Strip tease

burlesque-1
THE FACE, AND BODY, OF BURLESQUE Satan’s Angel, center, continues in a profession that has welcomed such newcomers as Dita von Teese, left, and Jett Adore, right.

Out burlesque legend Satan’s Angel last performed in Dallas at Jack Ruby’s club in late 1963. And that’s not the only thing that has changed in the last 50 years

RICH LOPEZ  | Staff Writer
lopez@dallasvoice.com

Although she liked the film, Satan’s Angel thought the movie Burlesque was more about a lounge act than the actual art of the tease.

She should know. Satan’s Angel — a stage name, of course — is a legend who has a few healthy decades under her belt and she doesn’t want today’s generation to forget what burlesque should really mean to performers and audiences.

“Burlesque is about sexuality, being sensual and teasing,” she says by phone in a gravelly voice. “It’s getting the audience worked up and then letting them go home all fired up. It really is about the journey of titillation, not the destination.”

As part of Saturday’s Hotter Than Hell show at The Kessler, Ms. Angel doesn’t perform like she used to, but she still headlines this show that will include “boylesque” artist Jett Adore. Now 67, Ms. Angel has seen it all and welcomes the diversity in burlesque now, but she was in a class all her own back in the day.

“Well, I am the big lesbian legend of burlesque that probably paved the way for every queer there,” she laughs. “It was a terrible time. No one could really be open and lots of places were owned by the mob. If they found out, they’d throw you out the door.”

But she was defiantly queer in a pre-Stonewall era — even when she traveled in the South. She always “had a woman” and when a fellow dancer outed her to a club owner, she didn’t back down.

“Oh, he grabbed me by the hair and was hitting me in the face asking if I was gay,” she recalls. “Other dancers were telling me to just say I wasn’t, but I just told him to piss off. It was really hard then.”

Ironically, burlesque now is very fluid in its sexuality. Lesbianism could almost be looked at as a selling point. But Ms. Angel says many of today’s performers have replaced the tradition with shock art. She intends to keep the classical nature of it alive.

“People do this variety, bizarre stuff and it’s very offensive to me,” she says. “They need to put the truth of this out there. Don’t try to shock. That’s not burlesque; that’s bullshit. This Latina dancer had these donkey piñatas in her act and she’s fist-fucking the donkey’s ass. I mean, what the shit is that?”

Today’s performers haven’t all strayed from the traditional values. She cites Dita von Teese (who was in Dallas last week) and Ginger Valentine as staying true to the form, and commends the work of Jett Adore, who also performs Saturday.

Boylesque isn’t new to Angel — as she saw it decades ago in Canada and Europe. It’s just new to America.

“They were way ahead of us. Everyone was doing nudity outside of America and we were just trying to go topless,” she says. “What I like about Jett is he’s extremely masculine on stage and his Zorro makes Antonio Banderas’ a zero.”

Her appearance this weekend is something of a homecoming for Ms. Angel. She worked the Texas circuit back in the day, landing a gig in the fall of 1963 at Abe Weinstein’s Colony Club on Commerce Street. But then her agent found an offer for more money at a place called Carousel Club owned by some guy named Jack Ruby. Ruby wasn’t thrilled with the lesbian idea, either, but she was the featured performer.

Of course, a few weeks later, Ruby became more infamous than she could ever hope to be.

“He was a weird dude, very Jekyll and Hyde and a big talker but not much else,” she says. “He treated me well but I worked my week and was out of there and on to Kansas City. Next thing I knew, he’s on TV for shooting Oswald. He was strange, but I really never thought he was a killer.”

Life is a calmer these days. She does the occasional performance, live readings and burlesque classes, but finds her haven in Palm Springs. She calls her life partner of 14 years her “poor little butch” who has to sell merch, be her dresser, drive her to the airport and act generally as an assistant.

“If I didn’t just bring her along, I’d have to hire somebody,” she jokes. “She’s got bad knees. What is she going to do for a job?”

Of course, she’s just teasing.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition August 5, 2011.

—  Kevin Thomas

Queer Clip: Predators

Noland (Laurence Fishburne, right) reveals to Royce (Adrien Brody) some of the secrets of living on an alien world – and amidst alien Predators.

You don’t to gory sci-fi movies expecting much gay content. Odd, really, considering that, as with comic books, gay boys make up a sizeable portion of the sci-fi market. So as I slogged through the hundred-or-so minutes of Predators, I didn’t really expect to learn that the killer creatures who hunt man for sport were secretly involved in caring same-sex relationships. (Even if I did, it would be so like Hollywood to make the villains gay.)

Then, about an hour in, I was startled awake — and not by an alien jumping from the shadows. Laurence Fishburne turns up as a nutso survivor, someone who evaded the predators on their game-preserve planet for 10 seasons.

“Is this where you live?” one of the newcomers asks.

“No, it’s my summer home,” he snaps back. “I winter in the South of France. The schools are better and the men are so fine.” Or words to that effect.

Wh-h-hat??! Did Laurence Fishburne just out his character in a macho massacre movie? It certainly seemed so.

Ultimately, that’s hardly enough to be me to recommend a movie of no redeeming qualities. But then, if you go to something called Predators, you probably get what you deserve.

And you do. Building on the original 1987 Arnold Schwarznegger film, the predators have stolen eight vicious earthlings (among them Adrien Brody and Topher Grace) as worthy prey for their bloodsport, and as the motley assemblage of politically correct and ethnically diverse folks get picked off, it becomes a game of “who will die next.”

There are no surprises. But there are decent special effects, albeit in service to a mindless suffer timekiller. “How was it?” someone asked me. “It’s a Predator movie,” I responded.

That’s all you need to know. That, and how fine the men are in the South of France. At least according to Laurence Fishburne.
2 stars

— Arnold Wayne Jones

—  Michael Stephens