Tarantino at the Tiki

There was a Quentin Tarantino party in Perth last night. The 5678's were hit on by a couple of Crazy 88's. Pai Mei, Oren Ishii, and Gogo Yubari got a little drunk. Elle Driver served drinks and swore at the ATM machine. A post-overdose Mia Wallace ended up on The Bride's couch. Tarantino himself was seen begging for drugs at a nearby gay bar.

(Apparently. I wasn't actually there, but my overbearing friend forced me through threats and blackmail to blog this non-event. Ezekiel 25:17)

Fast Forward Through Fashion

Despite my snails-pace broadband connection, a recent favourite pastime of mine after a wearying days work and one-hour train ride, is trawling through the wonder that is YouTube. My god! I really can't express my gratitude toward the genius of Chad Hurley and Steve Chen enough for creating a platform for so much time-wasting bullshit. Night after night I can stay up past my bed time cringing at the ostentatious scene-stealing antics of Prince beside fellow coloured-musical-prodigy contemporaries Michael Jackson and James Brown, while "ROFLMFAO" at Mr T's 80's-era fashion tips over a booming synth-hip hop soundtrack. The nature of this site, in its allowal of personal expressive freedom (to a certain extent. I'd actually like to see more obscenity. You know, more tits, some hardcore cursing, a bit of anal sex.), permits a touchingly strong human element, whereby a particularly eloquent woman offers an informed opinion in her Fat Rant, or quality glimpses of the formerly esoteric realm of high-culture, as covered by NY Times. There are plenty of fashion-related clips available, namely segments of catwalk shows, however I recently discovered a highly entertaining and unusual clip tracing the history of fashion in under 5 minutes:



Originally a sequence from a 1986 Mode en France documentary, with a stunning soundtrack by Serge Gainsbourg, it is unfortunately narrated almost entirely in French, however, imagine my delight when I realised it was posted by Susie Bubble, of Style Bubble fame! I'm a bit of a fan of hers, really.

Muse: Audrey Horne

You may not recognise this Monday's Muse unless you were of Mentally Independent Age during the early 90's, or a hard-core David Lynch groupie. Twin Peaks was a deliciously odd, surreal television series aired during my MTV-and-Disney-cartoons phase, directed by the genius David Lynch, which I've only recently discovered with much relish and enthusiasm. It followed the story of the eccentric Agent Cooper investigating the murder of high-school darling with a dark side, Laura Palmer. This basic plotline is only a platform for convoluted, nightmarish visions from Lynch's amazing imagination, and one cannot help but become attached to the seemingly normal, but often disconcertingly twisted characters, alongside the unforgettable images of the Red Room, with its backwards-talking dwarf, the tortured one-armed man, the 8-foot-tall tuxedoed giant, Laura's violently hysterical father, the insane forest woman and her all-seeing log, and the frightening, blood-smeared Bob.

Our concern here, however, is the innocent yet daring femme fatale, Audrey Horne, played by Sherilyn Fenn. She wears 50's skirts and red ballet flats, with carefully coiffed dark hair, set against thick, arched brows above a small, perfectly placed beauty spot. She flirts masterfully with the gallantly unresponsive Agent Cooper, while privately delving into the sordid undergrowth of small town Twin Peaks' mysteries. She even has her own song, a dreamy 'Audrey's Dance' by Angelo Badalamenti, and I bet that scene where she applies for a seedy escort job by twisting a cherry stalk into a knot in her mouth had adolescent boys the world over instantly creaming their pants.

The Kubrick Look

That heavy-browed glare of insanity.

Alex from A Clockwork Orange, Jack Torrence from The Shining, Private Pyle from Full Metal Jacket,

and Stanley Kubrick himself.

(Way to scare to shit out of me, Stanley)

Soirée fétichiste à la Loco à Paris

Do you believe this? There recently was a fetish party in Paris, where ladies wore leather underwear, dwarves got their hair pulled by dominatrix sluts, half-naked submissives had a good old chat in their cages, and a hot bitch in vinyl platforms sipped her cocktail while a writhing, nipple-clamped man lay under her feet.

This kind of event is really beyond my wildest dreams. Who on earth wants to attend countless boring backyard barbeques, beer in hand and gesticulating, cheaply-clothed mall rat in another, when there are sado-masochist orgies to feast your eyes with?

In all seriousness, I'm not really an S&M kind of girl, but if anybody happens to hold an Eyes Wide Shut-esque party in the near future, and are in need of a skinny blonde Asian chick to decorate their guest list, then give me a call. Fo shiz.

I'd Rather ...

"... have a bottle infront of me than a frontal lobotomy."
Tom Waits

"... be a lightning bolt than a seismograph."
Ken Kesey

"... vote for something I want and not get it, than vote for something I don't want and get it."
Eugene V Debs

"... stay here with all the madmen, than perish with the sadmen roaming free."
David Bowie

"... be black than gay because when you're black you don't have to tell your mother."
Charles Pierce

"... eat glass."
Bijou Phillips

Muse: Eva Green In 'The Dreamers'

The Dreamers, starring Michael Pitt (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Leonardo Di Caprio) as American student Matthew, Louis Garrel as brooding Parisian intellectual Theo, and Eva Green as Isabelle, Theo's sultry and sexually mysterious sister. An erotic escape into adolescent discovery, sexuality and decadence. This film personifies "Bizarre Love Triangle", and Eva Green is a fox. Which is why she is this week's muse.

Images and screenshots from The Dreamers and Hotflick.

Money, Sex, Fame, Glamour

As documented by the highly camp and gritty film Party Monster (2003) and its shockumentary of the same name, the Club Kids scene of the late 80's and early 90's was a wild, drug-fuelled movement full of excess and fabulousness, led by the charismatic and now imprisoned Michael Alig. Imprisoned, you query? Yes, as extreme living proof of the damaging effects of drugs, Alig and an accomplice repeatedly bashed a dealer over the head with the handle of a hammer afer a heated argument over drug debts, poured Drano down his throat and taped his mouth shut, left him in a bathtub for a week until the stench became unbearable, then dismembered his legs and disposed of the remains in suitcases down the river. He then bragged about it on camera, and everyone believed it was a publicity stunt until the body washed ashore.

Well, I only tell this story because it interests me, but it also gives you a sense of the decadence and downfall of such excess. Nobody wants to glorify horror, but, like Jack the Ripper and the World Wars, this time was a part of history. Where a young gay man decided to turn a bunch of parties into an infamous movement, where cross-dressers were fabulous, night time was the right time, and everyone loved living in the age of the Thing. Money, success, fame and glamour!

It reminds me of the lyrics in Frank Sinatra by Miss Kittin:

To be famous is so nice
Suck my dick, Lick my ass
In limousines we have sex
Every night with my famous friends

Well, I see a revival. Not so naive and carefree, what with sexual diseases, homophobia, smoking laws and the evident devastation of drug misuse pervading throughout modern society. But bright colours, adventurous dressing, themed parties and 90's hedonism is suddenly attractive again. Tackiness has been given a 21st century makeover:

Exhibit A
Style Bubble takes photo of neon-clad girl at London party.

Exhibit B
Underground blog Style Slut waxes lyrical on pop culture.

Exhibit C
Christopher Kane, Spring RTW '07.