All You Pretty Things
Goldwyn Brings on the Burlesque

It is not without reason that Goldwyn’s been called “the most glamorous historian you’ve ever seen.”

Glamour by historic design: Liz Goldwyn

By John Hood

Of the many delights to behold during the madness that was last week’s Basel was without question Dita Von Teese stripping down swankily to a sparkling ensemble of G-string and pasties, then riding a rocket-sized tube of lipstick — bronco style — on a stage set over the expansive shallows of the Delano pool. It was, as they say, the hot ticket. And it was a scorcher.

Equally scorchful was the delightful Hollywood glam gal Liz Goldwyn making the rounds hot on the high heels of her ever-delighting Pretty Things: The Last Generation of Burlesque Queens (ReganBooks), the hot pink-bound print version of her scrumptious HBO doc of the same name. She was there in the Visionaire snow-dome at the Raleigh, there signing at the Basel vernissage, and there again holding courtly court at Tomas Maier’s swiftly hip fete thrown in her honor.

And we were damn lucky to have her here.

It is not without reason that Goldwyn’s been called “the most glamorous historian you’ve ever seen.” Granddaughter of Hollywood heyday kingpin Samuel Goldwyn (the G in MGM, natch) and silent screen queen and Vogue face Frances Howard, she comes upon her glamour organically — by inheriting it.

And with a new twist on old-fashioned due diligence. Beginning with a choice rare find in Manhattan’s Sixth Avenue flea market and combining it with a stint hunting collectible costumes for Sotheby’s, Goldwyn’s gone on to get the goods from a time almost lost to the shredder of history.

In both book and flick she traces the origins of burlesque back to Aristophanes, through Shakespeare (for his pioneering mix of brows high and low), the British Blondes of 19th century London, the Folies-Bergere and the Moulin Rouge of Belle Epoque Paris, those notorious Ziegfeld Girls, and on to the remarkable exploits of such star strippers as Gypsy Rose Lee and Betty “Ball of Fire” Rowland, whose bump-and-grind riled even the squarest of beasts.

But Goldwyn doesn’t just talk the talk, she too walks the walk. Donning a few of the frocks of her favorites and immersing herself in the place where artistry, craft and spectacle all collide, she comes to inhabit that wild-side world of wielded beauty, and to remake of it its majesty.

It is a wily walk, a singular strut down some of our most shadowy side streets, and it is well worth its weight in hot.

Make that ultra-hot.

Hood is online at www.therealjohnhood.com.  Comments? E-mail letters@miamisunpost.com.