The Good Ol’ Days: Norman Gosney’s Guilty Pleasures

            Norman Gosney’s new show, Guilty Pleasures, is quite simply an evening of good, clean—well maybe not so clean—All-American fun.  An old time burlesque show, it apparently moves around from location to location, contributing to it’s air of secrecy and the illicit; the night we attended it was in an old factory building in the garment district.  The door policy, in which you have to be referred by a friend as in a real speakeasy of the Roaring Twenties, is designed to give one a feeling of exclusivity.  Lending a further air of authenticity to the proceedings, you bring your own flask and set-ups are provided. 

         The small room and stage were decorated in old-time bordello chic: candy striped pink and red wallpaper, red stage curtains, with a gold satyr atop the stage, a sentinel overlooking the randy doings to come.  It was pretty much how I imagine such places must have been in the heyday of Burlesque, very authentic, except for the building, which I always imagined as a run down theatre; but I suppose after all such shows have always been run on a shoestring, put on wherever they could find a space.  The chairs were comfortable, important when you’re planning on sitting through a long show.

            Norman himself, our M.C. for the evening, looked every bit the showman, dressed as he was in a long jacket, candy-striped vest echoing the wallpaper, gloves, spats, cane and bowler.  Throughout  the show, Norman was appropriately leering and suggestive, introducing the various acts with humor and practiced ease.  His assistant,  Amelia looked trim and pretty in her Las Vegas showgirl outfit with red and yellow feathered headdress.

            In the first act, Frank Bray sang, appropriately, “The Best is Yet to Come.”  (When we were leaving, carter to the stars Serena Bass remarked that he was so good she thought he was lip-syncing.  “He should be in a Broadway show,” she concluded.)  What followed was a bevy of beautiful girls, starring in a variety of  silly routines, dancing and stripping, though never fully—stopping at pasties and g-string as befitting an old- time striptease.  Miss Harvest Moon, a dark-haired senorita, doffed her black cloak to reveal a red negligee, and then did a suggestive hula-hoop routine.  Miss Sugah, erotic and exotic, balancing a bowl of fire on her head, danced snakelike to Turkish music.  Melody Sweets sang "Come Get a little Slice of Heaven" as she disrobed.  The blond Miss Tickle pranced around in feathers to the strains of Aquarius, and Peekaboo Pointe showed off her tattoos and stuck her fist in her mouth.

            My favorite was Miss Maine, a darker skinned girl. She gyrated in balloons, popping them one at a time, and felated a wine bottle to some funky ragtime.  She was the only one who actually showed her tits.  I thought she was wearing a wrap made of furs, but on closer inspection it turned out to be grapes, like a slutty female Bacchus with a wild Mohawk.  She did the jitterbug, flailing her limbs around wantonly, gyrating her ass, sticking her head between her legs.  At one point she stood on her head and shook her spread legs in a spasm.  She was the most athletic, and the strongest dancer.  Her routine was the most elaborate and best choreographed.

            In case you’re gay, or a straight woman, the strip tease routines are punctuated by comedy sketches, ensemble dances, giveaways and advertisements for bum-wipes.  There’s something for the whole family, so bring the kids.  Nah, don’t bring the kids; that’s going a bit far.  And don’t bring your parents either.  But you don’t need to be a horny guy to enjoy the show. 

            And in case you are a horny guy, the girls are all attractive, which is probably the single most important factor if you’re coming to see girls strip.  The girls in general aren’t too heavy in the boob department—Amelia easily won the prize there—but they have taut, athletic bodies, so hell, who cares?  If you’re looking for full frontal nudity, or acts of extreme, wanton depravity, you’re sure to be disappointed—but if you’re into that sort of thing, why would you be so stupid to come to an old time Burlesque show?

            Unfortunately, it got too late for these old folks, and we had to leave at the intermission, so we missed Miss Amelia’s routine.  She acts a movie voted on by the audience—you get to choose from such titles as King Kong, Dirty Dancing, and Psycho—and on this particular night she by all reports delivered a rousing rendition of Titanic.  Well, maybe next time.  Being from Kentucky, I plan on voting for Coal Miner’s Daughter (“Doo got on top of me sweatin’ like a pig”—remember?!)  Oh, Loretta.
            On the way out somebody in the elevator asked where they got these striptease routines, and concluded that the girls just make them up.  But of course the acts are variations on familiar routines that have been done countless times in burlesque shows and strip joints around the country—and who would want it any other way?  The show was designed to be a blast from the past, and too much originality would have killed it.  Credit Norman with the vision—and the scholarship, for he’s clearly done his homework--to realize this.
            We ran into a few fellow Chelseaites including, Nicky, Jen, Dahlia and her friends, David "the guy who paints in the lobby" Combs, Elizabeth, Rita Barros and a friend, and Jonathan and Susan Berg.  Guilty Pleasures happens each Thursday, but you have to contact Norman and Amelia to get the secret password and the location.  (Ed Hamilton) (Photos of Norman and Amelia courtesy of Linda Troeller. They were shot at a prior performance.  Ms. Amelia has a new costume now!) (Photos of Miss Tickle and Miss Harvest Moon are from flickr)