boylesque

The stage is drenched in red light. An aerial hoop hangs in the middle of the stage. Bobbie Burlesque has his back to the audience. He’s a steampunk devil, complete with black feathered collar. The snake-tongue end of his black sleeveless tuxedo coat swishes as he swings his hips. Jim Bianco croons in the background, singing about dirty mouths, dirty minds, dirty martini, and sucking on a boy’s thumb. 

Bobbie commands the stage. He knows when to look at the audience through those dark, kohl-lined eyes and when to break eye contact. The tuxedo tails are the first to go. He snatches them and throws one to the left, one to the right. The vest is next. He pops it open and reveals a white shirt and a huge red rose attached to the black suspender. It doesn’t take long before the suspender comes undone. Bobbie runs his palms on his torso. He untucks the white shirt and proceeds to peel off his black elbow-length gloves. He takes off the black feathered collar, fans himself with it, and tosses it away before walking to the aerial hoop. With one graceful leap, he hooks his leg and begins to swing upside down from the hoop. His back is to the audience. He unzips the white sleeveless shirt and off it goes. He has one more piece of clothing left, but Bobbie takes his time. And when the moment finally comes, he hooks the cuffs of his striped pants to the top of the aerial hoop and slides down like a serpent sheds his skin. Bobbie poses defiantly. Arms up, legs apart. He grins at his audience. His bedazzled jockstrap sparkles as it catches the light. 

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Photo by Ed Barnas.

“It is stripping,” Bobbie says. “Burlesque tends to be a bit more dramatic and theatrical with more of a story and character development, but i am still taking off my clothes. I am still stripping. I don’t have any negative feelings with the word or title of stripper. And those who do, need to look up the definition of the word again, and come to terms with their inner demons.”

Bobbie hasn’t only come to terms with his inner demons, he’s made friends with them and adopt their various monikers that range from artist, dancer, performer, entertainer, to stripper, sex worker, peeler, burlesquer, and boylesquer. “All titles are beautiful to me,” he says. 

The last term, boylesque, is a play on the word burlesque. It was coined in the ’90s by a New York male burlesque performer Tigger! as a way to promote his work, but it caught on. Some male burlesque performers dislike the word, saying that it separates the art form from burlesque, as if burlesque belonged to women only. However, it is, by and large, a woman’s world. Men have been involved in burlesque, but always as a producer, musician, or host. 

When Bobbie started performing burlesque in 2006, six years after he’d been producing burlesque shows as well as managing his burlesque troupe, he was the first solo boylesque dancer in Los Angeles. That year, the Burlesque Hall of Fame began allowing men to perform and compete in their annual show. 

Bobbie admits to not knowing the exact ratio of female to male burlesque performers, but says there are a few of the mainstream boylesque dancers currently based in Los Angeles. There’s Tito Bonito (originally from Chicago), Vyper Synville (who’s also a belly dancer), and Mr. Snapper (who’s married to the burlesque star Red Snapper). “There are other boylesquers as well, but these performers have actually branched out of performing in only local shows and have been seen in major events, festivals, and shows across the world.”

BobbieBurlesqueTo some, being a man in female-dominated profession is enough to get attention, but when that novelty ends, it’s going to be difficult to have a sustained career. This is exactly why before he decided to become a professional burlesque performer, he did extensive research that went into all of his performance pieces.

“I truly believe these key factors and guidelines I have developed [through research] and follow, have made me successful in the industry and have allowed me to last as long as I have,” Bobbie says. He admits to have seen male performers come and gone. “They haven’t analyzed the scene and their performance pieces. They just perform what they want to and don’t take into consideration the audience they’re performing for. Yes, perform from your heart and do what you want, but if the audience is unhappy, they won’t come back to see you.” 

It’s this dedication and meticulousness that have won him awards, such as Mr. Hollywood Burlesque at the inaugural Hollywood Burlesque Festival and Best Novelty Act at the Texas Burlesque Festival in Austin. His first performance with his aerial hoop (his favorite prop – he always gives him a kiss before their performance) won the Best Novelty/Best Use of a Prop category at the 2013 Texas Burlesque Festival.

“Each piece I create, I will continue to perform it throughout my career. I don’t believe in creating a new act for every show. My performance pieces mean something to me and I spend a lot of time, money, and effort into each one,” Bobbie says. 

Burlesque isn’t cheap. There are the tangible items like make-up and costumes (Bobbie only uses Swarovski crystals) and one-of-a-kind props. Then there are various expenses like choreographers, musicians, make-up artists, costumers, and classes. “I think classes and workshops are good to expand your knowledge about the industry and to get different perspectives on the art and learn more ideas, but I believe being a performer is something that goes beyond taking a class. I believe it is something you are born with and a passion you possess all on your own.”

He feels that performers who create acts quickly with little to no rehearsal time, no original or innovative ideas, cheap-looking costumes will produce an act that isn’t polished, and that cheapens the art of burlesque. 

Bobbie usually spends up to a year working on an act before debuting it and continues to grow and improve it. His inspiration comes from many aspects in his life: music, art, film, television, theater, mass media, friends, other performers, and even from his dreams. The bottom line of burlesque is stripping down to whatever’s legal in the place, but Bobbie likes to create different personas in each performance. 

ditaopiumden“I love Dita Von Teese,” Bobbie says. “I’m a lover of classic burlesque, and she definitely embodies the classic style I love as well as being beautiful and glamorous on stage! To me, burlesque is about all the things she does so wonderfully: entertainment, sex appeal, costume, make-up, music, and glamour!” 

Dita’s Opium Den performance caused a stir. Other burlesque dancers called her racially insensitive and appropriating a culture, but Bobbie sees this as the beauty of burlesque and stage performance. When it comes to the beauty of different cultures, religions, and backgrounds, with all the various costumes, make-up, and music, he advises to take something and make it larger than life. “As long as your presentation is done to appreciate and honor the culture you are representing in a respectful and beautiful way,” he adds. 

One of the main differences between burlesque and gogo-style stripping is the idea of beauty. To many performers, the all-inclusive nature of burlesque gives them confidence, but that doesn’t mean that it’s okay to not take care of one’s appearance. 

“I used to be a lot heavier and have more curves with a softer, pudgier stomach when I first started stripping,” Bobbie says, but he’s slimmed down a bit, not only because he joined the circus and became an aerialist, but also because he wanted to have a sexier, more defined body for stage performance. “I was happy and welcomed in the industry with my old body, but I have noticed my audience demographic open up to more people with my change in body type.” Although he believes that a true performer can captivate and seduce an audience with their confidence and stage presence alone, regardless of their body type.

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Performing burlesque isn’t Bobbie’s main source of income. Thankfully, he loves every minute of it, from the first budding spark of inspiration for a new act, to the post-performance shower to wash off the glitter. To him, designing and bringing an idea to life is a remarkable feeling. 

Each performer has his own guidelines and rules, but Bobbie cheekily declines to answer. “Lots of performers have approached me and asked me about this, but like a prostitute, a magician never reveals his tricks.” He does reveal some of his pet peeves, though.

“I will never have tags sticking out of my costumes, and I will never beg the audience to cheer for me by beckoning them with my fingers. If you have a store-bought costume piece, remove the tags. I don’t need to see the washing instructions. And if you have to ask the audience for a verbal response, you aren’t doing your job.”

For more information on future performances, go to BobbieBurlesque.com, follow him on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

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theandrogynous.net

I am so excited to be joining a team of wonderful people over at TheAndrogynous.net. Not only did the website’s name capture my attention, but I was also thrilled to put my degree to use.

I’m now the resident Assistant Copy Editor of the website, and my first (approved) post is about Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent. So head over there and tell me what you think.

Here’s a sizzling picture of Prince Philip (Brenton Thwaites) to motivate you:

things that are not quite right with disney’s frozen

I have to admit, the first time I watched Frozen, I didn’t like it. In fact, I hated it simply because I thought it didn’t live up to its hype.

Then I watched it the second time and really forced myself to watch it, and started falling in love with it. I realized small things like Kristen Bell can actually sing (and is classically trained – and I like her voice better than Menzel’s), Jonathan Groff (voice of Kristoff) is as sexy in real life as his character in Frozen (warning: LINK DEFINITELY NSFW), and that Olaf’s “In Summer” song – although the concept of a character singing happily and obliviously about his demise has been done before – is just so catchy and brilliant.

BuzzFeed has run an article about the fifteen questions in Frozen. Some of the points are valid, so I thought I didn’t have to write about them, but I still kind of want to do it, and I kind of have spare time to do it.

So, let’s get started. Warning: SPOILERS AND NSFW IMAGE.

1. Really? Those men are just going to leave a little kid (and his reindeer) alone in the cold, dark, snowy forest, that’s probably full of predators? 

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2. The King and Queen don’t age (or change their clothes).

Here they are with little Anna.

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And here they are as they’re going to board the ship, many, many years later. Not even a wrinkle, or gray hair. I demand to know who their doctor is! Or their hairdresser!

vlcsnap-2014-03-29-12h50m26s39Also, they wear the same dress when they barge into the room and slam the doors open to find Elsa cradling the unconscious Anna. Okay, so maybe it’s not that late and they haven’t changed into their dressing gowns.

Speaking of fashion choices, Anna sings about dressing up in a gown for the evening of her sister’s “cornoration”, but shows up not in a gown.

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3. No Prime Ministers? No Minister of Trade?

Then who’s doing trades with Weaseltown Weselton? They “closed the gates” but still doing trades? Then what does “closing the gates” mean?

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This also applies to Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. Really? How exactly does Arendelle work? No one actually objects to the idea of this foreigner ruling Arendelle? It would be better if he had some credentials, like he was the son of Arendelle’s recently diseased prime minister, so then everyone believed that he was capable of actually taking care of Arendelle.

Crazy eyes.

Crazy eyes.

I guess my biggest complaint is how Frozen‘s writers make minor characters seem really, really minor. Like this dude. Who keeps appearing and seeming to have a really important part.

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Which explains why these characters (including these soldiers)…

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Don’t react to this…

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When they can actually see what’s happening.

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4. Olaf. And that Snow Golem. 

I don’t care if Elsa can actually turn ice into fashion, fashion that can be worn by people who won’t think it’s too cold. Like these skate boots.

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But Elsa can actually create living, sentient beings? And not only that, but one of them actually knows a great deal of things like bats, summer (although oblivious to the fact that snow melts when it gets too warm), and how to start a fire (and still surprised to feel fire). Oh, and how many rooms does a castle usually have? Lots, right? So how does Olaf figure out which room to enter to find Anna lying there dying?

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Also, where did Elsa and Anna get the twigs and the carrot when they build Olaf in the palace?

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Also, bendy twigs? Really?

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The Snow Golem is actually not that sentient, but it’s still alive. And it’s faaaahbulous.

Tiara!

Tiara!

I guess what really bothers me about this movie is the level of credibility. Brave is largely fictional, yes – it involves magic and witches and will-of-a-wisps, and mothers-turning-into-bears – but the politics of the kingdom, the customs, they are clear. Unlike Frozen. Who mentors Elsa to become the queen? How much time passes between the King and Queen’s death and Elsa’s coronation? And do reindeers act like dogs?

I think if I were a kid, I’d love this movie unconditionally, the way I loved Pocahontas and Hercules and Hunchback of Notre Dame.

So, here, have this sexy Kristoff illustration.

Kristoff by David Kawena.

Kristoff by David Kawena.

miss fisher’s murder mysteries and assuit

Oh, Netflix. Sometimes one finds little gems like The Hairdresser among films like Sharknado and other mockbusters produced by none other than the beloved Asylum Pictures (seriously, Snakes on a Train? Pirates on Treasure Island? Mega Python vs. Gatoroid?).

At nights (or days, or whenever), I’d run something in the background, some series that I’ve watched over and over again like Family Guy or American Dad! and do homework or clean my apartment.

Then I found Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. The series is based on Kerry Greenwood’s Phryne Fisher Murder Mystery novels and it’s set in Melbourne, Australia, in the twenties. In the freaking twenties. The Roaring Twenties. The Great Gatsby Twenties. Which means one word: WARDROBE.

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Sure, the story concepts are great and all (in the third episode, the show features a homosexual couple but this story line is somewhat undeveloped, as it is torn under two other story lines), and it lacks the gritty, grimy, amazingness of The No. 1 Ladies’s Detective Agency (Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose. Enough said). And it’s basically about a woman (Phryne Fisher) who uses her intelligence and charm and beauty (triple threat) to solve crimes. I mean, seriously, Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote has been solving harder cases without showing skin.

So, what are the appeals of this series? Strong women (this comes from someone who’s pledged lifelong allegiance to Xena and Gabrielle and Wonder Woman and Poison Ivy and Ellen Ripley). And of course: guy candy (unfortunately, all the lead male cast look the same). Miss Fisher is a Tango-dancing, airplane-flying, hot-rod-driving cougar who has guys half her age either shagging her or lusting over her.

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Dale March. Hmm. Pecs.

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Kristof Piechocki. Small bum, but still.

I told you about the twenties, right? So of course the costumes in this series make me drool (I even wasted thirty minutes trying to find a red pea coat that wouldn’t bust my bank account and then I calmed down and figured I didn’t need another coat).

Miss-Phryne-Fisher-miss-fishers-murder-mysteries-35200692-650-366 Miss-Phryne-Fisher-miss-fishers-murder-mysteries-35259875-900-600At first I thought, “Oh sure. It’s easy to make cheap reproductions of flapper dresses and fascinators. But have you heard of assuit?”

And then Phryne walked in in episode three, with a frigging ivory assuit shawl draped around her neck.

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I mean, still, it’s not as magnificent as my ivory assuit shawl but whatever. RESPECT.

Season one of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries is streaming on Netflix, and for you who live in Australia, head over to ABC.

In other news, Bear Grylls bares all (NSFW).

layla means night and the elephant in the room

I’m going to start this piece by telling you two stories. The first one is the famed Arabian Nights and the second one is about a group of blind men and an elephant.

Perhaps I don’t need to tell you about the first story. It’s called One Thousand and One Nights and this collection of framed stories has been delighting a wide range of audiences, from children to adults to adults looking for themed porn.

The second story deals with perception. So there’s this group of blind men. They don’t know what an elephant looks like. A zoo keeper is nice enough to place the blind men in a room with a very docile elephant. One blind man touches its ear and says, “Ooh, an elephant is vertical and flat and thin!”; another rubs its leg and says, “No! An elephant is thick and sturdy, although also vertical!”; yet another feels its trunk and says, “You’re both wrong! An elephant is squishy and a bit hairy and moves about a lot, and very, very long.”; another glides his hand over the elephant’s skin and says, “I don’t think so. An elephant is big and rough.”; another plays with its tusk and says, “I’m not sure what you guys are on about. An elephant feels pointy, and perhaps dangerous. I’m not going anywhere near it.”; and finally, the last one, the lucky fellow who gets to be close to the animal’s butt says, “Are you high? An elephant is very, very skinny, almost non existent, and it’s very slinky,” because he’s touching its tail.

An audience member viewing “Layla Means Night”, a dance/theatrical/installation arts performance presented by Rosanna Gamson may feel like one of those blind men.

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As we checked in for the show, we received a slip of paper with different colors. Then we were served wine and mimosa and food and some dancers even offered to wash our hands. Here the story began immediately. We were introduced to three characters: The insecure, misogynistic bitch king (yeah, I use “bitch” for men. You should try it. It feels emancipating), the executioner (who painfully, ever so slowly raised her cleaver and brought it down on one poor satsuma after another every minute), and the wives (played by a charming cast of the teenage dancers ODC Dance Jam) taking turns visiting the king and doing a dance routine to no music. No, no belly dancing involved. This was strictly modern dance meets hints of Sufi and Persian dances.

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A blonde Scheherzade fleeted about in an almost tattered white and light pink gown, greeting guests, while the narrator, Niloufar Talebi (who also helped with the text and translations for this show) was a vision in black and crazy-ass feathered headdress that she unfortunately took off as the night unfolds (I simply couldn’t stop staring at her face. Four words: gorgeous facial bone structure).

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Then it got real. Remember the colored paper? Yeah, I didn’t get one.

The audience was divided into three groups based on the color of paper they received. I decided to join the Red group. I began to suspect that this was an all girls group (a relief from six years of all-male Catholic high school, which I couldn’t complain about), as we were given a fan to, “Cover our faces with when we encounter members of different groups.” And so began the concealment and the play of perspective.

In a way, the concept was sort of ingenious. The three groups were divided on gender (I guess I wasn’t given a paper either because I had a press invitation (ah, perks!) or because the greeters at the door simply couldn’t tell if I was a boy or a girl (genderblending FTW!). Anyhoo, I was glad that I made the decision to join the girl group. After all, red is my favorite color. IMG_2846

The problem with this was that each group would get a different show, and a carefully selected one at that. Not only did each group view the show in a different order (although all groups were in the same room in the first sequence where they introduced the story and in the last sequence where we were told the moral of the story by Scheherazade) but also had different stories told to them.My all-girl red group had the opportunity to see the guy group blindfolded with orange cloth as the dancers in black (teen ODC Dance Jam, the still living wives) were telling them stories. As a member of the girl group, I could see the other dancers (in red (souls of the dead wives))  perform near the men, almost touching the men, but of course the men could only hear stories told by the living wives. They were oblivious to what was happening around them. And as a member of the girl group, all I could hear was the whispers. Whispers. Whispers. Of the stories. And this scared the glitter out of me.

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The whispers stayed throughout the show but were somehow passed on to the dead wives (red dancers), as the King blabbered to the guy group about negative space. He was obviously getting the guys to take on his side to justify the beheading of women. 

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I am not going to give you a play by play, but in the style of Edmund White’s States of Desire, here are some memorable details:

  1. Whispers. Seriously. As someone who constantly eavesdrops, it’s frustrating to have pieces of information so close within your reach yet far enough so that one cannot decipher the whole information. And what’s worse, the performers recited the different information at the same time, making it even harder to hear.
  2. Colors. Obviously red, black, and white play significant part. But orange? Well, according to Gamson, orange (cloths, even the satsumas and strung almost-dried dandelions that gave the rooms and stages a distinct scent) symbolized life. The new, still living wives wore black and the orange ribbon tied around their neck, signified that they were still alive. Gamson added that the making of orange juice in the morning signified a new day. I used to drink orange juice every morning for two weeks, until I realized every time I routinely drank orange juice (or strawberry smoothie or vitamin C), I would start getting crazy painful mouth sores.
  3. Obviously the play is about hiding information. The girl group got to the banquet room very much later while the men went to the banquet room earlier (and therefore wined and dined and got to spend some minutes sitting and sharing stories and their feelings) as the new wives were being executed in front of them (the girl group was only wined and dined and got to spend some minutes sitting and sharing stories and our feelings with Niloufar Talebi and then write our stories on a tiny scrap of orange paper that hung from the ceiling).
  4. In the banquet, Niloufar, while sitting on an orange chair, told us a real story of her father asking her when she was just fourteen years old, “Would you rather be dim and happy or knowing and suffer?” to which she never gave us her reply. Something to think about. Also: I wondered if she told the same story every night.
  5. The shadow play with the story of the giantess. It’s amazing how distance and light can generate the illusion of size.
  6. The Persian musicians (Houman Pourmehdi, Pirayeh Pourafar, and vocalist Alireza Shahmohammadi), whose songs I could listen to all day.
  7. The strung butterflies and cleavers in the red voyeur room.
  8. They taught us to zaghareet, which is a high-pitched ululation sound that Middle-Eastern women make to cheer on something or someone. At one point, we were to zaghareet after each new wife was beheaded. Genius.
  9. I didn’t even mind going up and down and up and down the stairs, although seeing the Exit signs and the posters and photographs on the walls of the staircase (and signs that said “Please turn off lights or fan” or “Absolutely no street shoes in the studio”) kind of took away the illusion of being in a different world.

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In the end, though, as fascinating as the concept of the show is, I don’t understand the merit of withholding information, especially since you’re trying to do a play about gender and sexism and feminism. Yes, each member of each gender will have different interpretation of the show, but with themes as dividing as gender and sexism and feminism, why not give everyone the whole same show?

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We grew up being a boy or a girl (or both) and having sets of rules and morals and etiquette and manners shoved down our throat: what to wear, how to talk, how to behave; and our perception about members of the opposite gender is helped shaped by our society anyway, so why not just trust the audience to see everything, go home, and interpret the play according to her/his knowledge and social upbringing? 

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In an article published by InDance, Niloufar Talebi wrote, “What I grapple with working on this project is the fact that any mention of a performance inspired by the Nights conjured images of djinns and fairies and magic lamps and harem pants. And of course of the mighty “Scheherazade” reduced in Western Orientalist depictions to an enticing half-naked woman confined to entertaining a domineering man who can do as he pleases and have as man women as he wants. Which is far from the truth. She is much more than that, you will see.”

You know, this idea of “enticing half-naked woman” is starting to get on my nerves. I mean, I am a belly dancer (although I’m a dude), and Talebi’s statement sounds very reductive. There are belly dancers, just like jazz, modern, ballet dancers, just like poets and writers, who struggle every day to take the art of belly dancing to a respectable level. I mean, “half-naked”? It’s not like the costumes of the performers of “Layla Means Night” were less revealing than belly dancers.

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Another thing: this show is billed as an “immersive dance theater work”, and I have to tell you, despite the climbing up and down and signs (which are all just logistics), it was quite immersive. The scent of the satsumas and the flowers, the banquet (a much deserved break for some of us, which also justified the ticket price), the sheer curtains, the theatrics. One couldn’t help but ask: did these theatrics actually help elevate the experience or merely become props on which those involved in the production relied (heavily or otherwise)? Because to be honest, there were moments when the dancers, who had quite uniformed body type, were not in sync when I supposed they were supposed to be synced, but I got so distracted by the dark lighting and the curtains.

Apart from the music, the only thing that’s remotely Persian (dance-wise, excluding the musicians and Talebi’s poems) is the performance in the Red Voyeur Box, which was eerie and fabulous.

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I sat down with ODC Theater Director Christy Bolingbroke who was kind enough to spare her minutes as Rosanna Gamson excused herself to prepare for the second show (“Layla Means Night” ran twice an evening, 7 PM and 9 PM) and I told her about my happy mixed-up with the girl group (I was so not going to join a group with that much testosterone). Then I asked her if someone had $150 to spend, would he or she be able to join each group and get the experience as a whole? The answer is no. I mean, you could ask to join the group of your gender or a mixed group, but not the group of a different gender.

So, if you are really, really curious, and you have that much money, this is my advice: dress in drag.

***

Rosanna Gamson / World Wide presents Layla Means Night at 7 PM and 9 PM, October 30 to November 3 at ODC Theater, 3153 17th Street, San Francisco. Tickets are $35 – 50. Click here for more information.

Photos by Yuska Lutfi Tuanakotta. For more photos, go to the Flickr Album.

elysium: of machismo and martyrdom

I love District 9. I must’ve watched it dozens of times (in fact, it’s playing in the background as I’m writing this) and I love how political it is, thus resurrecting science fiction as sociopolitical commentary. That being said, its director, Neil Blomkamp, has denied that his new movie, Elysium, has some sort of political agenda.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, there are some similarities between the movies:

  1. The exosuit in District 9 and the strength enhancing suit that Matt Damon wears in Elysium. They’re both drilled into the wearer’s body. Although in Elysium‘s case, it covers a lot less.
  2. Slum areas. Probably also shot in South Africa? District 9 was shot in Soweto, but the slum area looks a lot smaller compared to the one in Elysium. It’s also probably CGI.
  3. Their sociopolitical commentary. District 9 is about apartheid and events at District Six, while Elysium is obviously about the 99% vs. 1%.
  4. Sharlto Copley, who played his characters to a fucking T in both movies. (Addendum: I watched Elysium for the second time, I think Copley overacts just a teensy bit)
  5. Both Wikus in District 9 and Max in Elysium are struck with some kind of illness that prompts them to do crazy things. I don’t know which one is more morbid, though, Wikus staying alive as a prawn or Max dying.

Elysium opens with childhood memories of little Max (grown-up Max played by buffed and tattooed Matt Damon) and his friendship with little Frey (grown-up Frey played by Alice Braga of Predators). Little Frey teaches little Max how to read in both Spanish and English. They grow attached. Little Max promises little Frey to take her “up” there to Elysium one day (SPOILER: of course he fulfills his promise).

Boys with tattoos

Boys with tattoos

Grown-up Max works at a factory called Armadyne. This factory supplies things like robots and hardware for both Earth and Elysium. Two Robots assault Max as he’s on his way to work so he has to go to the hospital where he finds Alice, now a nurse.

Jodie Foster plays Delacourt, Elysium’s secretary of defense, who zealously protects Elysium with all costs, including hiring a deranged mercenary who goes by the name Kruger (geez, that name, just like Damien, gives me goosebumps) played by Sharlto Copley. Some illegal immigrants try to get to Elysium, and Delacourt orders Kruger to shoot the ships down, destroying two out of three ships. One ship lands. An illegal woman breaks in a house to use the  to cure her daughter’s crippled legs using a special medical device that can magically solve all known disease (oh, the year is 2154). The little girl can walk again, just in time before the two of them are caught by Elysium’s security force.

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Jodie Foster as the bilingual Secretary of Defense

Delacourt’s decision causes Elysium’s president to give her the last warning (although I’m unsure if this is based on compassion or publicity, or both). She tries to raise a coup against the president by getting John Carlyle (William Fichtner) the head of Armadyne redo the coding program of Elysium, thus installing her as the president.

Apparently, things get in the way because John Carlyle never makes it back to Elysium because his flight is intercepted by Max and Earth’s team of hackers. By the way, Max now only has five days to live because of fatal radiation exposure, and so he tries to get to Elysium and use the device to get healed. Also, it’s now revealed that Alice’s daughter is dying of leukemia and she’ll do anything she can to get her to Elysium to be healed.

You know, there are some things that don’t sit well with me.

For example, the rich people are up there in Elysium. They don’t live on the same planet or even breathe same air with the poor people down on Earth. So why don’t they just share the technology? Why don’t they just share that heal-all device that looks like a tanning bed? I mean, isn’t that why the poor people rush to Elysium? Also, apparently the Medusa tanning bed (courtesy of Versace) can change people’s looks? And it’s always a woman! Always! As if women are the only ones concerned with their looks!

The healing machine. I think. I took this photo from Facebook.

The healing machine that Frey uses for Matilda. 

Almost everything on earth is pictures as slum. However, Frey, who works as a nurse, apparently has a nice home with her own medical kit for her daughter, who likes to watch cartoons on their huge flat screen television. Seriously, that flat screen TV hit me on the head. It just looked so stark. This makes me question: so the middle class is basically what? Invisible? Do the poor people also have problems with middle/working class people and vice versa? Are there break-ins?

The coup. So, you’re telling me, that just by rebooting the system and putting in different codes that run Elysium, one can be the president? What is this? Jurassic Park?

Addendum: Also, speaking of security, when Spider’s shuttle arrived, security doesn’t make a beep. Take note: this is before all hell breaks loose and Kruger and his henchmen began taking over.

I don't know about sitting in the prime minister's chair, but I'd love to sit on those abs.

I don’t know about sitting in the prime minister’s chair, but I’d love to sit on that face those abs.

SPOILER: I’m actually fine with Delacourt not wanting to be saved by Frey when they’re locked in the same room. Her character may be underdeveloped, but not as underdeveloped as Charlize Theron’s Meredith Vickers (Prometheus).

Finally: machismo and martyrdom.

Kruger is so pissed with Max. In fact he’s so pissed that he wants to kill Max. This is a case of a jilted lover (maybe he’s jealous of the bromance between Max and Julio [played by the gorgeous Diego Luna]?). I don’t know why he’s so angry, though. Because Max destroys his face (which is really gore and cool at the same time)? Or just an act of inexplicable machismo?

Addendum: so I realized that Kruger was possibly trying to stage his own coup?

Badass Sharlto Copley

Badass Sharlto Copley

And as for martyrdom, I should’ve explained this earlier. When the Armadyne guy reprogrammed Elysium, he downloaded the codes into his brain using the option “Lethal”, so in case it’s downloaded without his permission (I don’t know, I don’t really get how this works), the data thief dies. Max doesn’t know this when he uploads the data into his brain. When the time comes to reprogram Elysium (so that everyone, and I mean everyone, even the poorest of the poor on Earth can be citizens of Elysium and thus get access to apparently hundreds of those medical tanning bed units), he has to die. He does so anyway just in time so that the illegals currently on Elysium don’t get arrested and Frey’s daughter can be cured (she breaks into one of the houses to use the device).

I just think there has to be a greater motive of breaking into Elysium than just to borrow the healing device. Okay, let me rephrase that, since I know desperation can cause people to do things. What I’m trying to say is that, I find it hard to believe that the people on Elysium really don’t care about sending some medical droids and machines down to Earth. I mean, they have androids that control the situation on Earth. I’m sure placing healing machines on Earth will solve problems of illegals trying to break into their place.

Oh God, I hope I don’t sound like one of those 1% snobs, because seriously, that’s what I took from the movie’s premise.

turbo: that snail is fast

TurboThis one’s a bit dated (holy hell, I haven’t even reviewed Keanu Reeve’s Man of Tai Chi), but here goes.

Turbo is okay. It’s by DreamWorks. What can you expect? It’s not as high-quality as Pixar’s movies (except for Cars series. I really don’t understand why Cars is so famous. Perhaps I’m just not into that sort of thing, and oh my God, Pixar is releasing Planes, a spin-off of Cars). Honestly, it’s one of the best summer movies I’ve seen this summer. Granted, it’s a cartoon, or more precisely, a 3D animation. Apart from its catchy summer tune (seriously, “That Snail Is Fast”?), it tickled my fancy for a while. Or rather, it slapped my face at the right time.

I didn’t write the quote down, but there was one moment early in the movie when Chet (Turbo’s brother) talked to Turbo (whose real name is Theo) about how Theo’s urges to be fast was unnatural. Hello.

I’m guessing with the subplot of Theo being bullied (by other garden snails, not the racing ones, which are so awesome!), it strikes me as trying reinforce not only that notion that even underdogs can strive for (and succeed at) that one shot that’s make or break, but also about knowing what we really are in life (and by that I mean our urges. And by our urges, I mean, well, you know, our sexuality). So, moral of the story: be gay, people!

That's Los Angeles

That’s Los Angeles

Anyway, Theo got involved in some freak accident that made him fast. Like, superfast. Like, even faster than race cars. Then Chet, ever the skeptic (or probably overprotective of his brother) asked, “What would you do if you woke up to find your powers have disappeared?”

Theo (or Turbo) thought for a moment and said, “That’s why I’m going to use it as much as I can while I still have it.”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! And I think I cried.

Well, the quote is somewhere along those lines anyway.

That being said, I know it’s an animation, I know it’s fantasy, I know it’s far-fetched (you’d think a snail that fell into a car’s engine would automatically be barbecued), but here’s what bothers me so much from that movie:

I rollerblade. And holy hell, rollerblading on asphalt is a pain. It destroys the wheels. So how in gay hell can a snail’s undersides not be destroyed when he races 500+mph on asphalt? Seriously? How?

Snail, speeding on asphalt.

Snail, speeding on asphalt.