is dropped from a big production – and is flat broke! 

At this low ebb, by sheer coincidence Arianne reunites with Berthe (Dany Saval), an old friend from dance school.  Under the “stripper name” Dodo Voluptuous, Berthe has been raking it in as an exotic dancer at a high-end burlesque joint called Le Crazy – and she urges Ariane to consider it. “I could never be a stripper,” the idealistic Ariane protests. “It’s not the money; I just couldn’t do it!” If not an actual beatnik, Ariane is “beatnik-adjacent” and is a habitué of the smoke-filled Blue Note jazz cellar, where she seeks the counsel of her confidant and adopted father figure, African American jazz musician Sam (played by Joe Turner, but NOT “Big Joe Turner” as sometimes implied online – that’s someone else entirely). The worldly-wise and protective Sam is wary of her taking the job at Le Crazy. (As mentioned earlier, Strip-tease’s stunning cool jazz and Latin exotica soundtrack is by the young Serge Gainsbourg – and we even get a fleeting glimpse of him smoking and playing piano at the Blue Note). 

Nonetheless, needs must and soon Ariane is auditioning at Le Crazy. She may be a trained ballerina, but as an exotic dancer she is stiff, self-conscious and uncertain. (Nico was many things, but she was not a dancer and it’s fun to see how Poitrenaud attempts to conceal this). Interestingly, throughout Strip-tease other characters offer meta-critiques of Nico’s performance: “You walk like a marble statue!” “You’re hard to read …” and most significantly, “She’s wooden!” The latter comment leads to a unique gimmick for Ariane’s stage act – she’s partnered with a lookalike wooden marionette. (Strip-tease has a weird emphasis on marionettes). 

/ Pic above via /

/ Pic above via /

Le Crazy has a packed house for the big unveiling of its new starlet, but Ariane is a reluctant, conflicted “strip-teaseuse” who hates being stared at and at the climax, she stops short of baring all. (There’s an eerie moment where her lookalike marionette seemingly makes eye contact with Ariane and silently judges her). Rather than being disappointed, Le Crazy’s clientele finds her shyness adorable, declaring “Very charming!” “What style!” and “Post-modern striptease!” Le Crazy’s owner Paul (played by Thierry Thibault) is thrilled by Ariane’s reception: “Do the same thing every night!” 

/ Pic above via /

(One fascinating aspect to note here: we see ample burlesque sequences of Le Crazy’s performers onstage with copious boobage and buttage on display, but these scenes are deliberately designed to be easily deleted or censored if required depending on the local market without disrupting the narrative). 

Within no time, Ariane is a nightlife sensation in Paris. Pierre (Italian actor Umberto Orsini), an associate from the ballet troupe, discovers Ariane’s current workplace, assumes she’s “easy” now and turns ugly, sneering, “Can’t be too choosy in the work you do. I’m as good as all the others …” More happily, one night Ariane encounters impossibly pretty playboy Jean-Loup (played by Jean Sobieski, who I also know from the bizarre 1968 Italian giallo Death Laid an Egg and who possesses sapphire blue eyes Paul Newman himself would envy) and they embark on a love affair. 

/ Pic above via / 

“You’re a very complicated girl,” manipulative Jean-Loup sweet-talks Ariane. “Et alors?” (So what?) she shrugs. “There’s a sadness about you. That’s what attracted me,” Jean-Loup continues. But alarmingly, he also confesses, “I’m naturally cowardly. A bit of a liar.” “Poor little rich boy,” Ariane chides. Later, Jean-Loup – who’s never worked a day in his life - patronizes Ariane by saying, “It’s good that you work. Work is ennobling. Even if it’s stripping.”  The sight of Jean-Loup and his jaded idle rich entourage of chic nightclubbing friends smoking and drinking cocktails, in formal evening wear can’t help but help but overlap with Fellini’s La dolce vita. (As Poitrenaud summarized in the 8 December 1962 issue of La Cinematographie Francaise, Strip-tease is “a film with two main themes: the solitude of a beautiful girl, one is who vulnerable and foreign, but also the life of Paris between midnight and morning, the life of those that fritter their existence away”). 

Strip-tease adopts an almost soap opera tone as their romance deepens. There’s a misunderstanding when Ariane insists that she can’t be “bought” with a diamond brooch that Jean-Loup attempts to gift her. “You’ve got it all and yet you’re as lost and lonely as me,” she consoles him after they reconcile. We see a campy whirlwind “date montage” representing their sojourns together: hunting weekend. Racecourse. Nightclubbing. Ariane’s birthday party scene feels overtly autobiographical for Nico. Like Nico, Ariane is from Cologne. They are both German women living in Paris and were children during World War II. Talk of fireworks makes Ariane reflect on the dropping of bombs (“Cologne in flames … I lost my parents that night …”). Jean-Loup gives her a mink coat: “Take this as reparations …” Later, we see Jean-Loup and Ariane in his car. She is swathed in her new mink and lighting a cigarette with hands gloved in black leather. It’s an impossibly chic image, sleek, fetishistic and almost kinky, worthy of Helmut Newton. 

/ Pic above via /

/ Pic above via /

/ Pic above via / 

Ariane continues her ascent to stardom. (Watch for her very strange new burlesque routine wearing a harsh jet-black bouffant wig). Sam is concerned Ariane is being corrupted and has forgotten her ballet aspirations. Ominously, Jean-Loup takes Ariane home to meet his aristocratic old money family ... Will Ariane come to her senses and swap the mink for the modest old cloth trench coat she was wearing at the beginning? No spoilers, but in the finale of Strip-tease, Ariane’s number is like Marilyn Monroe’s “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” routine in reverse … I’ll say no more! 

/ Doesn’t Nico resemble Italian actress Silvana Mangano here with the black wig? (In fact, Nico and Mangano were friends; Nico credits Mangano for Federico Fellini casting her in his 1960 masterpiece La dolce vita. But that’s just one of many theories – others have claimed it was via Nico’s friendship with Anouk Aimee! There are MANY myths surrounding the eternally enigmatic Nico) /

/ Pic above and below via /

And what of Nico’s acting? “Her acting is only fair – she moves stiffly, a simple wave goodbye seems difficult, as if she’s never done it before,” Don Stradley – not inaccurately - assesses in his This Dazzling Time blog in 2016. I’d argue her approach is hesitant, remote, ethereal and inscrutable in the tradition of Kim Novak. At some points, Nico is so detached she suggests a gorgeous sleepwalker. Maybe she’s more of a presence than a conventional actress. Unsurprisingly, Nico communicates best in spectacular close-ups. Crying perfect crystal tear drops, she suggests an idealized illustration of a woman, like “Crying Girl” by Roy Lichtenstein. (Nico was already pop art even before Warhol!). Revealingly, her finest acting moment is entirely wordless. For a laugh, Jean-Loup and his parasitic friends go slumming at a low-down dive, very different from Le Crazy. The resident stripper gyrating onstage is older, rougher, raunchier, fleshier. “It takes genius to be so disgusting …” Jean-Loup sneers, almost admiringly. Ariane silently listens and absorbs his contempt in a giant hypnotic close-up that moves ever closer until Nico’s features fill the screen. The moment is akin to the famous close-ups of Nico’s spiritual godmothers Greta Garbo (especially at the end of Queen Christina (1933)) and Marlene Dietrich (especially at the end of Morocco (1930)), in which the viewer is invited to contemplate their exquisite faces and attempt to unravel their mystery. 

In cinematic terms, Nico’s contribution was to bridge the gap between the glamour of classic Hollywood and the avant-garde. She casts a melancholy spell over Strip-tease.  

Reflections on ... The Velvet Underground documentary (2021)

Recently watched: Todd Haynes’ documentary The Velvet Underground (2021). My quick thoughts!

I found it hypnotic, but it’s intended for Velvet Underground fanatics (my boyfriend Pal and I watched it at The Institute of Contemporary Art. He found it numbing and admitted to almost falling asleep!). The first note of music you hear is the lacerating scrape of John Cale’s viola on “Venus in Furs.” It still sounds alien and abrasive! As the kids would say today, it’s a “deep dive”: Haynes is keen to provide context, so there's an emphasis on the early sixties avant-garde / experimental music and underground cinema subcultures that spawned The Velvet Underground in the first place. (I shuddered in ecstasy when clips from Kenneth Anger's Scorpio Rising and Jack Smith’s Flaming Creatures cropped-up). As an unapologetic Nico obsessive, I was thrilled by how respectfully and seriously she’s depicted. (All too often she’s been dismissed as a footnote in The Velvet Underground story). In the past drummer Moe Tucker has spoken contemptuously about Nico, but in the doc, she clearly states that no one sang those three songs better and that it always sounds wrong when anyone else tries. (Tucker isn’t asked about her subsequent embrace of far-right Tea Party politics!). Either Gerard Malanga or Danny Fields notes that when Nico first emerged and wasn't famous yet in her own right, she'd get compared to Dietrich or Garbo as a reference point and that now other singers get compared to her. My interest in the VU peaks with the timeless 1967 debut album and once Warhol, Nico and Cale split, that's it for me. But it does make you wonder: why was Reed such an antagonistic prick? He's still an enigma. But Reed was very cute, sexy and charismatic in his youth so got away with murder. Reed's older sister Merrill - a therapist - is intensely likable. At one point we hear a sixties novelty song called "The Ostrich" that one of Reed's pre-Velvet Underground bands recorded, and she obligingly jumps up and does the dance that went with it! The perennially fierce Warhol superstar Mary Woronov is always a welcome presence. There's a fascinating home movie clip of life at Warhol’s Factory with everyone lounging around acting bored and sullen while a woman reads aloud horoscopes from the newspaper. Everyone pointedly ignores the camera except for International Velvet, who strikes pin-up poses and clearly yearns for attention. At the centre of the documentary is the conflict between “frenemies” Reed and Cale. It’s explained that as a child of the fifties, Reed’s musical imagination was steeped in doo-wop and rockabilly. The collision of that with Cale’s classical / experimental sensibilities resulted in the signature Velvet Underground and Nico sound. Haynes’ greatest triumph is that you completely forget watching it that there is virtually NO concert footage of The Velvet Underground performing in existence. He well and truly overcomes that obstacle.

Reflections on ... Nico, 1988 (2017)

/ Trine Dryholm as gloomy punk diva Nico in the biopic Nico, 1988 /

My quick reflections on Nico, 1988, the 2017 biopic about the chain-smoking, heroin-ravaged and wraith-cheekboned German punk chanteuse Nico (1938 – 1988) starring Danish actress Trine Dryholm and directed by Susanna Nicchiarelli. As the title suggests, the movie focuses on the final year of the down-on-her-luck former Warhol Superstar's life, when she was touring the dives of Europe doing desultory concerts. (I streamed it on More4 Saturday night. If you’re curious to see it, don’t delay – it’s going to get deleted from the platform soon!).

 / The actual Nico photographed in the late eighties towards the end of her life /

I’ve been a Nico obsessive since I was a teenager, but I approached the film with an open mind. (It received a decidedly mixed reception). Good or bad, for me Nico, 1988 was bound to be fascinating.

What mainly struck a wrong note for me: when Nico angrily snaps at a journalist, “Don’t call me Nico. Call me by my real name – Christa!” The film seemingly implies she resented the persona of “Nico” being imposed on her and yearned to return to her “true self” Christa again. But I’ve never read anything to support this assertion and doubt Nico ever said it. It was her mentor the German fashion photographer Herbert Tobias who first bestowed the mononym “Nico” on her in the fifties when she was a 16-year old model and she kept it for the rest of her life. From what I’ve gathered, she disliked her real name (Christa Päffgen) anyway, feeling it was bourgeois and “too German” and preferred the air of mystery and androgyny that “Nico” provided.

 / Teenage fashion model Nico photographed in 1956 by Herbert Tobias - the photographer who first nicknamed her "Nico" /

The script crams-in lots of awkward exposition (like Nico bringing-up the subject of her childhood, for example, or that her son Ari was fathered by actor Alain Delon) in an unnatural way to fill-in the gaps. Nico, 1988 frequently displays a shaky and selective grasp of the facts. (Which is true of all biopics, to be fair).

/ Trine Dryholm as Nico /

According to the script, Nico spoke in “profound” show business platitudes (“I’ve been on the top. I’ve been on the bottom. Both places are empty”) worthy of Helen Lawson or Neely O’Hara in Valley of the Dolls.

/ Pop Art "girl of the moment" Nico in the sixties when she was the chanteuse for Andy Warhol's house band The Velvet Underground /

The film uncritically buys into the popular cliché that Nico “deliberately” made herself ugly later in life (“Am I ugly? Good! I wasn’t happy when I was beautiful”). Nico was always deeply image-conscious, there’s no shortage of examples of her on the record fretting about gaining weight, and for someone “unconcerned” about her appearance Nico was remarkably devoted to black eyeliner and mascara right to the end.

/ Embodiment of ruined glamour: Nico - wreathed in cigarette smoke - onstage in the eighties /  

Nico’s touring band contains a female Romanian violinist called Sylvia. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Nico’s backing group ever featured a female musician (she was notorious for her antipathy towards other women). There’s a half-hearted fabricated subplot about a doomed romance between Sylvia and another of Nico’s heroin-addicted musicians which seems to get dropped mid-way through. This creates the impression Nicchiarelli was unsure if Nico’s own story sufficiently was interesting.

/ Director Susanna Nicchiarelli and leading lady Trine Dryholm /

When Nico embarks on her final, fatal bicycle journey in Ibiza on that fateful day in July 1988 (en route to buy marijuana, she suffers a heart attack, crashes her bike and dies of a cerebral hemorrhage), she should be seen winding a black scarf around her head first. Filmmaker Paul Morrissey would later rail something like it was “those damn black rags” Nico insisted on wearing that caused her death.

Actually, the sartorial styling is always a bit “off”: Nico’s sunglasses should be butch mirrored aviators.  She should be sporting a keffiyeh scarf. They still depict Nico wearing the long brown boots she was wearing around the time of her Marble Index album in the late sixties. By the eighties, Nico had long since discarded them for black leather motorcycle boots, always left unbuckled. To their credit, the signature punk-y skull-studded black leather wristband Nico wore in the eighties is well represented.

/ The skull wristband! Worn by the actual Nico (above) and Dryholm (below) /

There are some inexplicable musical choices. I can possibly understand why Nico is depicted huskily warbling Nat King Cole’s "Nature Boy” in a hotel lobby backed by jazz musicians in Italy. She recorded the jazz standard “My Funny Valentine” on her final album in 1985. Maybe they couldn’t afford the rights to that song? But why does Dryholm croon the 1984 single “Big in Japan” by Alphaville over the closing credits? It has zero connection with Nico.

/ Trine Dryholm as Nico /

At its weakest, Nico, 1988 sometimes looks and feels like a French and Saunders parody. There could have been more moments of absurd black tragi-comedy. Dryholm never quite nails the cadaverous and macabre Morticia Addams-like aspect of Nico’s demeanor. She should have been even more perverse, morbid and inscrutable! But maybe Nicchiarelli feared that would make her unsympathetic?

 / Zombie Queen: a wraith-like Nico photographed in the Italian magazine Ciao in 1981 / 

What the makers of Nico, 1988 got right:  

Nico’s grubby indifference to hygiene (her former lovers recall she preferred spraying herself with perfume rather than bathing). “Don’t worry, sir,” Nico explains to her new landlord in Manchester when he explains how the boiler works. “I take showers very rarely.”

Sandor Funtek is perfectly cast as Ari (Nico’s profoundly troubled son) and his scenes with Dryholm (when Nico belatedly attempts to compensate for her prolonged absences during his childhood) are moving. They even got the birthmark on his forehead right!

 / Dryholm as Nico and Funtek as Ari ... /

/ ... and the real deal / 

In truth, Dryholm never really resembles Nico (she looks more like Helen Mirren. Or as Variety’s critic puts it, she “looks like a long-black-haired, coldly fierce erotic-zombie version of Roseanne Barr”). Nor does she attempt to emulate Nico’s inimitable Germanic vampire priestess Voice of Doom. But you can’t fault her intensely committed, starkly unglamorous portrayal and her re-interpretations of Nico’s songs are powerful. And Dryholm intermittently captures Nico’s Night of the Living Dead thousand-yard death glare. I especially liked the wired and jittery soundcheck performance of “All Tomorrow’s Parties.”

Ultimately, Nico, 1988 is a sympathetic and well-intentioned low budget labour of love and a noble enterprise for both Nicchiarelli and Dryholm. Let’s face it: it’s impressive Nico, 1988 even got made. If this biopic leads to anyone discovering Nico’s haunting and uncompromised musical vision, that can only be a good thing.  

/ Nico towards the end of her life /




Further reading:

I’ve blogged about the Nico - the Marlene Dietrich of punk / Edith Piaf of the Blank Generation - many times: her contemporary Marianne Faithfull reflects on Nico; the historic encounter When John Waters Met Nico; Nico’s 1960s modelling days; how the old jazz standard “My Funny Valentine” (and heroin) connects Nico with Chet Baker; and When Patti Smith Met Nico; Nico's influence on Leonard Cohen. 

Reflections on ... Nico in The Closet (1966)

/ Nico and Randy Bourscheidt in The Closet (1966) /

(In honour of what would have been Nico’s 80^th birthday (16 October 1938), here – a day late! – is my analysis of her first-ever Andy Warhol film collaboration, The Closet (1966). I saw it many years ago when the British Film Institute held a comprehensive retrospective season of Warhol films).

The Closet (1966) was Nico's first film with Pop Art visionary Andy Warhol and represents her cinematic unveiling as a Warhol Superstar. It would be a fruitful relationship. As the Factory's inscrutable Garbo / Dietrich equivalent she would star in several more Warhol films (most famously Chelsea Girls) while also featuring as chanteuse for Warhol's "house band" The Velvet Underground.

The "plot" is absurdist and minimal: a couple living in a closet kill the time (they make small talk, split a sandwich, share a cigarette, kvetch about their cramped surroundings) and contemplate leaving but never do.

For the first few moments the camera is focused on the exterior of the shut closet door in grainy black and white as we hear only their voices (audible but muffled; in fact the sound remains muffled for the rest of the film, poor sound quality being a stylistic trademark of Warhol's films at the time). Creeping horror that the entire 66-minute film will stay like this is averted when the door belatedly does open and we are finally permitted to see Nico and leading man Randy Bourscheidt (a preppy, cute art student-type) seated inside the closet surrounded by hangers, ties, clothes, etc. While the couple talk or sit in silence, Warhol's camera either sits totally stationary or prowls restlessly and randomly.

The film is unscripted: instead we get an improvised, wandering conversation between the duo who have obviously been instructed to ad-lib for the 66-minute duration. Most Warhol Superstars were amphetamine-fueled, garrulous exhibitionists; Nico and Bourscheidt are atypically more reticent. Both seem shy and hesitant and their conversation is often stilted but characterized by a genuine sweetness on both parts. Some viewers have deciphered the hint of a physical attraction between them which is complicated by the pretty, long-lashed and collegiate-looking Bourscheidt's apparent homosexuality (I could be wrong about this. The expression "coming out of the closet" was probably already in use in the 1960s and could be a relevant coded meaning to the film's title).

Certainly Bourscheidt seems dazzled by Nico, which is understandable: The Closet presents her at the height of her flaxen-haired beauty. It also reveals the complexity of her persona. The performers in Warhol films are essentially playing themselves, so The Closet is a snapshot of Nico the woman at this particular point in her life rather than an actress performing a role. She looks like a statuesque Nordic Amazon but is wispily-spoken, reserved and uncertain rather than intimidating or forbidding -- her sweetness dispels the cliché of Nico as ice maiden. And her voice - routinely described as guttural or "Germanic" - is infinitely softer than you expect.

As an avant-garde filmmaker Warhol withholds most of the conventional pleasures audiences expect from films (narrative, character development, editing, technical proficiency , etc) but with his Superstars in lead roles he does provide one of the enduring attractions of film-watching: scrutinizing beautiful people. So while "nothing happens" in The Closet, we do get to appreciate the physical attractiveness and hip wardrobes of both Nico and Bourscheidt at great length. Nico wears what was then her signature look: an androgynous white pants suit, turtle neck and boots combo that would be the pride of any Mod boy, feminized by a curtain of long blonde hair.

Nico would have been in her late twenties by the time of The Closet, and Bourscheidt (at a guess) between 19 and 22. She speaks to him in tones that are somewhere between maternal concern and big sister-ly teasing. Both seem vaguely embarrassed and self-conscious on screen, but unlike Bourscheidt Nico has the poised armour of sophistication: by 1965 she had already modeled since her teens, spoke several languages, acted in films like La Dolce Vita (1959) and Strip-Tease (1963) in Europe, was the mother of a young son, and had started her singing career.

She also has the skills of a fashion model: she is clearly un-phased by the camera's roaming gaze and is skilled at graceful self-presentation. She has a neat trick of looking down moodily so that her long blonde bangs obscure most of her face and then suddenly looking up and tilting her head, dramatically revealing sculpted cheekbones, Bardot lips and sweeping false eyelashes.

"Are you afraid of me?" Nico suddenly asks Bourscheidt towards the end of their awkward filmic encounter. He looks startled and doesn't know how to reply. "I'm not trying to embarrass you!" She assures.

At the the film's conclusion Bourscheidt teasingly asks Nico if she's forgotten his name. She has, and tries to cover by asking him, "Is it Romeo?" He says no and she says, "Why not?" He asks if she wants him to be Romeo and should he get down on one knee. She replies, "Oh, no. You be Juliet and I'll be Romeo."

Further reading:

I’ve blogged about the Nico - the doomed chain-smoking Edith Piaf of the Blank Generation - many times: her contemporary Marianne Faithfull reflects on Nico; the historic encounter When John Waters Met Nico; Nico’s 1960s modelling days; how the old jazz standard “My Funny Valentine” (and heroin) connects Nico with Chet Baker; When Patti Smith Met Nico; Nico in the film Le Bleu des origines; Nico in the Warhol film Ari and Mario; Leonard Cohen's personal and musical fixation on Nico.  

When Leonard Cohen Met Nico

Let’s reflect on ineffably suave Canadian poet, novelist and singer Leonard Cohen - an artist synonymous with bohemian integrity and dignity – who died on 7 November 2016 aged 82. In particular, his relationship with inscrutable German chanteuse Nico (1938 - 1988). They first met in 1966 in New York before Cohen was famous. Nico had just left The Velvet Underground and was striking out on her own. He called her "The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." But then he also added, “Nico was very strange.”

As Cohen himself recalled: “When I first came to New York - I guess it was around 1966 - Nico was singing at The Dom, which was an Andy Warhol club at the time on 8th Street. I just stumbled in there one night and I didn't know any of these people. I saw this girl singing behind the bar. She was a sight to behold. I suppose the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen up to that moment. I just walked up and stood in front of her until people pushed me aside. I started writing songs for her then. She introduced me to Lou Reed at that time."

The song Cohen wrote for Nico was “Take This Longing.” Cohen claims she used serenade him with it, but Nico never recorded it or added it to her repertoire. Can you imagine: Nico singing the words of Leonard Cohen in that sibilant vampire priestess voice? (Instant goose bumps). He would later compose another melancholy ballad inspired by Nico, “Joan of Arc.” The lyrics certainly evoke Nico: “And something in me yearns to win / such a cold and lonesome heroine / And who are you? she sternly spoke …” (The enigmatic Nico was one of the great rock muses. Musicians like Lou Reed, Jim Morrison, Jackson Browne, Iggy Pop, Marianne Faithfull and others would all go on to write songs about her).

In some accounts, Cohen and Nico were lovers. They certainly would have made for an exquisitely gloomy, romantically-despairing deep-voiced couple. It was not to be. In truth, she rebuffed his overtures. “Somehow I managed to meet her. And within five minutes of our conversation she told me to forget it, because she was only interested in young men. But she said, I'd love to be a friend of yours - and we became friends". Nico’s preferences for ‘em young and pretty are well documented: her boyfriend at the time was doe-eyed 18-year old musician Jackson Browne (who wrote the song “These Days” for her). A few years later she would turn her cougar-ish attention to nubile punk Iggy Pop. Bear in mind “older man” Cohen was 33 at the time – a grand total of four years Nico’s senior!

“I was madly in love with her. I was lighting candles and praying and performing incantations and wearing amulets, anything to have her fall in love with me, but she never did …,” Cohen would ruefully confess. “The years went by and we became quite tender with each other, but nothing romantic ever came of it.”

Cohen’s first album The Songs of Leonard Cohen (released December 1967) owed a significant debt to Nico’s solo debut Chelsea Girl (released October 1967). Think plaintive urban-beatnik folk music with coolly compassionate deep sonorous vocals, sparse musical accompaniment and downbeat glass-half-empty lyrics. The poet who’d not yet sung in public had learned, observed and absorbed while watching Nico perform at The Dom. Andy Warhol perceptively noted of Cohen’s album “it’s like Nico with whiskers.” In his 1980 memoir POPism: The Warhol Sixties, Warhol went further, recalling: “Leonard Cohen the Canadian poet was there (The Dom) quite a few nights in the audience down at the bar, just staring at her. Later on when he cut a record album I read a review that said his singing was like he was “dragging one note over the entire chromatic scale,” and I couldn’t help thinking of all those hours he’d spent listening to Nico …” . The Songs of Leonard Cohen created a sensation and launched him on his path. Although recognised as a classic today, Nico’s Chelsea Girl met with indifference at the time. It proved prophetic: cult diva Nico was destined to toil in obscurity during her lifetime.

For Cohen, his liaison with Nico would shape his musical direction and lead to an enduring (if sometimes stormy) friendship. (Nico had a penchant for violence in her volatile later years: during a misunderstanding, Cohen says Nico once “hauled off and hit me so hard it lifted me clean off the bed”). For Nico, the legacy would be more prosaic: in the sixties, Cohen turned her onto macrobiotic food, a diet she would stick with for the rest of her life. Over the years they would occasionally reunite when they both found themselves staying at The Chelsea Hotel in New York.  "She's a great singer and a great songwriter,” Cohen said of Nico. “Completely disregarded from what I can see. I mean, I don't think she sells fifty records, but she's I think one of the really original talents in the whole racket.”

I’ve blogged about the Nico - the chain-smoking, heroin-ravaged Marlene Dietrich of punk / Edith Piaf of the Blank Generation and “possessor of the most haunting wraith cheekbones of the 20th century” (thank you, James Wolcott of Vanity Fair) many times: her contemporary Marianne Faithfull reflects on Nico; the historic encounter When John Waters Met Nico; Nico’s 1960s modelling days; how the old jazz standard “My Funny Valentine” (and heroin) connects Nico with Chet Baker; and When Patti Smith Met Nico.

Sources:

This website devoted to Nico. The 1993 biography Nico: The Life and Lies of An Icon by Richard Witts. POPism: The Warhol Sixties by Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett