Fetish performer Dita von Teese has been cast to play the role of WWI-era exotic dancer/spy Mata Hari in a new film directed by Martha Fiennes. The full story is here.
Before we get to whether or not Dita can pull this off, a bit of history: the original femme fatale, Mata Hari was born Margaretha Zelle to a humble family that ran a hat shop in Holland. She moved to Java as a newlywed at age 18, but family life was not in the stars for Mata Hari; after a divorce, she resurfaced in Paris, poised to reinvent herself as a sultry dancer princess.
She first performed as a circus horse rider under the name Lady McLeod, but reached true fame when she introduced herself as an exotic dancer under the name Mata Hari (“Eye of the Day” in Indonesian, “Mother of God” in Hindi). An overnight success, she was famous for her seductive performances, elaborate costumes and Oriental origins; she posed as a princess from Java, initiate in the mystical art of erotic ritual dance. After her rise to stardom as a dancer, Mata Hari became a courtesan, then a spy, and ultimately, by some accounts, a double agent.
Breaking news! I realize this is very last minute and only applies to our brethren in Northern California, but tonight Jesse Hawthorne Ficks is hosting a “Disco Extravaganza” at the gorgeous Castro Theater in SF. They’ll be showing prints of The Wiz, Staying Alive, and best of all, everyone’s favorite futuristic spiritual disco rock opera cult classic,The Apple.
Wait, what’s that you say? You’ve never seen The Apple before?
Mister Boogalow disapproves.
The Apple is a steaming Midas turd of a film baked in massive amounts of tin foil. It’s a glitter-encrusted, mylar-ensconced acid trip. It’s Jem and the Holograms’ flea market jamboree. It’s… it’s…. oh I have no idea what on earth these people were thinking, but the result is utter crackpot genius.
“Novelty acts relied a great deal on shock, therefore performers were not revealed in the flesh to audiences until money had changed hands. Titillating publicity was crucial, as the people described in these adverts often bore little resemblance to what lay behind the curtain or turnstile. Exaggerated and stylised illustrations lent age to dwarf acts, stature to giants, and plausibility to mermaids and bear boys. The advertisers of these shows aroused the curiosity of the audience by overplaying, often entirely inventing, ‘true life’ stories.”
Friends! This is a good time to warn you that what you find on Coilhouse may not always be safe for work. We’ll try to keep the racy content after a jump and warn you about NSWF links, but we can’t promise that we’ll never blow our load right on the front page of the blog. Case in point: Franz von Bayros’ timeless masterpiece, “Ex-libris of Sweet Snail.” How can anyone resist putting an image like this right a the top? How? You tell me.
Franz von Bayros was an artist from the late 19th/early 20th century who became known for his playfully perverse erotic imagery. Originally from Zagreb, Croatia, van Byros lived from 1866 until 1924. Van Bayros was constantly on the move: oft-expelled from European cities due to the sexual content of his work, he was forced to relocate again and again and start from scratch. During his lifetime he produced over 2000 works, and his most famous collection was a series of erotic images called Erzahlungen vom Toilettentisch or Tales from the Dressing Table.
What makes Bayros’ images so delectable is precisely what’s missing from average porn: a sense of everyone having a good time. In Bayros’ images, there’s a real atmosphere of pleasure, and I find myself feeling light and kind of giddy after looking his gorgeously-crafted scenes, thinking, “wow, that looks like fun! good for them.” See for yourself after the jump.
Many thanks to my friend Mildred Von for turning me onto Bayros’ work, and for the title to this blog post. You may have also noticed that Mil occasionally pops up on Coilhouse to make a couple of posts of her own.
I’m lucky to have not one but two Russian grandmas. Every so often I crawl out of my home, cursing and half-blinded by unwelcome sunlight, shedding the paint-stained jumpsuit in exchange for something nice to pay a visit. Ever since the first drop of dye touched my hair maybe 13 years ago, I’ve been given the business. This, I imagine, is something many of us share, the nagging question, the hovering “When”. When will you go back to your natural hair color? When will you take out that lip ring? When will that ink wash off your skin? WHEN WHEN WHEN. I’ve tried asking myself too but the answer always comes back the same – quite possibly never.
Age is slowly decreasing in importance even now. Research, life extension, better cosmetic surgery – our options are evolving. I’m not inspired by the plastic buffoons of Hollywood, instead I look to people I’ve actually met – take inventor, writer and wearer of many hats Tom Jennings for instance; a brilliant ageless creature, tattooed, pierced and stylish, striped socks and all. And what about Marchesa Luisa Cassati or Betsey Johnson or other people who overflow with creativity and, sequentially, vitality and remain outside the tired norm despite their age?
So how do we explain “never” and “there’s no reason to”? I can hardly explain the Internet, in fact most of my life is led in what seems to them like another plane of existence. Not a new question by any means, but how do we explain an entire culture, developed and thriving entirely outside of the elderly’s frame of reference? As a possible solution, I’m entertaining an idea of a full presentation with a laptop and a projector. A crash course on alternative culture. Will grandmas approve?
You may have noticed that COILHOUSE is down one writer this week. Where’s Mer? Did she run away? Did she join the circus? Actually, kind of. Resident musician Meredith Yayanos is in The Old Country right now, touring with a band called Faun Fables as opening guest performers for Sleeytime Gorilla Museum. Faun Fables’ sound is difficult to nail in the written form, especially for someone like me, a person whose daily music vocabulary is limited to phrases like “uber” and “truly epic.” I love music passionately, but I don’t want to torment you with my caveman language when it comes to describing this band’s unique sound. This is where my eloquent friends CTRL+C and CTRL+V come in:
“FAUN FABLES is DAWN McCARTHY’s vivid imagination come to life in song and theater. Dawn is a composer, singer and theater artist whose work is a sea of gorgeous elemental nitty gritty; haunting melodies, breath, stomping, and natural theatricality led by the voice, rooted in the physical body. It is a crossroads where ancient ballad, art song, physical theater and rock music meet. Her lyrics speak to people of all ages about things like rugged housekeeping, street kids, growing old, sleepwalking and exiled travelers returning home.”
As you settle in for the night, dear reader, why not instead be whisked away into the FUTURE! Watch, as visionary artists from the 1930s predict what fashion might have been like seven years ago.
I could do with that first number, actually. Zip-off sleeves? Yes. Not entirely sure about the skirt elimination, but I know I’ve got the big hair and questionable footwear well covered. Ooh, swish!
The mystical paintings of Madeline von Foerster invoke names like Van Eyck, Brueghel, Bosch, Remedios Varo, Ernst Fuchs. It’s vibrant, multi-layered work, filled with Occult and Medieval symbolism and rendered in the painstaking egg tempera oil tradition of the Flemish Old Masters. Ageless, yet thematically timely, scholarly but always deeply personal, hers is simply some of the most moving work in the medium that I’ve seen from anyone of my generation.
I remember the first time I viewed the following self-portrait at a gallery showing in midtown NYC:
“Self Portrait (Trepanation)” 2005 by Madeline von Foerster
It’s a fairly large piece, 34″ x 42″ (not including the lavish frame, which she constructed and painted as well). If you’re familiar with the technique of egg tempera, closely examining a painting like this can be mind-boggling… all of those smoothly-placed, minuscule brush strokes, patiently layered, culminating in subjects that can only be described as having an unearthly inner glow. The enigmatic subject matter of trepanation thrilled me as well.
It was your typical overcrowded NYC gallery opening. Plenty of cheap wine and fabulously dressed people, all talking a little too loudly over one another. Then there was Madeline, standing off to one side, as gracious, elegant and mysterious as one of her paintings. Since that time, I’ve come to know her as one of those exceedingly rare examples of a person whose life reflects purely in their art.
Some of her recent work is currently up in a group show at the Strychnin Gallery in London. Take a peek at it and some other pieces behind the cut.
Nnnf. No words, really. Well, except perhaps to remind readers that this is a woman who demanded that Max Factor sprinkle half an ounce of gold dust in her wigs to keep them sufficiently glittery, sucked lemon wedges between takes to keep her mouth muscles tight, and whose make-up artist once divulged that Marlene Dietrich kissed so hard, she needed a new coat of lipstick after every smooch. The tuxedoed “Queen of the World” is as commanding and stylish today as she was when Morocco was filmed in 1930.
Heads up, Pennsylvanians. Cabaret noir performer Nicki Jaine will host an evening of Dietrich’s music in honor of the singer/actress’ 106th birthday on Thursday, November 8 at the Stockton Inn.
Nicki Jaine’s velvety contralto is sure to thrill Dietrich fans to their very marrow. Talk about two great tastes that taste great together. Just like strawberries hotdogs and champagne (once said to be Marlene’s favorite meal) only decidedly less zaftig.
