by Rhonda Hansome
I certainly
know how to ruin a perfectly good sunny, summer day. It was a not hot or humid Sunday copping a coy, “I’m just waiting
for September”, late August attitude.
Brunch was a quintessential New Yawk Lower East Side experience. As I entered Katz’s restaurant, a burly
security guard warned of the $50.00 penalty for losing a ticket, yes a
restaurant with tickets!
I passed
through the turnstile. Yes this restaurant with tickets had a turnstile! I joined the teeming swarm forming the
surreal New York facsimile of a line, in front of a block long counter. Behind the counter a muster of sandwich
soldiers, “cutters”, worked ceaselessly to satisfy the demands of the hungry
hoard shouting orders for corned beef, brisket, and roast beef sandwiches.
The
expansive L shape room was abuzz with tourists and natives, giddy from the
delicatessen aromas of sauerkraut, pickles and franks on the grill intoxicating
the afternoon air. I swooned with
anticipation as I slid into a chair under the Where Harry Met Sally sign.
In a pastrami
induced stupor I exited, into the glinting sun of East Houston St., making my
way westward. The peculiarly named Rockwood Music Hall is a postage stamp size bar
with a stage slightly bigger than a maxi-pad. The 3:00 PM show was my
multi-talented girlfriend Rashmi. This actress, (whom I directed in an AUDELCO
Award nominated role) screenwriter, (whose Urban Film Festival Finalist screenplay
I directed in a reading) dancer, would today play guitar and sing her original
songs. At the bar I ordered a hot
tea, in an attempt to coax my pastrami on its merry way. Sipping my tea, I
enjoyed the light playing off the pane glass view of double decker tour buses
and the offbeat fashion spectacle moseying along Allen St. until Rashmi, her
guitarist and drummer began the show.
Rashmi’s set
was delightful and thoroughly appreciated by the (apparently central casting)
ethnically diverse audience filling the space. Hugs, kisses and praises were offered until we had to make
way for the 4:00 PM performer.
With the sun
valiantly clinging to the sky I accepted an offer to watch the IFC 1953 comedy
classic Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
Since I’d recently seen the Encore! City Center concert presentation of the
Anita Loos, Joseph Fields script, (starring Megan Hilty from Smash) this would
be a great opportunity to compare and contrast. And this is how I ruined a perfectly good sunny, summer day.
I watched the
story of the engaged gold-digger Lorelei, her smart- ass chaperone Dorothy and
their transatlantic adventure to get Lorelei married to her trust fund fiancé
without his parent’s interference.
It’s not difficult to enjoy this silly, titillating romp graced by the
abundant charms of Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell. Of course all the double entendres, form fitting costumes,
and muscular Olympic team members are amusing; but absolutely nothing has the
impact of the Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend number – Jane Russell’s
version!
Marilyn’s
often imitated Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend is an ostentatious number,
brimming with chorus boys and forty carat rhinestones. This iconic collective
memory is so expertly choreographed by Jack Cole I almost missed the fact that
Marilyn didn’t dance a lick.
Marilyn didn’t dance!!! She
is manipulated and carried about the sound stage by her adoring gaggle of tuxedoed
suitors waving their “diamond” bracelet offerings to their golden object of
affection.
So what
ruined my day you ask, oh reader of mine? Ok, here’s the kicker, so to
speak. Later on in the film a
bewigged Jane Russell disrobes, sings and DANCES, nearly nude, in an attempt to
convince a court room she is Lorelei.
Jane flings off a fur coat and shakes her money maker like her life
depends on it! Her famously Howard
Hughes supported breasts shake, her shapely hips shimmy and her fabulous leaps,
lunges and jumps leave the court in chaos, as she’s hauled off by a bevy of
bailiffs!
Now I love
Marilyn Monroe as much as the next man. She is an undisputed truly luminous
screen-goddess worthy of her stature in the pantheon of all-time film stars.
But how the hell did Jane’s gyrations get left in the dust? I can’t explain why
I felt a personal affront and sat shaking my head in disbelief. How was I ignorant of Jane’s, “show me
what you working with” eleven o’clock number? I was suddenly dispirited with the realization that Marilyn’s
breathy posing version of Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend trumped Jane’s
exuberant – Josephine Bakeresque – blatantly sexual, full bodied anthem. I
still haven’t gotten over it. A
perfectly good sunny, summer day ruined because everybody, not just gentlemen may
prefer blondes.
You are funny. I love the stage-the-size-of-a-maxipad line. And loving Marilyn Monroe as much as the next man. The humor in general. LOL
Am I wrong, or are non of these ladies a real blonde?
I think it's the vunerability factor that folks prefer in their gals (as opposed to strength and broad shoulders), not so much the peroxide -- which might be an even sadder statement. But there's always great comfort to be found in pastrami, yum.