Back

Burlesque In a Desert

For many years I’ve heard about “Miss Exotic World Pageant”, known in the industry as the “Striptease Olympics” attended by divas and devotees of classic Burlesque spectacle. Taking place on a former goat farm, 150 miles from Los Angeles this festival was always as close to me as the nearest mirage on the desert highway. This year, my friend, an ex-stripper herself, insisted that we should go out there, promising me an opportunity for great images.

Music blasting out of the windows of our car we were speeding down Rout 66, towards distant Helendale. The temperature was rapidly rising as we were driving further and further from Los Angeles and deeper into Mojave Desert. We began seeing mirages rising above smoldering asphalt, fewer cars and more Police Cruisers. Soon enough, on a desolate stretch of the road we’ve noticed a group of raggedy looking Hells Angeles stopped by the Highway Patrol. Then another group, driving side by side, engulfed in thunderous music of their devilish engines. We were in no men’s land and the kingdom of the motorcycle gypsies.

It took us more than three hours of map surfing and chaotic driving to find Helendale and the Exotic World – Museum of Burlesque and Striptease Hall of Fame. Why in Helendale, in the middle of the desert? As I found out later, sixty-year-old Dixie Evans, the museum’s curator and a famous stripper in the past, had retired to the Mojave where she began collecting the memorabilia of burlesque.

With generous help from the community, she’d put together the only museum in the world dedicated exclusively to the art and artifacts of the golden age of Bump & Grind.

We were late. The performances started already. A burly biker at the gate demanded $15 dollars for an admission. Next to him, a hand-made sign reminded visitors that foul language, spitting, and alcohol were strictly forbidden at the pageant. As we were about to enter a modest, one-storied bungalow, I thought, not without an irony, that $15 dollars wasn’t much, considering that after all this was the WORLD PAGEANT.

In the yard of the house, a sparce motley crew of observers gathered around the sun-drenched swimming pool. At the far end of the it was a makeshift stage covered with red AstroTurf. It was tightly surrounded by people with cameras as if the pageant was designed mainly as a photo opportunity for the media.

The whole place presented a very strange sight. A World Striptease Olympics, I thought, was quite an overstatement for this gathering. Well, if I had any doubts about the true magnitude of the event, they multiplied by a hundred the moment I saw the next contender for the title World Queen of Burlesque.

Her stage name was Dirty Martini. Balancing her generous body on high heels, she gracefully swung around the pool wearing nothing except silver tousled pasties on her large breast and an elaborate jewel-encrusted g-sting disappearing deep into the crack of her massive behind. In her hands she carried a bright red a feather fan of gigantic proportions. Dirty Martini was a large girl, with many belly folds prominently adorning her mid-section. She was overweight, if not by the strip club standards, then at least by my own.

Ms. Martini’s performance was hardly erotic, but it was truly remarkable in many other ways. It reminded me of the old-school blues clubs, where I was mesmerized by the gracefulness of two-hundred-fifty-pound ladies dancing the night away like featherweight teenagers. On stage, her energy was so high, her lack of inhibition so obvious and her enthusiasm so contagious that I began to believe in a total and complete liberation of body, regardless of its size and proportions. The crowd triggered wildly with their cameras.

After Dirty Martini left the stage, the place went quiet. The word was out that the next act was going to be Tempest Storm, one of the very few living legends of American Burlesque. In fact, Miss Exotic World Pageant was the only place to see her strip. “How old is Miss Storm now?” I asked. “No one knows, somewhere between 65 and 85 years old,” answered a photographer closest to me. “Well, she is beyond age, you’ll see”, he added with a smile.

I’ve read about Tempest Storm, saw her pictures. Back in a day she became famous for insuring her gorgeous breasts for fifty thousand dollars. Annie Blanche Banks had one of the greatest stage names for any burlesque performer. But that wasn’t all she had. With flaming red hair and a figure that men would kill for, Tempest Storm went from chorus girl to strip tease star. She also became a pin-up sensation with the help of legendary photographer and director Russ Meyers. She was one of the defining women in the golden age of the striptease, creating a lasting myth that every American bachelor was thankful for. Bachelor myself, I could hardly wait to see this sensational striper in her “postmodern prime”.

Something was brewing at the other side of the pool. The audience was stretching their necks in anticipation. Finally, the music hit a classic can-can tune and out of the bungalow, surrounded by admirers and photographers came out, one and only, true Queen of Burlesque – Tempest Storm.

From her first steps onto the stage, it was clear that the age had nothing on Ms. Storm. She moved with amazing grace and control. She smiled. Her hair was flaming red.

Tempest went into her strip, slowly, as if in self-induced hypnosis – nothing wasteful, no unsuitable for the Queen moves. She smiled, tossed her head and ran her fingers through her hair. As the tempo of the music picked up, Tempest circled the stage, swaying and grinding, flirting with photographers and the audience. She was having a good time. That day Tempest Storm didn’t take off her bra to expose her aging breasts. Neither did she try to performed her breath-taking back bands, which she became famous for nearly 50 years ago. She didn’t need to. Her act was tasteful and balanced, full of nuances. She knew only too well what she could or couldn’t do. All throughout her striptease her face alone served as the most powerful and effective weapon of seduction. Watching her was like watching a mature flamenco dancer who is able to express endless array of emotions with a slight turn of the head and the tiniest movements of her fingers.

As the audience exploded in massive applause, I thought that while I’d not seen perfect female figures at the contest, I certainly witnessed most unique communion of body and soul. All of the dancers at the Miss Exotic World exhibited a remarkable ability to go well beyond commonly accepted and anticipated image of a stripper. Most of the women at the pageant were not professionals at all, had various occupations and did the burlesque only as a hobby. In real life Dirty Martini was a school teacher. The winner of Miss Exotic World, Sarah Moon was a working journalist. However, ranging in ages from their early 20’s to mid-80’s, the lusty ladies who performed at the Miss Exotic were clearly revered as goddesses by their loyal, if not overly enthusiastic fans. Why? Perhaps because these girls didn’t just strut their stuff, but they teased, winked and breathed life back into the art of flirtation.