The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

Treading the Boards #1


Jill Haworth and Bert Convy, Cabaret, 1966

7 comments :

Fred said...

I might be wrong, but I think if Fosse had gone with this casting instead of Liza and Michael York, he might not have had as a big hit on his hands.

justjack said...

Fred, no doubt you're right about Bert Convy (who seems here to be auditioning for Dick Van Dyke lookalike), but Jill Haworth might have been all right on screen. She certainly was hot hot hot in In Harm's Way. Could she sing?

swac said...

Could she sing? With those legs, who cares?

mister muleboy said...

Gams, swac, gams.




Or should I say stems?


hubba hubba

mister muleboy said...

Gams, swac, gams.




Or should I say stems?


hubba hubba

Who Am Us Anyway? said...

Gams? Stems? As you no doubt know -- or being a good lawyer you wouldn't have asked the question -- you could say both, e.g., Uncross those beautiful STEMS of yours, baby, here's the case I call number 666. It all began innocently enough on Tuesday. I was sitting in my office on that drizzly afternoon listening to the monotonous staccato of rain on my desktop and reading my name on the glass of my office door. "Regnad Kcin." My secretary lay snoring on the floor (snoring), her long, beautiful GAMS pinioned under the couch. I didn't hear him enter, (creaky door/walking) but my nostrils flared at the smell of his perfume... Pyramid Patchouli. There was only one joker in L.A. sensitive enough to wear that scent and I had to find out WHO he was.

Vanwall said...

"Good afternoon, Mr.... Danger. I'm Rocky Rococo."

Nick Danger:

"Thanks half-pint. You just saved me a lot of investigative work."