More bloggy-style goodness this week but it’s been insane here at Haus Of Boudior. New resident (welcome to Miss Nacho the corn snake), new laptop (MacBook Pro. Purr) and so on. Also performing, working, shooting etc. The blog got put by the wayside. I DO want to write about our newly-discovered Burlesque Legend, Lorna but that will be this week. in the meantime, some photos from my shoot this week with the wonderful Ed Araquel. Enjoy the Bladerunner/Matrix-y goodness.
-Little Miss Risk
Happy new year everyone! Welcome to 2012, I apologize if I’ve been a little distracted. I’ve recently picked up a copy of Vancouver Noir by Purvey and Belshaw (Anvil Press) and I have been unreachable of late due to being enraptured by our gritty past. Being something of a rarity in Vancouver (and by that I mean someone who was born, bred, and currently living here) I love Vancouver and her history. Like the way tweens love Justin Bieber, like Crystal Precious adores fine cheeses, or goths like being photographed in trees – it’s all in a way that I can’t tell you where it stems from. I just love this city fiercely. Granted, because we are a fairly young city, we don’t have lengthy, deep roots. Tourism BC would have you believe that they are bright and shiny, if a bit dull.
Ha.
Don’t buy it for a second. We are a port town, baby. With all port cities comes a rather dirty and seamy underbelly associated with it, but also a amazing creation of artists that come from the culture it spawns. I might mention Hamburg, I might mention Liverpool, for example. We got a pretty good reputation for being a place to live fast and hard. The term ‘Skid Row” even comes from where logs would be dragged up from the water onto streets. Vancouver Noir has centered around sharing what doesn’t get brought up often – the engineering of a new financial district, the destruction of the “Old Town”, segregation, riots, and the ‘Yellow Menace”. I can guarantee that if my history class brought this kind of topic up, I’d have paid more attention in school. I also said if there was a queer history class, I’d have signed up for that too. (Maybe take note, Vancouver School Board).
The Age Of Noir (between 1930 – 1960) also happens to be, in Vancouver, when we experienced a cultural Renaissance. Before every home had a television in it, downtown was the place to be, home to The Beacon on Hastings and The State Burlesque Theatre near Main and Hastings (and started life as the Pantages and was recently torn down. Civic fail). In an effort to compete on the more posh west side, there was The Orpheum, The Colonial Theatre at Dunsmuir and Granville, The Cave, The Palomar, The Commodore Ballroom and The Penthouse. Dal Richards, legendary bandleader, recalls in Vancouver Noir a litany of names for where to be seen: ‘The White Rose ballroom on West Broadway at Granville, the Palomar, the Quadra Club, the Arctic Club, the Embassy, the Alexandra, the Howden, Trianon, The Hot Jazz Club, The Mandarin Gardens, the WK Gardens, the Smiling Buddha and more.” He goes on to list a dozen coffee houses that were home to beat poets and bebop musicians.
Vancouver was a top spot on tour routing for a number of burlesque performers, back in the day. Go into The Penthouse and the family-owned club still has many of the Legends of burlesque’s promotional photos on the walls. Lilly St. Cyr, Yvette Dare, Satan’s Angel, Gypsy Rose Lee, Evelyn West, and so on. But like burlesque fell out of fashion for awhile, and like lots of these old places was cast adrift for a couple of decades. Luckily, we’ve brought the magic back to new spaces with new talent and shows which is helping to recreate another moment in time for us who are all here now. New art is being created here, people. The old magic is waking up again and the occupants of the city I feel a ready for it.
Now for the Vancouver hippie/spiritual stuff. As I say, I love this city, and whenever I’m moving through her streets, I now have a better appreciation of her. If the spirit of this city is an unwed teenaged mother, I am proud to be one of her bastard daughters. I look forward to honoring her past, both good and bad, shiny and gritty, as we move forward into this year. Hopefully I’ve piqued your interest enough to do some research on your own, pick up a few rocks and see what’s beneath, and to love where this bitch is going, but never forget where she’s been.
I love you, Vancouver. Good night.
Your daughter,
Little Miss Risk
So last weekend the filming of American Mary drew to a close. It was bittersweet, since everyone has gotten tight on set and to know one another rather well. It was also a relief because now that filming was in the can, it’s on it’s way to be edited and we can get onto sharing it with the rest of the world. It also meant I could drink heavily again without fear of ruining the make up I had to wear. Drink, I did. I think it’s fair to say that I wasn’t the only one hitting the bottle hard that night, as a sense of release was in the air. It wasn’t until the sun started to creep up that it was an indicator that it was time to head home. That, and we had run out of booze.
I was out cold til well into the afternoon, about two o’clock or so. When I woke I was starving and opted to sit in Cafe Barney rather than purchasing and assembling provisions myself. That, and I don’t have a coffee maker and coffee was key at this point. So I sat heavily in one of the tables, my order taken awaiting my coffee and my gin Caesar when I became eerily aware there was no background music and people had quieted down. Being a horror nerd I assumed either aliens or zombies, but it was worse. Christmas carolers.
I’m not a bad a sport. I will stop and nod to people busking on the street. But it’s when on a Sunday afternoon, I’m hungover as all get-out and in a fragile state of mind, I cannot abide people entering the establishment I’m trying to get my shit together in, and forcing Christmas cheer down my throat. It’s like being seasonally raped in the ears. If you think I’m being a trifle over-dramatic, then I offer you a chance to get that drunk, then wake up and have me squawk ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’ at you while your trying to eat poached eggs. It puts a little perspective on things. I may have stood up and indicated to the staff that I needed my cocktail and I needed it NOW. In the middle of the second verse, and somewhat loudly. I regret nothing. I did get my food, cocktail, and cheque swiftly and departed ASAP. Note to restaurants: If you don’t let people solicit don’t let them pull that festive crap either, okay? I doubt highly West or Blue Water would put up with that guff. Just saying.
So now I turn my attention to what if it HAD been zombies (because you knew that’s where I was ultimately going with this). Over the summer I attended one outdoor music festival (Shambhala) that required camping. I don’t camp. I was, however, camping with regular outdoor partiers, many of them Burning Man peeps who regularly pack up, build a city in the middle of the desert in Nevada, and throw down for several days the way you or I do on a one night club event. These people are well equipped. It was also Crystal Precious’ first year hitting Burning Man and she told me there are people who rig up two chainsaws in order to operate blenders to make margaritas. I was told other people cook bacon then freeze, thus allowing you to enjoy bacon in the desert. So aside from my making fun of their love of furry legwarmers and feather earrings (yes you, East Van gypsy hipsters… I see you) these folks were onto something.
So I want to say this: when the zombie Apocalypse comes (and I honestly only see it lasting three months, tops) I’m hooking up with the Burners. These are people who, not only seek out one of the harshest climates for human possible, they thrive and party there. They adapt any an all items to serve dual purposes, and can reformat in order to create amazing spectacles and realities. They also can make chainsaw blender drinks. They can insulate themselves from the rest of the world and build and break down mobile cities. They can be as nomadic or static and evolve to suit their situation. They are well versed in bartering and trade system that don’t require currency. All these are pretty good indicators that if shit goes down, they’ll have the means to survive, and hook up a sick bass-heavy system to weather the storm til it passes.
It’s with this in mind that I can stomach seeing the faux festive cheer around me now. Likely even summon a smile when I see people in the street or girls dressed in sexy Santa suits. Because I know if the zombie Apocalypse happens this time of year, a) I’ll be going to ground with the outdoor music planners, booking acts for summer stages, and b) tossing unwanted carollers to the zombies like chunks of salmon to hungry orcas.
In the meantime, I bring you the means of how I plan to celebrate next year in Austria…
I’ve seen some things in the last month that would likely give most people chronic nightmares for the rest of their days. It pleases me that the people generating this thoughts are all women. Growing up, I recall a woman’s place in a horror film was to be terrorized, possibly violated before meeting a grisly death. Like the suffragette movement and the consequent following two Feminist waves, horror has it’s new female hero’s and thank god many of them are friends of mine in Vancouver.
First off, let me say that this is by no means an exhaustive list. This is a list of (what I feel) is the top-ranking women in the horror genre in Vancouver. If your reading this and you think, “hey, wait a minute, MY friend so-and-so isn’t mentioned here and she’s way more blah, blah, blah”. That’s great. I’m sure I’ll be inundated with messages after this asking questions in this vein. However, if you feel that strongly, write your own blog, this one is mine and my list. In alphabetical order, no less!
Bloody Betty
One of the original pioneers of the gorelesque scene. Screaming Chicken realized that this girl may not be traditional burlesque material when for their Slumber Party Massacre number as part of their B Movie Tribute show, she was already beaten and raped (by a tree) for her following Evil Dead number. Ever since, Bloody Betty has been terrorizing Vancouver and Victoria with her pack of demented dancers, The Deadly Sins. If Arkham was an actual physical place, the Sins would likely either be incarcerated in it or else use it as a dating service. Betty being the Alpha bitch keeps them in line and uses them for onstage antics. When you see Betty, she’s usually smeared in bloody, and it’s never her own.
Miss Gorey Rae
A Canadian horror host for two decades under her belt, she’s not one that you’ll confuse with Elvira or Vampira. This red headed demon writes for Absolute Underground, as well as hosts her own show The Gorey Hole: UNLIVE! Being in the game so long she may have made a few enemies that may or may not have had contracts take her out but if you care to discuss reanimation or autopsies at great length, she’ll give you a potential point of view you may not have appreciated. I’m also fairly sure when you see her drinking from her flask that it’s embalming fluid.
Little Miss Risk
Yes I put myself on my own list. Obviously, because I can. And my ego is better than yours. As well while your reading this, you’ll notice there’s a lot of newspaper on the floor.
You: Is that an axe?
Me: Why yes it is!
Moving on….
Spooksy DeLune
Halloween is fun, scary, and filled with sugar. And so is Vancouver’s Queen Of Halloween, Spooksy DeLune! This playful punk pixie is likely to wait til your drunk and jump out of the bushes and yell “BOO!”. Be warned though she might be swinging a bottle when she does it.
The Twisted Twins
My beloved Twisted Twins, Jen and Sylvia. I’ve only known them since October officially but we mutually stalked each other online for a year. I met them through seeing their first film, Dead Hooker In A Trunk and it went from there. Writers, directors, performers and producers, these girls wear ALL the hats. Eli Roth knows them. They have Todd Masters on speed dial. And they are also going to save the horror genre from itself.
Yup, no more running and cowering in the closet for us. The new breeds of horror female is more deranged than anything our predecessors could have dreamed up. When you go to sleep with the light on, you’ll be thinking of us. Your welcome.
Nighty nightmare,
Little Miss Risk
One of the qualities that I usually enjoy in films is when there is a melody that plays throughout the piece. Something that serves as an audio tie to bind the story together so that the viewer associates it with the visual themes presented and it haunts their memory after the fact. So much so, that when you hear the music you have the images instantly brought to mind and the emotions associated with it. It wasn’t until yesterday where I sat, having two highly-trained make up artists removing my face (literally) at the American Mary headquarters where I was trying to stave off sleep when this occurred to me and I realized that my own life has one such score.
I’ll digress and take a minute to say the ladies who have been helping me get in and out of character (so to speak) are great. Lori and Amelia are patient souls and resist the urge to upbraid me when, for example, after fixing the make up around my mouth, I immediately do some asshole move, like go and eat lunch which cancels out the work they *just* did. But they don’t yell at me or slap me upside the head, they let me finish eating, keep their laughter to myself as I awkwardly try to drop the food into my mouth, and then fix me up after. They also take the make up removal process just as seriously as they do the application. The soothing feeling of the withdrawing of materials from my face combined with their kind touch has a spell on me that makes me relax. Sometimes a little much. So much so that it’s not until Amelia is half working, half holding my head in her hand because I’ve fully passed out and am now drooling over her nice, clean make up apron. To help pass time (and keep me awake) she plays music from her iPhone, and it’s when (don’t judge me) The Smiths “How Soon Is Love” started up I was jolted into an awareness that something big was happening in my life again.
It’s with spooky regularity that this song has consistently popped up throughout my life when something life-altering has shifted in my world. Some examples have been the following:
* Leaving the ‘safe’ high school of my hometown to attend a fine arts school where I ultimately thrived and was accepted despite my adolescent eccentricities.
* Making the big scary jump and deciding that settling down and getting married at 22 wasn’t for me and choosing to be a performance artist above all.
* Giving up a career in my formal education to tour 14 different countries with a band as a burlesque dancer.
* Deciding to see how far this acting thing can take me and if I can wear the crown of a Scream Queen.
I’ll be the first to admit, some of these things may seem insignificant, but every time that song pops up, it’s like a cosmic cue for me to pay attention to intuition and open my eyes that maybe what I had been planning isn’t the only route and maybe there’s something else ahead worth following. I have met the Soska sisters, and with their encouragement, I feel like I have a strong calling with them. Chance? Hard to say.
As a modern witch, soothsayer, shamanista (yes, yes, this is the East Van hippie part of me taking – roll with it) I use old scrying tools but also new ones. I used to use the radio as a medium: ask a question and twirl the dial until you got a signal and the song in question was the answer to your question. Now I hit ‘shuffle’ on my iTunes for more elaborate questions.
In my own odd way, ever since I was a kid everything I predicted was going to happen has come to pass. Coincidence? Ambition? Luck? Drive? Hard to say. But I’ve set the bar pretty high on this one, kids. And I can’t wait to see the results, and show the rest of you.
Hugs and Hisses,
Little Miss Risk
Tomorrow’s the big day. After slinking onto set twice without actually being on the call sheet for the day, I finally gear up to shake my ta-tas for the cast and crew of American Mary. I have been busy haunting the set without actually needing to be there, other than to circumnavigate my boredom and wondering what the Soska sisters were doing on set. People have asked me how did I involved, will I be topless, and was the casting couch fun. My answers to those questions are: that it’s a long story, you’ll have to wait and see, and duh. But allow me to elaborate on the first answer.
I came across the Twisted Twins’ work before I got to know them personally. When you live in a town where one of your friends owns a movie house, you find yourself gifted at times with passes to shows there (cough *RIO THEATRE* cough) . On one such occasion the film was the premier of the Soska’s full length feature, Dead Hooker In A Trunk. It was obvious to me that this was clearly a film worth seeing. It was great, and even evoked a feeling I had thought long dead in me, namely disgust, and was delighted in an odd way to find myself puking into my drink container in the audience. Through mutual friends, we stalked one another online through Facebook and Twitter until the opportunity to work together with American Mary presented itself. While I had been slated to be a feature dancer in the film and assist with the dance sequences, I found myself being scrutinized by Soska Stereo. They asked me if I’d like to audition for the role of Beatress Johnson. I did, and got cast as one of the main characters. In doing so I was going to have some FX make up done by the great Todd Masters. If you are a fan of horror films, you’ll appreciate that this is significant on a grand scale. But first I needed my head cast.
No one can really tell you what getting a full face cast is like. I can’t really fully relate it to you. The closest I’ve come is Robert Llewellyn’s “The Man In The Rubber Mask” from playing Kryten on Red Dwarf. Even then, it’s a second hand account. Like hearing a story about great kinky sex, there is a distinct difference between experiencing it first hand, and having someone recount it to you. I travelled out to the far boarder of Vancouver/Burnaby to Todd’s studio which is like Santa’s workshop if Santa’s workshop was filled with horrific rubber monsters. It was great. All around people were bustling about and I was swept inside and greeted warmly by his team. They led me to a room which had some bright lights, a mirror and a chair. The chair was in the middle of the room, with a great deal of cardboard taped to the ground. As they taped plastic garbage bags to me, I was replaying in my mind the scene from American Psycho where Christan Bale slaughters Jared Leto. I reasoned that if anyone started playing Huey Lewis and The News I could probably give them an elbow to the solar plexus and get a good head start before the axe came down. I tried not to think of that. I tried to think of Christian Bale named with a chainsaw which was much more appealing, but it wouldn’t come.
The team covered my head with a bald cap, which was an interesting sensation and reminded me of when we used to get rubber gloves in high school and put them on our heads to make ourselves look like chickens. I don’t know if this was just my school, or if this is a collective-consciousness thing that plays out in high schools across Canada. I think we were attempting to impress our various crushes, but it seemed to mature in my early twenties and graduate from rubber gloves to condoms. At any rate, the bald cap brought this all back to me with startling alacrity, though seeing myself with it on, I doubt I’d be able to impress anyone, much less get a date out of them, now with one. They assured me that the alginate would be heavy, but I’d be able to breathe. They also mentioned some people get a little claustrophobic. I assured them that I wasn’t one of these people, though in all fairness, one seldom knows they have these fears til faced with them. I didn’t know I had a fear of monkeys until I was in Thailand and my parent’s house was across the road from a geographical feature named Monkey Mountain. Such is life. In this case, I found it rather pleasant, and found the whole thing slightly less invasive than some treatments I’d paid for at day spas. Given Mr.Llewellyn’s experiences I’d say he was touching on hyperbole or just a big weenie.
They pulled it off and gave me hot towels and a great moisturizer to use (they don’t do pedicures. I asked) and gave me a little tour before I set off. The whole experience was a pleasant one. I did later get to see what my face casting looked like. Although I had be reassured that the alginate was heavy and would weigh my features down my face looked not quite as I would like to have seen it. That being said, I have a pretty good idea of what I’ll look like when gravity has a better grasp of my features. It also reminded me I *might* want to drink more water…
So tomorrow is my first day in the chair. Wish me luck. I can’t discuss to many fine points on this to help keep the surprise, but trust me. If your a horror fiend, you’ll be waiting for this film with baited breath. In the meantime, watch Dead Hooker if your wondering what your in for, and then multiply that by ten.
Wish me luck!
Little Miss Risk
Dear Mom,
Just so you know, a pearl is formed by CONSTANT irritation to the oyster, til such time as the oyster has it taken away, then it’s appreciated by the rest of the world. Just sayin’.
Much love from your little monster,
Little Miss Risk
Another year come and gone since I made the leap from late-twenty-something to early-thirty-something. And it’s been a good year. I can partially tell since my last blog post was sometime back in the summer and between rehearsing/performing in two major musicals, working the day jobs in the tower and corset shop, not to mention the stripping with the usual SASS-spects, some things got left by the wayside. Such as recording the whole damn thing.
So where to begin in catch up? I can mention that there is no such thing as all highs. Indeed, I had my share of woes that included having my home invaded by parasites, getting bumped off of my bike by a motorist, and general burnout. These things may have hamstrung someone with more delicate sensibilities but I found strength in my adversity, and anything I didn’t have strength in I just drank my way til it FELT like I had the strength. Yup, the self medicating thing worked pretty well. Hey, it worked for the Vikings.
But here’s my favorite part: I’m no longer self medicating since everything is shifting into where it’s meant to be, which means I’ve been lucky enough do share my time this year with some damn talented people and performers. Sex At The Circus, Screaming Chicken, Spectral Theatre, Maria In The Shower with their productions and countless others. With the globe spun round the sun another year I feel I’m able to gain momentum onwards into a new era. Humbling to think during this time last year I was miserable with my life situation and was contemplating some form of justifiable homicide to get me away from the pain I was living with. It’s a good reminder that we have the power to change our lives, kids.
So now that I’ve conquered my demons, what’s next? The world, darling, the world. Through magic, film, and general refuse-to-take-shit attitude I now have in my battle implements, myself and the Sweet Soul girls are going to be doing some damage…
Crystal Precious: Successfully married… to her fucking music. She writes, produces, raps and strips. Anyone who has a hard time getting their head around how that works and how it’ll floor you, come out to the Keefer Bar on a Thursday and get schooled.
Lola Frost and Cherry Ontop: Opened the Vancouver Burlesque Center with Burgundy Brixx to help share and educate the Vancity peeps on our art form. And giving Vancity peeps a reason to wear heels with their yoga pants.
Nicky Ninedoors: This songbird scrapped her way to where she is. I watched her roll with punches every night on a hard tour across the USA and Canada. Seeing her get the accolades as a producer and performer that she deserves makes me smile.
Dani Tatarin: This woman is changing how we drink cocktails. Bar shots and sickly sweet girly-drinks don’t find their way onto her menu. These designer cocktails served out of the Keefer Bar show that this chick’s repetoire of alcoholic alchemy AND Traditional Chinese Medicine will have you coming back again and again for what ails you.
The Soska Twins: My new favorite names in horror. Again, writers, producers, directors. Don’t let the mirror hotness blind you to the fact that they are damn good at what they do; namely making you feel uncomfortable. Horror royalty? These bitches wear the crown
Melanie Talkington: The owner/designer of Lace Embrace (which shapes mine and other waists worldwide) has kicked it up. Unsatisfied with having the world’s largest collection of antique corsets, she now wants to open a museum in Vancouver to house them. Preserving our past by shaping the future.
So I’m not alone with these women who run with werewolves. We’re bringing culture back by evoking strange, strong, wonderful things to enhance your day to day life. Vancouver, your welcome.
xoxox
Little Miss Risk
In a week’s time I’ll have hightailed it up to the Kootneys of British Columbia for Shambhala. I’m planning on immersing myself in the hippie raver culture and reporting back my exploits.
I may not return the same.
Stay tuned.
…
LMR
