"Why Helen?"

Hey! If you read more than just this blog (gasp!) you might be interested to know that I'm in the latest issue of India's first (and only) queer periodical, Bombay Dost.


It's a three-page spread with pictures, featuring an article I wrote about Bollywood film idol Helen...or at least the mythical version of Helen that I adore. If you're interested in getting a copy, you can order the issue (number two) online.

It looks great and the article is lots of fun, even if you wouldn't know Helen of Burma from Helen of Troy.

The Jewel Thief Returns!

This past weekend I did a photo shoot for an upcoming issue of Bombay Dost. They wanted shots of me wearing my "Jewel Thief" outfit, preferably in front of a white background, in the highest quality possible.

I welcomed this opportunity because I don't really HAVE any good pictures of that outfit; you can't just roll out of bed and slip it on, you've got to WORK it. For that reason I enlisted the help of Melissa Baumunk of Brown Salon to give me a grand hairstyle -- at 9:00 in the morning! -- and the wonderful Jenn Wilson (here's her site for all your photographic needs) rolled out the white backdrop in her garage and took to the pictures for a really spectacular set.



This was an odd shoot because the roll of paper is quite narrow, so all gestures needed to be slightly contracted and the tailfeathers always kept under control. I was afraid that would make for boring pictures, but actually it gave us a good framework to work within. And thanks to some post-production adjustments (not to mention Jenn's skillful removal of the run in my fishnets) it looks like I'm floating in Bollywood happy-space. Joy!

The happiest thing about all of this is that the outfit -- built by Lydia Bellenie of Delirium Clothing back in 2002 -- fits me perfectly. For a while it was too big and I put it in the back of the closet, but either it has shrunk or I have inflated. Now it's perfect! This is nice not just because I can finally wear it again, but also because it's a simply amazing piece of work, right down to the springy "pocket feathers" in the back and the faux zebra sequins of the bodice.

Where did Lydia find a sequinned zebra to skin? Only she knows...

How to Find a Muffy

I love my web stats. They tell me exactly how people find out about me, and compile for me all those words that I should use more often in order to increase my web traffic: "boobs," "muff," "stockings," "thick ankles," and -- I kid you not -- "jumper pants."

But other than telling me how to attract attention with word-porn, my stats tell me what my most popular posts have been. My scary movie list is forever popular (and increasingly so as Hallowe'en approaches) and the list of breast-euphemisms in my Benny Hill evaluation makes it a perennial favourite. People frequently visit my Sgt. Pepper's movie review as well, for reasons that I'll never understand.

Enough about my blog...how do people find my now (mostly) static website? Usually through Indian blogs which reference my reviews (or ebay auctioneers and forum posters who steal my screenshots). By looking at my site stats I see that most people find the website AFTER they've discovered the blog, and not the reverse.

Here's a selection of the some of the most popular Google searches that bring people to my site (edited for interest and respectability): "muff," "crotch," "Wumpus," "skin disease," "Return of the Living Dead Workprint," "little pre teenagers," "girl crotch," "crotch girl," "leopard disease," and "weird skin disease."

If I can find a way to work a "crotch disease" into my web repertoire, my traffic will go through the roof!

Then there's my Flickr site, which inspired this post to begin with. For two years my traffic has remained at a steady average of 150 hits per day. But look at my hits during the past month:

My Flickr views have jumped tremendously during the last two days! The somewhat gradual rise indicates that word-of-mouth or web-propagation is involved, but the more detailed Flickr statistics provide no clues; just that 10% of my two-year traffic has occurred during this week alone, and that these viewers arrive directly at my Flickr profile instead of at a specific picture.

I assume that a Flickr user has featured me in some capacity, and that he or she (or more likely "he-she" given the people who tend to feature me) has a lot of visitors who have followed the lead. These people are FLOCKING to the "Daily Muffy" adventures, which is really cool because I wish more people would see them.

All that considered, what are the most popular Flickr pictures? Anything that involves "boots" apparently (like these two), or plastic handcuffs, and for some reason this picture has always gotten lots of views.

So what can we take from all of this? Mainly that internet traffic is a fickle and unpredictable thing, and that people who do web searches are usually looking for kink. Hmmm.

When Bollywood is 100% Joyful

It's Sunday morning and I can't imagine anything more sweet or exciting than Helen's performance of "Baithe Hain Kya Uske Paas"



You're wondering what's going on? Don't ask! This is from one of the wilder '60s Bollywood extravaganzas ("Jewel Thief'") and all I can say is: watch the movie. As usual Helen is just a minor "bad girl" character but she certainly steals the show, not least because of her trademarked "flappy dance."

She's basically singing about how wonderful she is and how no man can resist her. But you don't need to know that.

Need I mention that Lydia of Delirium Clothing constructed a picture-perfect copy of this outfit for me, and that I performed this song at the Director's Guild of America? Unfortunately I didn't have a strange woman in a white dress who could zip in and out of the shot. She's an oddity even in Bollywood, let me tell you.

Here's a shot of the Delirium recreation of the outfit, with me kneeing drag king Sabastian in the groin.

How I Got My Soul Back From Bollywood

I used to watch a lot of Bollywood movies and then write elaborate reviews about them (which were well-received at the time and which I still get lots of praise for). I genuinely loved the films, for reasons which I described (sort of flippantly) in an L.A. Weekly article. My most likely route to long-shot recognition and fame was probably through Bollywood fandom, if anything.

Why did I stop enjoying the movies? Here's a list!

1. The novelty wore off. What at first seemed to be revolutionary and unconventional turned out to be only "different from Hollywood." I had to eventually admit that I loved most of the plot twists only because I hadn't seen the films they were duplicated from, and not because the writers were geniuses.
2. The medium was changing. New Bollywood films were looking more and more "MTV," and were moving away from those novel elements that I loved so much to begin with. This sullied my idea of Bollywood as a whole.
   
3. It sank in that I could never really be "part" of the Bollywood machine, except as a curious outsider who would always remain awkward and comparatively clueless.
4. The appreciative emails and "write reviews for our website" offers were not, ultimately, worth any money.
5. The very small romanticized ideas I had about India were gradually eroded by Jai Maharaj and his ilk.
6. I gained prestige for being critical, so I also gained criticism of my own critiques.
   
7. Us cozy members of "Bollybob" became too busy to regularly meet, and our semi-annual get-togethers were no longer cozy.
8. I increasingly felt like I was focusing only on the "kitsch" value of the films, mainly because a kitschy review is more fun than a serious one.
9. Bollywood was becoming "hip," thus removing the joy of appreciating a gem that your peers are unaware of. And all because of "Ghost World."
10. I could no longer enjoy the movies since I had to watch them with a notebook in hand, jotting down plot points and ideas for the inevitable review. I felt I NEEDED to review the movies.
    
11. Writing the reviews (and taking the screen shots) took an awful long time, and that is the most significant point of all: when a non-paying hobby becomes a gruelling chore, JUST STOP IT.

I still love ELEMENTS of Bollywood, and someday I'll be able to go back and love the movies again (see below for ruminations about "going off" the things you cherish). But until then, the thought of yet another predictable 3 1/2 hour comedy/melodrama featuring an abused mother, a boys vs. girls dance, an over-complicated plot shot over several years, a snake, and a scene in a tacky nightclub makes me feel tired.

Because It's Sunday: Rambha

Next to Sridevi, Rambha was by far my favourite Bollywood actress. She wasn't a particularly GOOD actress last time I checked, but she had genuine spunk, a terrific turtle-nose, a strangely genuine screen presence, and WOW she could dance. For these reasons I think of her as India's Ann Miller, always likable but rarely the "star."

To illustrate this, here's one of the few good numbers from "Beti No.1." Rambha is the only person who can out-dance Govinda, and in this song she effortlessly matches him move-for-move.

Because It's Saturday: Kate Nahi Kat Te Yeh Raat

Jane Bond (a local cafe) recently had a "Bollywood" night. Since then, people have been commenting on the way that Bollywood manages to sneak sex into its films. You could spend a lifetime studying sex in Indian films (and not just in Bollywood...if you want to see more overt raunch, check out some movies from further south), but the symbols and techniques are pretty obvious if you know what you're looking for.

In this clip, however, you don't HAVE to look; it's the most overtly sexual song I've ever seen in a mainstream Bollywood film. It's traditional to portray sex with a "wet sari during a monsoon" dance, but Sridevi's sari is so sheer, her pole grip so obvious, her gyrations so coital, and the final kiss...

Well, let's just say this clip STEAMS. The music (Laxmikant Pyarelal I think?) is just meltingly beautiful...and Sridevi, as always, is otherworldly-gorgeous, and Anil Kapoor is...well, not shockingly unattractive. I had the pleasure of seeing Anil Kapoor sing and dance a few years ago and the man is truly a superstar. Try to ignore his hat.

To set the scene: this is a pivotal moment from the film "Mr. India" (which I reviewed here). Anil Kapoor is a man who can turn himself invisible, and he's used this power to fight crime. Sridevi is a hard-nosed (and very funny) crime reporter who is renting a room from Kapoor. She hates him, but she's fallen in love with his invisible, crime-fighting alter-ego, "Mr. India." Of course she doesn't know that the two of them are the same person.

But none of that matters at the moment. During this song, Mr. India and Sridevi -- after weeks of invisible flirting -- finally...errr...
you'll see.

Palatable Bollywood Joy: Maghta Hai Kya

If I were going to pick one clip that embodied the best of Bollywood -- a clip palatable to non-fans AND avoiding outright culture-shock goofiness -- I'd pick this scene from the film "Rangeela."

What you've got here (by way of plot) is sweet bumpkin Aamir Khan trying to deal with the sudden stardom of his girlfriend, Urmila Matondkar. This song (Maghta Hai Kya) is just showing us their passion, love, unpretentious silliness, and adventurous spirit...before they begin to drift apart into different classes and ambitions.



Why's it special? First off it's a great song by unconventional musician A. R. Rahman, known for his odd rhythm, studio trickery, and long quiet stretches broken by sudden and unexpected shocks. You've also got Ram Gopal Varma directing, who at the time (1996?) considered himself the "Steven Spielberg of Bollywood," which in this case was a good thing. Finally you've got Urmilla and Aamir who had a great chemistry and a certain charm (this was during their pre-fame days...in fact, this was the film that really "made them.")

Also notable is this was when the "kiss taboo" in Indian films began to loosen: note the strange "kiss-and-cut" moment halfway through. And there's a green-screen effect that sort of works. And leaf-covered natives. And sexiness. And sweetness. You can almost excuse the traditional "standing on rocks and pinwheeling" elements near the beginning, which any fan of Bollywood has seen far too much of.

The choreography, though more adventurous than average, is still typical Bollywood: it doesn't matter if it makes sense in a cultural or traditional way, just as long as it LOOKS GOOD. Even when it doesn't. Which sums up the fun of Bollywood in general.

So in short: it's moments (and movies) like this that really MADE Bollywood for me, when I watched it regularly. Eventually I got tired of seeing the same things over and over again, and also got jaded with the craziness, but some films really shone, and "Rangeela" was one of them.

My Fabulous Los Angeles Vacation, Part Three

In which Muffy walks in LA, performs in LA, tries to say something positive about "Kaante," and gets her dance card filled. Click here to read part one, and here to read part two.

Walking in LA

Sunset Boulevard is not the only game in town here in West Hollywood. It has all the swanky bars and clubs and hotels, sure, but for someone like me who delights in the quirky things, it's a little antiseptic. Walking toward Hollywood proper (and, presumably, a distant sign on a hilltop), I get prime enjoyment looking to the left, above the gas stations and coffee shops, to the looming mountains and their precariously balanced hilltop houses...

Sunset Boulevard (where Muffy walks alone) and those precarious hilltop houses.

Distant, high above me, yet clear in the dry air, these buildings sit perched on every available cliff. The mountains rise, jumbles of sandy landslides and ground-hugging ferns, topped with these sky-hogging houses, often on stilts to gain a few extra feet above the neighbours. They're usually accompanied by two or three impossibly tall, spindly, fungoid palm trees. Like everything else I've seen so far in LA these residential areas look like an unplanned patchwork, a Doctor Seuss cartoon, a mess and a beauty all at the same time.

In the opposite direction -- to the right -- the streets drop sharply to Santa Monica, which I find more "human" than Sunset, possibly because the junk shops and bohemian touches remind me more of Toronto. Unlike Toronto, however, there are outdoor escalators and crosswalks that actually SPEAK to you, as do some of the pedestrians.

I am shocked to realize that I haven't seen a single unhappy old person here; all of them are chuckly folks who dotter along the street and smile at you when you pass. They delight in dogs and seem in no hurry to get where they're going. These are old folks that I can't picture sitting rigid in anonymous bingo halls, frantic to spend the last bit of their savings on a hopeless reach for a sudden windfall. These old people play bridge and go for leisurely walks. They congregate in parks. They sleep in when the mood strikes them and they never pee themselves, and if they do they have a sense of pride and decorum about it. Maybe they're like this because they're warm, or they're rich, or they're American.

There is definitely some unnatural substance in the air, you can see it and smell it. More than one person has described this to me as a "mix of haze and smog," which is curious because smog is already a "mix of smoke and fog." There may very well be days when LA is blanketed with hog, hoke, and shmazog.

The trip back uphill to Sunset Boulevard is a tough one -- it's on a 40-degree angle -- but I do survive, and I manage to find replacement eyelashes. In the hotel lobby I step in the wax of one of the cleaning zombies. He mutters in spanish as I pinwheel my arms and almost fall not once but twice. I'm seeing a fair number of the zombies already, they work in some fast-food joints and they do menial tasks in the large buildings. They are either victims of head trauma or they're just pretending. They mutter and treat you with outright disdain and disinterest. None of them respond in any way to kindness or pleasantries. I think of them as zombie bulldogs: sullen, stupid, and somehow resentful.

Performing

The Director's Guild of America (or "DGA" as everyone calls it) is a huge place with a big theatre, and with a lot of people walking around. The crowd is a curious mix of west and east. On arriving I finally meet David Chute, film critic and totally sweet guy, and we face the task of deciding on some sort of pre-show banter. Yes, they've given us microphones. Yes, we need to give an "oscar-style introduction" to the film. Yes, I'm nervous. Fortunately my mic matches my outfit.

Also matching my outfit is a gorgeously spikey, peacocky hairstyle courtesy of Chris from Je Jeune Salon. Chris manages to kill some of those Congo butterflies by being a very cool and friendly person...not to mention a person who understands my desire to see the LA Zoo. Ron gives her an invitation to the film, and she even drives me to the venue. Chris: approved! And she's getting herself a cadillac too, though for now we're in her pickup truck.

Before the show we hear that a rising talent in the Indian film industry is going to attend: Kashmira Shah, a starlet who was vacationing in the desert where water is apparently not the only thing it's difficult to come by. Her friend tells David Chute that his last name is a Hindi slang term for "vagina," which I expect will only serve to heighten the sales of his future treatise on cow humour (my bookshelf cries out for it!)

We are a mismatched pair on the stage, us faux vaginas, and we steer clear of Bad Academy Award Humour. David talks a bit about the film, a bit about Bollywood in general, and he praises my Indian cinema insight. I "aw shucks" him and try to look pretty.

"Kaante" is an interesting crossover film, shot in a yellow-tinted LA and somehow sandwiching Reservoir Dogs together with The Usual Suspects. There seemed to be more than the average number of imossible moments in the movie, partly due to this sandwich attempt...if these guys are ALREADY the usual suspects, arrested whenever there's a heist in LA, why do they think they'll "get away with it" and just return to their famiy responsibilities -- a sick wife, a mentally handicapped sister, a frustrated girlfriend, a child-custody case -- especially when they took off their masks BEFORE engaging in a gun battle with the police force? After killing numerous officers in a clear as (yellow) day shootout, their later rationale for kidnapping a police officer -- he'll be able to identify them -- is sort of funny. So is the reason for NOT killing him: fear of police retaliation. I mean, they'd already killed about six cops.

Still, though, it was fun and with a lot of high-tech action, and it looked gorgeous. It's almost a cliche to say it, but: Amitabh stole the show with his calm bluster and devoted love for his ill wife. While watching the movie I can't believe that Kashmira Shah is sitting in front of me.

After the film I commandeered Chris to help me change in the bathroom. She proves her stoic sweetness as I give her a pair of unwashed fishnets to untangle. My only performance fear is that the Bollywood fans in the audience will find my "Chin-Chin Chu" and "Baithe Hain Kya" routines offensive. I compensate by throwing everything into an energetic seven-minute set, and for an audience who hadn't much time to warm up to the act they are superb. Doing my Helen numbers for East Indians who are actually dancing, whooping, and singing along will be the highlight of my trip, I'm sure. I am gratified to see that one of the women knows the hand gestures better than I do!

The show ends and I learn the folly of ignoring my diabetes and then doing something strenuous: I find myself in the women's washroom both revelling in the joy of the moment and wanting to vomit up my liver before it shuts down in disgust. I haven't eaten or taken any insulin all afternoon, and my blood sugar is so high it's embarassing.

After shooting up I decide to "take the air," and it's on the front steops of the DGA that I -- still a bit muddled -- get to chat with the people from the show. I know I've done well when a fan of Helen's praises me for my article [in that week's LA Weekly] and the show. I get a few minutes to chat with Kashmira Shah who is friendly, gorgeous, and on her way back to the desert. I chat Bollywood politics with a lady from Pakistan and am particularly gratified when a large and somewhat daunting Indian patriarch smiles and tells me that he got some great pictures of my performance. I find this reception difficult to believe, especially since I've got rock candy running through my bloodstream and the actual performance is a total blur. But by all accounts the audience liked the show, and I liked the audience. What could be better?

The band for the evening is "Double-Naught Spy Car," and the drummer is Joe Barardi who, among other things, was a longtime member of Stan Ridgway's band. I'm a big fan and I finally get to meet "tripod Joe" after their set. His friend Talia begins filling out my social card for the weekend, and suddenly the lone tourist has got things to do and people to do them with! The long-anticipated trip to the zoo with Chris' friend Eugene, followed by shopping on Melrose with the two of them. A trip to a drag show with Talia, Joe, and Ron, and an invitation to see one of Joe's other bands perform. Offers of gigs and fun times should I ever come back to LA. What a night! I am much less alone in this enormous city.

So tell me, is this typical or am I just lucky? Is some backwards-talking dwarf with a karmic hand pushing me away from the bad and towards the good? Hey, thanks dwarf!

Get ready for part four!