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Tippi Hedren turns the tables on the bird.
CAMP: "A cornucopia of frivolity, incongruity, theatricality, and humour." "A deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love." "The lie that tells the truth." "Ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical; effeminate or homosexual; pertaining to or characteristic of homosexuals."
"Was there anyone as glamorous as Marlene Dietrich? Indeed, the very word may have been invented for her. Perhaps she really was nothing more than a figment of our collective imaginations, an impossible creature with a husky voice, fabulous legs, astonishing eyebrows, and a way with a cigarette that could make the thing actually seem alluring.
Indeed, Dietrich may have been no more than a figment of her own imagination. As her daughter Maria Riva revealed after the legend's death, Dietrich often spoke of herself in the third person, saying things like, "Oh, Dietrich would never wear that hat," or "That is how Dietrich would do it." She worked hard all her life to cultivate that aura of perfection and glamour, playing a perpetual part any time she was in the public eye.
The contradictions in her personality seemed to confound all the laws of man and nature at once. She could look glamorous whether in a fabulous Travis Banton confection or in full male formal dress. She was at once a prima donna full of attitude, and an extremely disciplined, hard worker on the set. Though she remained married to Rudolf Sieber her entire life, the stories of her legions of lovers of both sexes are legendary. And though one might think of her as no more than a Hollywood cream puff, she spent several years of World War II in great danger in Africa and Europe entertaining the troops extremely close to the front.
"Dietrich" was not a real person at all, but a lifelong work of art cultivated by one Maria Magdalena Dietrich, born in Berlin in December, 1901, and maintained right up until her death in May, 1992. Admire not the person she was, but the illusion she created."
"In the gorgeous, occasionally garish, always gratifying works of the great American artist Paul Cadmus, sailors and sunbathers, models and mannequins, nitwits and nudes all are suffused with a sensuality born equally of idyllic splendor and urban squalor, natural grace and graceful artifice. Active since the 1930s as a renderer of pretty boys and ugly ploys, Cadmus spent many remarkable decades honing a singularly complex style of idealized sexuality and vivid displeasure in justly celebrated paintings, drawings and etchings of nude figures, fantastical scenes and supercharged allegories."
"It aroused the anger and ire of US Navy top brass, not only for its depiction of the Navy but also its obvious sexual connotations that fed into the myth of naval life. Suspiciously it vanished for decades from the public view, only later to turn up in the possession of a deceased admiral. That painting, as well as many of Paul Cadmus‘s subsequent paintings and drawings, featured heroic tight muscled handsome young men, and Paul Cadmus was later recognized as one of the first contemporary American artists to chronicle what was later to be called “the gay lifestyle"."
"To these gatherings we were expected to take a bottle of wine for immediate consumption and a friend to exchange for the night. Much the same entry fee was charged at not quite so frequent orgies in Emperor's Gate and Little Venice. At these the sexual activity was immediate, common, multiple and public, and beginning at once, might last till morning; at one of them, in Little Venice, there was a posse of London Transport staff and for weeks after I had assignations with a bus driver on the 46 route that meant my waiting at a particular bus stop for him to whisk me off to the terminus in Wembley; at another there was a policeman based in Hyde Park who, infatuated, entertained me throughout the summer with theatre tickets given gratis to his station - never opera, always musicals or Saturday Night at the Palladium - until, with relief, I broke the contact.Remarkable. But is anyone really surprised Mr Sewell is gay?
In all this there was always considerable risk and yet not once was there a betrayal of which I am aware - though betrayals there must have been, for these circles reached across London and beyond (as any casual visitor to the old Turkish baths of Greenwich and Bermondsey must have known). There were too the contacts made in the open, effected with nothing more than a glance, a turn of the head and a pause in the stride - all so easy once one had the knack. The easiest place for this was the street, any street a happy hunting-ground, but it worked in a bus queue too, scanning the oncoming walkers, and in the Underground or walking the aisle to descend from the top deck of a bus. At weekends museums and galleries were the encountering points, none better, even on a fine Sunday afternoon, than the free-standing glass cases of the V&A. One exhibition there, of Italian Bronze Statuettes in 1961, produced a particularly rich crop of casual lovers, and I realise now that the exhibition catalogues that crowd my bookshelves are as much reminders of such episodes as records useful for the jobbing art historian."