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“When I grow up, I know exactly how I want my hair to look. Like Anouk Aimee's in La Dolce Vita." From "Introducing Rock 'N' Roll's Lady Raunch: Patti Smith" by Amy Gross, Mademoiselle, September 1975

“I was so fucked-up-looking in school, but it just didn't matter. Besides me wanting to be an artist, I wanted to be a movie star. I don't mean like an American movie star. I mean like Jeanne Moreau or Anouk Aimee in La Dolce Vita. I couldn't believe her in those dark glasses and that black dress and that sports car. I thought that was the heaviest thing I ever saw. Anouk Aimee with that black eye. It made me always want to have a black eye forever. It made me want to get a guy to knock me around. I'd always look great. I got great sunglasses.” From “Patti Smith: Can You Hear Me Ethiopia?" by Scott Cohen, Circus Magazine, December 1976

Born on this day ninety-two years ago: that most feline and inscrutable of mid-twentieth century French actresses, Anouk Aimée (née Nicole Françoise Florence Dreyfus, 27 April 1932). She’s a haunting, sensual and Garbo-like presence in the glory days of European art cinema. My favourite performances by Aimée: Les Amants de Montparnasse (1958), La Tête contre les murs (1959), La Dolce Vita (1960) – unforgettable as the most elegant jaded rich nymphomaniac in cinema history (pictured)! – Lola (1961), Model Shop (1968) and Justine (1969). But hell, I also love Aimée as the cruel lesbian queen in trashy sword-and-sandal biblical epic Sodom and Gomorrah (1962), with her voice dubbed by an American actress! It’s fascinating to contemplate that at the height of her international fame in the sixties, Hollywood considered Aimée for two high profile roles: the part played by Faye Dunaway in The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) – and The Baroness in The Sound of Music (1965)!

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“Later we [Culture Club] played with them a few times and they had the most unique, hypnotic sound. It’s trashy Americana, John Waters, Divine, the Shangri-La’s, high camp and bubblegum punk. The beat is everything. Fred always reminded me of Dr Zachary Smith from Lost in Space. I never thought about whether the B-52’s had a gay angle. They were just against rules in general – taking classic American kitsch and giving it a punk, space-age irreverence, like a beautiful car crash with pop surrealism. They were very camp but very funky: always on it, melodic but effortlessly free. It’s the sort of pop music that I want to hear.”

/ Boy George reflecting on the B-52’s in The Guardian /

Born on this day: happy 76th birthday to the sublime Kate Pierson (née Catherine Elizabeth Pierson, 27 April 1948) - singer, multi-instrumentalist, bouffant wig enthusiast and one of the founding members of Athens, Georgia’s essential post-punk party band the B-52’s! For me, Pierson’s spine-tingling dissonant science fiction anti-harmonies with co-vocalist Cindy Wilson are one of the defining sounds of American New Wave music. Pictured: Pierson captured by Lynn Goldsmith in the early 1980s.

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Happy Lesbian Visibility Day! (26 April 2024).

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Happy Lesbian Visibility Day! (26 April 2024).

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Recently watched: psychological thriller The Morning After (1986). Tagline: “Last night she drank to forget. Today she woke up to a murder. Is he her last hope or the last man she should trust?” Dir: Sidney Lumet.

On Thanksgiving morning, washed-up, middle-aged alcoholic actress Viveca Van Loren (Jane Fonda) awakens with a thunderous hangover in an unfamiliar bedroom lying next to an unfamiliar man. (Her first line of dialogue: “What the fuck?”). She was black-out drunk and has zero recollection of the night before. Understandably, Viveca panics when she realizes her bed-mate is a corpse – with a bloody knife protruding from his chest! Is someone trying to frame her for his murder? Is she in danger? Turner Kendall (Jeff Bridges), a sympathetic ex-cop with problems of his own, seemingly offers Viveca a lifeline – and maybe a chance for redemption.

I hadn’t revisited The Morning After (currently streaming for free on YouTube) in many years. I love its atmospheric view of the underbelly of Los Angeles and Viveca’s life on the fringes of show business. (Befitting a fallen glamour girl, she resides in a frou-frou dusty rose apartment in a pink stucco Art Deco building). It probably succeeds best as a downbeat character study of the tentative budding romance between the unlikely duo of Viveca and Turner. Fonda slays, but it would be interesting to see how her peers Tuesday Weld or Faye Dunaway would interpret Viveca (in her broader moments, Fonda sometimes seems to be doing a Dunaway impersonation). And with a few minor tweaks it’s easy to imagine The Morning After making a great woman-in-peril noir vehicle for Crawford, Stanwyck or Davis in the 1950s (it recalls Davis as an ageing actress on the skids in The Star). The cast includes Raul Julia, Diane Salinger (Simone from Pee-wee’s Big Adventure!) and a fleeting appearance from an unknown young Kathy Bates. One nice detail: Viveca relies on loyal gay confidantes for support. On the lam and needing a change of clothes, she visits a drag queen friend. Before that, a sympathetic gay bartender (played by Bruce Vilanch!) comps her a free drink. Best exchange: Alex: “I was being groomed to be the next Vera Miles.” Turner: “Who?” Alex: “See! I was getting ready to replace somebody the public didn't even know was missing!”

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The Wasp Woman (1959). Tagline: “A beautiful woman by day – a lusting queen wasp by night!” Dir: Roger Corman.

The Wasp Woman begins with that perennial b-movie archetype – the deranged scientist. In his crimes-against-nature experiments, Dr. Eric Zinthrop (Michael Mark) has extracted an enzyme from the queen wasp’s royal jelly to create a compound that seemingly possesses miraculous rejuvenating powers. Has Zinthrop discovered the fountain of youth? The results on animals speak for themselves. See that mature Doberman pinscher next to a frisky puppy? They are the exact same age!

Meanwhile, Janice Starlin (a fraught, riveting Susan Cabot giving the performance of her life) is addressing the board of her cosmetics firm Janice Starlin Enterprises. The forecast is gloomy: “As you can see, gentlemen – sales from the last fiscal quarter have dropped.” Thrusting Brylcreemed young exec Bill Lane (Fred Eisley) speaks up to drop a truth bomb: the decline rests squarely with Janice herself. For the past 16 years it’s been her lovely face gracing the packaging. Now that she’s been replaced by a model the consumers feel cheated. So, the brand’s success is dependent on her image, but time has marched on and there’s no way Janice – who’s hit haggard middle age and sports severe horn-rimmed spectacles and a dowdy coiffure - could be a spokesmodel now. “Not even Janice Starlin can remain a glamour girl forever,” she ruefully admits. Or as Lane bitchily opines behind her back later: “Janice Starlin has built her whole life on youth and beauty. Now that she’s losing them, she’s scared to death!”

Just then, Zinthrop arrives in reception to see Janice. Despite her colleagues’ protestations that he’s a quack, Janice is impressed (his magical formula could earn her millions!) and she agrees to proceed. But there’s a problem: Zinthrop’s serum has never been tested on humans. With all-advised nonchalance, Janice volunteers to be his guinea pig …

Late one night, alone in the building and impatient with the slow progress, she sneaks into the lab and self-administers a mega-dose of the extra-powerful batch Zinthrop had cautioned was meant for external use only. The next morning, Janice arrives at the office and … why, Ms Starlin, you’re beautiful! The sight of this radiant, dewy-skinned Liz Taylor lookalike makes even Maureen (Lynn Cartwright) - the insolent Brooklyn-accented receptionist perpetually filing her nails – do a double take. Janice assesses that she’s reversed at least 18 years, returning herself to when she was 22 or 23 (meaning that she must be - gasp - a withered crone of 40!).

But of course, it’s too good to be true. The royal jelly mixture has alarming, unexpected side-effects.  A cat Zinthrop had been injecting turns blood-thirsty and savagely attacks him. And Janice herself begins transforming into a ravenous she-monster complete with antennae and huge insectoid eyes. In fact, you could say she’s become a “wasp woman.” Beauty is indeed pain … for anyone who crosses Janice Starlin’s path!

The Wasp Woman (Film Group, 1959). Insert (14" X 36"). Science Fiction. Starring Susan Cabot, Fred (Anthony) Eisley, Barboura Morris, William Roerick, Michael Mark, Frank Gerstle, Bruno VeSota, Roy Gordon, Carolyn Hughes, Lynn Cartwright, Roger Corman, and Aron Kincaid. Directed by Roger Corman. 

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Happy 78th birthday to cinema’s King of Sleaze, the People’s Pervert, the Queer Confucius and everyone’s favourite corrupting role model - John Waters (born 22 April 1946)! Waters’ evergreen cult classicks (sic) like Pink Flamingos (1972), Female Trouble (1974) and Desperate Living (1977) have been warping the imaginations of malcontents for generations now. Years ago, the official Dreamland News Facebook page suggested the following festive tips to commemorate Waters’ birthday. I’ll reproduce them here: "Get a ludicrously large hair-do, tattoo your flesh with the name of your idol, smoke cigarettes in the girls room, give a stranger a rosary job, have an interracial love affair, return a gift for the money (you can do that, you know), stomp some honky lady’s foot, send your enemy a turd, declare it backwards day at the office, prank call your next door neighbour, teabag some old queen at the bar, dance lewdly for a quarter, mainline liquid eyeliner, drink the tears of your incarcerated lover, order a double egg-salad on white toast, do the hokey-pokey… EAT DOG SHIT."

John Waters and Divine. Photo: Allan Tannenbaum

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Born on this day: happy 77th birthday to streetwalkin’ cheetah with a heartful of napalm / world’s forgotten boy / chairman of the bored / possessor of the world's most sinewy torso, the artist formerly known as James Newell Osterberg Jr – feral godfather of punk, Iggy Pop! (Born 21 April 1947). Pictured: Pop at full cry at the Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles in the early seventies.

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Latest dispatch from Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekend 2024! Friday morning a group of jaded international thrill-seekers went in search of some vintage smut and sin-sational adult situations. But don't worry - it was educational! We visited the Burlesque Hall of Fame Museum. My only disappointment: they have a pink velvet heart-shaped settee salvaged from Jayne Mansfield’s Pink Palace in their permanent collection - but they regularly rotate the items exhibited and it wasn’t on display when we visited! (Also the guide said people kept wanting to sit on it). Some of the treasures pictured: Gypsy Rose Lee's glittery g-string (as an added bonus you can see my gormless reflection) and Dita von Teese's champagne glass prop from 2000 (surprisingly tiny).

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Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekend 2024, day one! I arrived Wednesday night. Somehow I have a farmer's tan. How did I acquire that? I've already drunk my first Mai Tai of the trip at the reliably wonderful Golden Tiki (with my friend Kevin). The cocktails, kitsch decor and exotica soundtrack at Golden Tiki are sublime.

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“Her greatest desire in life was to be a glamorous movie star; by allowing press and filmmakers to satirize her image as a sex object, she actually achieved her aim for a brief period from 1956 to 1960. Despite her oversized mammaries she was not a dumb blonde as far as her career was concerned and she parlayed a modicum of talent and a maximum of flesh to international fame. Along the way she made some surprisingly good films … It was easy to laugh at Mansfield, but today her achievements look greater than her detractors allowed at the time.” / From The Illustrated Encyclopedia of The World’s Great Movie Stars by Ken Wlaschin, 1979 / Today is a holy day! Lobotomy Room’s Patron Saint, berserk glamour girl par excellence and the punk Marilyn Monroe (or the drag queen’s Marilyn Monroe), Jayne Mansfield (19 April 1933 - 29 June 1967) was born 91 years ago on this day. (To put it in perspective, Mansfield is the same age as Joan Collins, would be just a bit older than Brigitte Bardot or Sophia Loren and two years younger than Mamie Van Doren). Revered by the likes of John Waters, Divine and The Cramps (“She’s a role model, a mentor. She had so much aplomb. She’d wear spiked heels and gold lamé to take out the garbage,” Poison Ivy would exclaim in a 1994 interview), for me sex kitten Mansfield is virtually a sacred figure, the eternal publicity hungry starlet, Hollywood Babylon made flesh, the cooing and squealing hourglass-contoured personification of atomic-era kitsch. Don a ratty blonde wig, drink pink champagne and hug a Chihuahua today in her memory! Pictured: Mansfield in 1964.

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God willing, I arrive in Vegas tonight for the annual Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekend festival at The Orleans Hotel and Casino for the first time since 2019. (I’ve been regularly attending on and off since 2007). Let’s hope my American friends – who haven’t seen me in five years – aren’t too startled by my ravaged appearance (the “covid years” were not kind!). To be honest, I’ve barely glanced at the VLV schedule or investigated the bands playing so far. A few things feel “off” this year. I suspect the organisers have downsized and streamlined things post-covid, which I don’t begrudge. I’m undeniably disappointed that Ambassador of Americana Charles Phoenix’s retro slideshow is not on the agenda (for me, he’s always been synonymous with VLV). There’s no mention of Elvira / Cassandra Peterson appearing at the car show (catching a glimpse of her is always a religious experience!). But still, I am feverishly looking forward to perusing stuff at the vendors and attending the pool parties and the car show. Beyond that: venturing offsite for Mai Tais at Frankie’s Tiki Room and The Golden Tiki. A Bloody Mary at Peppermill Restaurant and Fireside Lounge. Beers at Atomic Liquors and the ne plus ultra of punk dive bars, The Double Down Saloon (with a shot of their signature “ass juice”). Visiting the Burlesque Hall of Fame Museum to genuflect before a sacred relic (their permanent collection contains an item of furniture salvaged from Jayne Mansfield’s Pink Palace!). Revisiting Big Elvis at Harrah’s. One big question mark: the new Punk Rock Museum. The steep cover charge is off-putting. Has anyone been there? Is it worth it? But mainly, looking forward to hanging out with friends not seen in ages (like Kevin and Louise) and newbies (Anne-Kathrin and Knut). If everything goes according to plan, anticipate a deluge of photos!

Las Vegas Strip, 1955. Unknown couple posing in front of Thunderbird Hotel. Kodachrome red border slide, VLV collection.

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Born on this day 84 years ago: luscious, pouting rock’n’roll heartthrob and "British Elvis" Billy Fury (real name: Ronald Wycherley, 17 April 1940 - 28 January 1983). I’m such a keen Fury devotee I’ve even been known to suffer through Play It Cool (1962) the virtually unwatchable cheap’n’cheerful rock’n’roll musical he starred in (think of it as his “Elvis movie”). As an actor, Fury (doomed to die aged just 42) is merely adequate and visibly uncomfortable onscreen, but so moody and exquisitely photogenic it scarcely matters. (Like Presley, in his close-ups Fury clearly favours heavy mascara and eyeliner). For anyone unfamiliar with his music, The Sound of Fury (1969) is his chef-d'œuvre. It represents the closest a UK artist came to capturing the grit of American rockabilly. But I also love Fury’s lush, soaring pop ballads like “Last Night Was Made for Love” and “Halfway to Paradise”.

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Last night I watched the first episode of four-part documentary Ministry of Evil investigating the Alamo Christian Foundation, the notorious abusive cult founded by corrupt husband and wife con artists Tony and Susan Alamo in 1969. Look, the Alamos were horrendous people but as John Waters concludes in his essay “Crimes of Fashion: A Look Inside the Criminal Wardrobe”: “I don’t judge criminals by the terrible crimes they commit, I judge them by what they wear.” On that level, the duo possessed a gloriously trashy Country & Western dress sense with baroque platinum blonde bouffant wiglets (her) and dark Elvis-style shades and sideburns (him). (They made Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker look understated). In their pomp, the Alamos evoked a shitkicker Christian fundamentalist version of Raymond and Connie Marble of Pink Flamingos, or a George Jones and Tammy Wynette tribute act.

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“Claudia Cardinale was originally intended to be Italy’s answer to Brigitte Bardot (CC versus BB) and as her only training for acting was winning “the most beautiful Italian girl in Tunisia” contest in 1957 this seemed like a reasonable kind of competition. In the end Cardinale never became as big a star as Bardot at her height but she has lasted a lot longer and starred in far better pictures. BB’s films are memorable only because she is in them; CC’s films, on the other hand, are memorable not only because she looks lovely but because they were directed by such major figures as Visconti, Fellini, Bolognini and Commencini, not to mention Sergio Leone, Blake Edwards and Richard Brooks.”

/ From The Illustrated Encyclopedia of The World’s Great Movie Stars by Ken Wlaschin, 1979 /

Buon compleanno to the glorious Claudia Cardinale (born 15 April 1938). What a career! In 1963 alone, she appeared in Federico Fellini’s 8½ and Luchino Visconti’s The Leopard! I’ve always wanted to see her play opposite Bardot (in the Western The Legend of Frenchie King (1971)) and fellow Italian goddess Monica Vitti (in Midnight Pleasures (1975) and Lucky Girls (1975)).

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"Joey Ramone's signature bleat was the voice of punk rock in America.” Allmusic.com

Gabba gabba hey! Undisputed high potentate of American punk and leather-jacketed frontman of The Ramones, Joey Ramone (Jeffrey Ross Hyman, 19 May 1951 – 15 April 2001) died on this day. Sniff some glue, be sedated, beat on a brat, go down to the basement and do the cretin hop in Joey’s memory!

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Recently watched: bizarre 1994 comedy Cabin Boy. I’ve always loved Chris Elliott’s anarchic appearances on the golden age of Late Night with David Letterman (thankfully they’re preserved on YouTube) and was curious to see his one big stab at movie stardom Cabin Boy. Last night when I was crashed out on the sofa flipping through TV stations, I found that it was playing! I liked Cabin Boy’s freewheeling kitschy Pee-wee Herman vibes (Tim Burton produced it). I know Cabin Boy flopped at the time, but maybe it’s due for potential cult movie reappraisal? Anyway, I didn’t manage to finish it (it was late at night by time I started watching) but I did see the guest star appearance by the fabulous Ann Magnuson as alluring six-armed, blue-skinned temptress Calli (pictured).