Hannah Montana


I wrote this for the LA Times

Clean-cut, wholesome and decidedly demure--look at the ultra-Disneyfied costumes in this month's "Hannah Montana" movie and you'll see the latest reflection of the accelerating shift toward more parent-friendly tween fashions.

Forget Britney-era bling 'n' bras or clingy American Apparel spandex -- 16-year-old "Hannah Montana" star Miley Cyrus wasn't even allowed to wear leggings while the cameras were rolling. Spaghetti straps were verboten, as were bare bellies, micro minis, one-shouldered tanks and anything resembling a camisole.

In part the decision was a pragmatic one aimed at keeping Cyrus connected with "Hannah Montana's" 6- to 14-year-old tween demographic, even as the actress herself moves beyond it. "We wanted her to look as natural, normal and neutral as possible in most of the film -- hair and makeup of course, but especially costumes," says director Peter Chelsom.

Veering away from "Hannah Montana's" garish TV get-ups, as well as Cyrus' increasingly grown-up off-camera style (remember her glittering, somewhat stately, scalloped Zuhair Murad couture gown for this year's Oscars red carpet? Not your average 16-year-old's party dress), he and the film's costume designer, Christopher Lawrence, dialed down their young star's look.

The goal was to clearly differentiate between Miley Stewart, the carefree girl in the "Hannah Montana" franchise (and alter ego of its flashy fictional pop star), and Miley Cyrus, the real-life star whose brand is valued around $1 billion. And they were mindful of the impact of "Hannah's" style, which plays out in a vast array of branded apparel, not to mention body shimmer, guitar picks and even a "Hannah Montana" ceiling fan ($99.95 from Disney's shopping site). "Miley Cyrus is a role model for young girls," Lawrence says. "And that's something we took very seriously."

Read the rest in the LA Times.

Production Designers

I wrote this for Variety

Whether they're conceptualizing five-star Persian Gulf Xanadus in between film jobs, or designing immersive retail landscapes on the side, film designers have proved themselves to be adept moonlighters. Some of them take sabbaticals from moviemaking to envision the entertainment environments of the future.
It started in the 1950s when Walt Disney handpicked his favorite staff artists to work on his theme parks. Film folks like John DeCuir, Henry Bumstead and Randall Duell became pioneers of themed attractions. Today, the two major theme-park design companies -- Walt Disney Imagineering and Universal Creative -- continue to cherry-pick from Hollywood for their billion-dollar pleasure-domes.
Designer Adrian Gorton ("Changeling," "The Last Samurai") has gone back and forth between movies and themed-entertainment design for 30 years. "If there's a story you want to tell through design, a place-making, transporting kind of experience you want to create -- that's where people like us can help," he says.
Gorton's nonfilm resume is formidable. He was lead designer on Malaysia's Sama World theme park, was one of six art directors who worked on Universal's Islands of Adventure theme park in Orlando and is supervising art director for entertainment-venue development firm Thinkwell Group, which is working on a major studio-backed theme park in Abu Dhabi.
Burgeoning development in the Middle East has kept Gorton and his peers very busy. NBC Universal, Paramount and DreamWorks have all announced licensing deals for new theme-park ventures in Dubai. While the recent economic downturn has slowed progress (Universal Studios Dubailand's opening has been delayed from 2010 until the first quarter of 2012), the Persian Gulf remains a lucrative hub for Hollywood's design A-list.
Thinkwell hires film designers to help create large-scale developments for its clients -- including Ski Dubai, the Middle East's famous indoor ski resort. Production designers are suited to such projects "because they know how a space can communicate a specific message" says Thinkwell creative veep Randy Ewing.
Veteran film designer Norm Newberry ("Beowulf," "War of the Worlds") is a member of that community of film designers, most of whom have some affiliation with Disney Imagineering and/or Universal Creative, who are regularly lured off-set to work on billion-dollar commercial projects. In 1987, Newberry replaced Bumstead as head of Universal Creative's art department, overseeing projects like the "Jaws" special effects rides at Universal Studios in Orlando and Osaka, Japan; the "Back to the Future: The Ride" in Japan; and the 12-minute "T2 3-D" theatrical attraction in Japan, Orlando and Los Angeles -- said to be the most expensive venture in movie history on a per-minute basis.
Lately Newberry has shifted his focus back to film. "Most designers always want to get back to film, eventually," he says, "although the really nice thing about theme parks is that at the end of it, there's something permanent there that you can be proud of. On film, your work's on celluloid."
Another prolific moonlighter, Jack Taylor ("Million Dollar Baby," "Mystic River") was one of Bumstead's favorite art directors. Taylor is redesigning the 3.3-acre Universal Studios backlot that was extensively damaged by fire last May. "In this industry, the only security you have is your insecurity," Taylor says. "You work for six weeks or six months, and then you could be off for a couple of months. So I always like to keep something on the back burner." For Taylor, this can mean small interior design projects, too -- he converted Robert Duvall's cow barn in Virginia, updated Barbra Streisand's home in Malibu and created interiors for Clint Eastwood's private golf club near Monterey.
It goes both ways. Celebrity designer David Rockwell, for example, primarily known for his commercial work (the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles, Gordon Ramsay's Maze restaurant in London), is also a successful theater and film designer ("Hairspray," "Legally Blonde").
Increasingly, film designers are conceptualizing commercial projects that take leisure time to a new level -- like resorts where guests can assume a character and play a role, similar to a videogame adventure -- except it's real.
Hettema Group has created designs for these kinds of immersive concepts. Topper Phil Hettema, a former senior veep at Universal Studios Theme Parks, predicts interactivity, rather than the typical pre-programmed theme park experience, is where the future of themed entertainment lies.
"It used to be that the best way to experience cool new technology was to pay $50 to go to a theme park -- now you can find that technology on your iPhone," he says.

Shepard Fairey

I wrote this for Antenna magazine during the run-up to the 08 election.

Right now, graffiti is totally verboten in the White House—but Shepard Fairey’s working on it. By wheat pasting his now-iconic Obama “Hope” posters all over the streets of America, Fairey has bridged the unbridgeable, aligning the worlds of Graffiti Art and Presidential Politics, uniting law-breakers with law-makers, and gifting the Democrats one helluva campaign contribution—street cred.

Now synonymous with the Democratic Nomination Race of ’08, the posters are classic Fairey: burnished, muted colors, and simple, populist motifs that nod to the work of Communist-era linocut artists like Dmitry Moor and Vladimir Kozlinsky. Yes, it’s ironic that Soviet Red Army propaganda stylings could turn so damn Blue—but the Cold War is long over, and there’s something almost generically American about Fairey’s posters.

Bearing the word “Hope” in a simple, sans serif Gotham font (the kind of lettering seen on liquor-store signs, old-school office buildings and car parks across the nation), the posters present us with a vision of one possible future - Barack Obama in red, white and blue, his expression calm, determined—and totally pirated. “Um, we did use an unlicensed image,” admits Fairey, speaking from Studio Number One, his graphic design studio in Echo Park, Los Angeles. (He has since been supplied with an approved head shot from the Obama camp.)

The limited edition screen-prints were available on Fairey’s Obey Giant website for about a millisecond before selling out. In fact, judging by web traffic, the Obama posters have been the most popular prints of Fairey’s career. “When the second run of posters came out there were 800,000 people on the site at one time, trying to buy 750 posters,” recalls Fairey. “It was intense.”

It started almost as an afterthought. Two weeks before Super Tuesday, Shepard thought he should put out a poster. He had seen Obama speak at the Democratic Convention in 2004 and liked what he had heard. “I thought ‘maybe in ten years, he’ll run’,” says Fairey. “I doubted he had enough insider clout to run before that, because everything in politics is about relationships and Hillary, I thought, had it sewn up.” Then when Obama won Iowa and New Hampshire, Fairey re-evaluated. “I thought wow…this is exciting.”

He talked to Yosi Sergant, a young Obama campaigner and publicist, and Sergant took the poster idea to Obama’s camp. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t seen as an unwelcome endorsement,” says Fairey. “Lets face it, I am a street artist who has been arrested a bunch of times.” Word came back that while no official endorsement was possible, it was OK to go ahead.

Fairey made 700 posters—350 on thin paper to wheat-paste up in L.A., and the rest to sell on his site. When those sold out, he used the money to make 10,000 more, and had them shipped to states where Democratic caucuses and primaries were yet to be held.

Early posters bore either the word “Progress” or “Hope” until Obama’s campaign got in touch, saying they preferred “Hope”. “So I stuck with Hope,” says Fairey, no stranger to the realm of politically-charged, mass distributed poster art (he created several anti-Bush posters in 2000 and 2003). He’s not the first pop artist to vent his political angst – in 1968 Ben Shahn created a hope-based image for Eugene McCarthy. And Andy Warhol’s “Vote McGovern.” poster, produced in 1972, was memorably ironic, bearing a sinister image of McGovern’s opponent Richard Nixon. (Bearing in mind his influence over that elusive youth demographic, does Fairey himself have any political aspirations? No, is the resolute answer. “I speak my mind, which doesn’t go over that well in politics,” he says. “If I had to go into politics, I would be a benevolent dictator.”)

When Fairey posted the image on his website, it went viral. People posted it on their MySpace and Facebook pages, and soon the all corners of the media, from the Huffington Post to New York magazine to Gawker, was discussing the “Hope” poster. The Obama campaign got in touch again, this time about the legality of the image. They asked Fairey to create an illustration from a photo of Obama they had rights to use – and that’s when the third “Change” poster was born. (It is now featured Barack Obama.com, where it helped raise $350,000 for the campaign, before selling out). To date, he’s produced 80,000 posters and stickers, the vast majority of which have been glued up around the country. “I had no idea the image was going to resonate the way it did,” says Fairey.

Since then, dozens of artists have followed suit, creating responses to the poster (Michael Ian Weinfeld’s “Pope” parody, for instance), or pro-Obama images of their own (Ron English’s “Abraham Obama” poster). In Houston, local street art collective Aerosol Warfare painted a giant replica of the “Hope” poster on the side of Obama’s headquarters there. Also in Texas, art collective Upper Playground commissioned Coachella Valley-based fine art duo The Date Farmers to create an Obama “Change” poster in the spirit of Shepard’s work. “Shepard was really the touch stone,” says Sergant, who facilitated the original poster campaign. “He was the first person to jump in the pool.”

And in jumping right in, gave Barack Obama a more powerful youth endorsement than anything millions of dollars in advertising could have bought.

Senator McCain should take note.

My story about female voice over artists for Variety, December 2008


Movie trailers lack female narrators

Void left by 'Voice of God' could open field to women


(Photo of of voice over artist Melissa Disney)

Don LaFontaine, the so-called "Voice of God" who held a virtual monopoly over the narration of bigtime movie trailers until his death Sept. 1, had a clear idea of who his successor should be -- God's voice, he said, should belong to a woman.

"I think women are vastly underrepresented in this area," LaFontaine told me in 2006. "You'd think that for films directly aimed at women, chick flicks, the logical choice would be for a woman to narrate the trailer. But studios hold focus groups and the people in them, women included, seem to prefer the male voice."

Two years later, little has changed. Movie trailers remain largely unaffected by feminism's march, with growly baritones like those of Andy Geller and Ashton Smith seeming the likely replacements for LaFontaine's wizened authority. Women, who make up a small fraction of the trailer voice talent pool (William Morris reps three female trailer voices compared with 33 males, according to its website), remain almost exclusively confined to TV, radio and DVD trailer spots. The reason isn't so much gender equality, apparently, as it is resistance to change among the moviegoing public -- male and female.

"Audiences, including females, are so used to hearing a male voice that when they hear a female voice they think something is wrong," says Mike Southerly, senior VP creative advertising at 20th Century Fox. He, like many interviewed for this article, is in favor of hearing more female voices in movie theaters. But he says it's "always a fight" trying to get a female voice approved for a trailer, even for more female-friendly TV spots.

"The public is finicky, and it takes them a while to trust voices they aren't used to hearing," says Southerly. "And the voice they were used to for many years was Don's."

On the rare occasion that trailer houses suggest using a female voice, studios often nix the idea. "A female voice might take away from the content of the trailer," says producer Christine Peters ("How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days"). "If the industry does transition to more frequently using female voiceovers, I imagine it will take the audience awhile to get used to it."

A notable exception to the rule was the trailer for Jerry Bruckheimer's high-octane "Gone in Sixty Seconds" (2000). Voiced by the sultry-toned Melissa Disney (widely regarded as the most successful female voice artist working today), the trailer is cited as the one example of where a feminine intonation actually worked.

"The few movies that women have worked on tend to be the high-testosterone movies," notes Jason Marks of Jason Marks Talent Management, who specializes in representing trailer and promo voiceover artists. Marks thinks action movies, not chick flicks or romantic comedies, present more fertile ground for his female talent.

Even though the odds seem against them, voice actresses are optimistically chipping away at the glass ceiling. Debi Mae West, whose voice has been heard on NBC, Starz and AMC, recalls that after Disney's "Sixty Seconds" work, she found herself being invited to "scratch" more trailers. Scratching is industry lingo for when trailer houses invite voiceover artists to voice a spec trailer, which is then submitted to the studio. The winning submission is then "finished" by the trailer house.

The competitive nature of pitching means trailer houses are often pressured to present safe, salable options, which means female voices are risky. "There might be three other trailer houses trying to get the same job, so often it's a matter of staying within the comfort zone," says West. "But people are starting to realize that women can really sell the sexiness of a film. Women are a lot softer and less showy, and trailers seem to be moving in that more conversational, less in-your-face read anyway."

And even if women still aren't actually getting the bigtime jobs (LaFontaine was said to earn $10 million per year), "scratching, at the very least, means you're on the radar," says voice actress Sylvia Villagran, whose voice is regularly heard on MTV, NBC and Mundos. "Of course, the ideal would be to go from scratching to finishing -- but I guess it's one step at a time."

Slash

I wrote this for Swindle magazine. Photo By Jeremy and Claire Weiss

SLASH

Maybe it’s his top hat. Maybe it’s his ‘fro. maybe it’s the near-death drug experiences. Or maybe it’s his guitar, played cacophonous and dirty, his solos providing a mighty riposte to the howls of Guns N’ Roses mate Axl Rose on Appetite for Destruction, the band’s debut album and the masterpiece of 1980s Sunset Strip rock. Who knows what it is? Somehow, Slash, with his iconic look and blues-infused rawk, has imprinted his name on the air-guitar-playin’ soul of a generation

I visited Slash’s house in the San Fernando Valley not so long ago, and shared red wine and French smokes with the man himself. He’s 40 now, but doesn’t look it. “A lot of people say I look young,” he remarks. “They say I should look a lot more addled.” Is that because of his former decadence, when he walked, talked, shot, and snorted the rock ‘n’ roll dream, back when even Steven Tyler was impressed at how hardcore GN’R was? “Yeah, probably,” he says, in his mellow-yellow mumble. “Aerosmith used to trip out on the fact that we were so fucked up. Maybe we reminded them of themselves.”

Slash was born Saul Hudson on July 23, 1965, in London, England, to Anthony and Ola Hudson, a white Englishman and an African American. His father was an artist, an album cover designer for Geffen Records, and his mother was a fashion designer who once dated David Bowie and created some of his costumes. The family moved to Stokeon- Trent (birthplace of Lemmy Kilmister and Robbie Williams), where Anthony’s father lived, but they left the country before Saul hit his teens. Saul moved to L.A. With his mother when he was 11, and grew up in an affluent, bohemian household where members of the rock gliteratti, including David Geffen, Iggy Pop, and Ronnie Wood, were regular houseguests.

Outside the home, Saul was a loner who didn’t fit in at school. He hung around with street kids, riding his brakeless BMX bike in empty pools in Hollywood. At 14, he met future GN’R drummer Steven Adler after Adler fell off his skateboard in a half-pipe and Saul went over to see if he was okay.

When Saul was 15, his maternal grandmother gave him a Spanish guitar with just one string on it that she had in her basement. He started practicing, sometimes up to 12 hours a day. “When I started playing,” he recalls, “this explosive and progressive part of my personality, which I didn’t even know existed, came out.” He had just discovered Aerosmith’s Rocks. “I grew up on the [Rolling] Stones, Bob Dylan, The Kinks, and Zeppelin, but when I discovered this one Aerosmith record I related to it on a different level. The decadence, the sloppy guitars, the huge drums, the screaming Ð the whole of it. It did something to me.”

Soon after that, Saul became Slash, not just in spirit but in name, given to him by character actor Seymour Cassel. “I was friends with his kids, and he used to call me Slash because I was an aspiring guitar player, always hustling, never stopping to hang out. I was always in a hurry. So he started calling me that, and it stuck.”

Obsessed with guitar and guitar only, he dropped out of school in the 11th grade and formed a band called Road Crew with Adler. In the spring of 1985, Slash and Adler were invited by Axl Rose to play with his newly-created band, Guns N’ Roses, after his drummer and lead guitarist failed to show up for rehearsals. Slash bought himself a top hat from a store on Melrose Avenue in preparation for his first gig with GN’R, June 6, 1985, at the Troubadour, billed as “a rock ‘n’ roll bash where everyone’s smashed.”

“We started out on the lowest rung of the ladder, as far as club bands are concerned,” says Slash, recalling the early days of GN’R. “When we got signed [to Geffen] we were totally fucked up. We got $7,500 bucks apiece and spent it all on drugs. We had nowhere to live. We were staying in cheap motels. We couldn’t find anyone that wanted to produce us and manage us. Then we went on tour opening up for Aerosmith, and everything just sort of worked its way up.”

Some of the most memorable hard-rock guitar riffs of the pre-grunge era emanated from Slash’s Gibson Les Paul, including those on “Paradise City” and “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” He claims the “Sweet Child O’ Mine” guitar melody came about from “just fucking around. I didn’t even like that song or the guitar part. I thought it was stupid. But Axl really liked it.” Despite their growing success, the band members were too dysfunctional to really take stock of what was happening. Even after Appetite for Destruction went Platinum, Slash never felt like a rock star off-stage. “We’d be on the road and we’d hear we sold a certain number of records. Then we went back to Hollywood and it’s the same shit: living in a cheap apartment and doing drugs all the time, except this time I didn’t want to go out because people would recognize me.”

After their sold-out Use Your Illusion tour ended in 1995, Axl went on hiatus and Slash worked on his side projects, Slash’s Snakepit and Slash’s Blues Ball, and recorded with artists like Iggy Pop, Lenny Kravitz, and Michael Jackson. In October 1996, Slash resigned from GN’R and gave the rights to the band name to Axl, mainly because Axl wanted to take the band in an industrial-techno direction while Slash wanted to remain true to their bluesrock roots.

It was around the time of the band breakup that he ran into his second and current wife Perla Ferrar, whom he married on October 15, 2001. He had been introduced to her by porn star Ron Jeremy in Las Vegas several years prior, at the height of GN’R’s fame. “I was just in the process of quitting Guns N’ Roses, and I was losing my first wife. I was sitting at the bar and Perla came in with her crazy girlfriends, and we just started dating.” Their first son, London, was born in 2002, and second, Cash (producer Robert Evans came up with the name), was born two years later. Becoming a father meant Slash had to give away his collection of reptiles and wild animals, including a mountain lion that once slept in his bed with him.

In the meantime, Slash was rounding up former band mates Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum (who replaced Adler in 1990 after Adler was kicked out for his drug abuse), along with Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots and Dave Kushner from Wasted Youth, to form his current project, Velvet RevolverÑthe plan being, no doubt, to continue creating rock music of the highest magnitude. “The best piece of advice my father ever gave me was ‘Don’t go down with the ship.’ That’s what he said when the band was breaking up and I was losing my mind. What I’ve learned is that there’s always another ship.”

My stunt story for Variety, Jan 2009


SAG honors stunt ensembles

Award showcases the art of physical acting

For stunt professionals, diving off skyscrapers and KO'ing baddies is one thing -- but can they do it with emotion?

"Truth is, when you're performing in a scene, if you're not emotionalizing what you're doing, you're just doing moves," says Paul Jennings, stunt coordinator on "The Dark Knight."

Jennings, along with nine others, has been nominated in SAG's newest award category, which recognizes stunt ensembles in motion pictures and primetime television.

The very existence of the award, now in its second year, raises the question: To be a true stunt superstar, should one know one's Stanislavski as well as kung fu? Or should "emotional recall" be the last thing on a stunt actor's mind as he or she tumbles out of a helicopter?

Jennings believes the best stunt people possess, at the very least, a gift for physical acting.

"An angry man will fight very differently than a sly man, for example, and you have to be able to convey that," he says. "If you're doubling a character, you have to get to a point where you understand their emotions so your physical actions can reflect what they feel. It's not always just about jumping out of cars."

Jennings, who is British, started out as an acrobat -- he had a juggling and fire-eating stage act from the age of 13, and performed at medieval-themed banquets and jousting tournaments in the U.K. He became accepted in the Equity Stunt Register in 1989 after completing his training and has since stunt-coordinated a number of pictures including "The Golden Compass," "Blood Diamond" and "Munich."

For "The Dark Knight," director Christopher Nolan avoided CGI wherever possible, preferring stunts and staged combat to be carried out in the flesh.

"Chris feels CGI takes away from the story because the audience can sense that it's not for real," Jennings says. "He pushed us really hard to do things for real." Like flipping a 16-wheeler truck, for instance? "Yes -- even if there existed an easier option -- he just feels there's a lot of weight and energy behind what's real."

In contrast, Timur Bekmambetov's high-octane action adventure "Wanted" stands out for its use of cutting-edge CGI and visual effects technology. For instance, lead actors were scanned and 3-D molds of their bodies were generated, creating the basis for digital stunt doubles. But according to the film's stunt coordinator and SAG award nominee Nick Gillard, tech wizardry will never preclude the need for expert mimicry. "You have to hang out with the actors as much as possible," says Gillard ("Star Wars" Episodes 1, 2 and 3 and "Sleepy Hollow"). "You have to know how they are going to react when they are in dangerous situations. You watch them and see how they walk and how they run. You mimic their posture. It's all in the details."

For "Wanted," Gillard developed a common fighting style for the actors, in concert with the notion that the film's band of assassins had been in existence for many hundreds of years. "All the characters fight a little differently, but we made sure there was a common thread -- like the way they punch."

When it comes to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences not recognizing stunt performers, Gillard is pragmatic, if not self-effacing. "If there were Oscars, suddenly you'd have all these famous stunt coordinators running around when really it shouldn't be about us -- it should be about the actor. I wouldn't want to belittle the actor."

While actors sometimes request guidance on how to stay in character while performing more grueling stunts, "Wanted" star Angelina Jolie needed no instruction on how to stay "sexy" during her myriad hair-raising turns. "You don't need to show Angelina how to be sexy -- she's the grand master," Gillard says.

TV football drama "Friday Night Lights," also nominated for a stunt SAG Award, is at the opposite end of the action spectrum. Because the series is shot in a semi-improvised, pseudo-documentary style, emotional authenticity in stunts is key, precisely because "it's not your traditional action show with explosions and people jumping out of cars," stunt coordinator Justin Riemer says. "We actually try to dumb down the action a little bit so it feels more real. It's never just about the stunt person stepping in and being the big guy."

Off the football field, the actors generally carry out all their own stunts. On the football field, each character has his own football double, and the actors study the nuances of their doubles' movements as much as the doubles study the actors'. "It's a two-way creative exchange -- you'd be surprised how much the actors will take from the doubles," Riemer says.

"Friday Night Lights" is taped at breakneck speed (one hourlong episode per six days of shooting) with little or no rehearsal. There are no set camera positions (camera operators follow the actors around) and no marks for actors. Long stretches of dialogue will develop into action scenes with no cuts in between, none of which makes life especially easy for Riemer.

"Making sure everyone is in a safe place and able to perform the emotional as well as the physical without cutting is sometimes a very hard job," he admits. "But the key for us is knowing how much is too much, and how much is not enough. When all's said and done, I think we've struck a good balance."

My story about Ilene Chaiken and the end of "The L Word" for The Advocate.com, January 2009



Ilene Chaiken Has No Regrets -- Except Killing Dana
By Caroline Ryder

Before January 18, 2004 -- when the first episode of The L Word aired -- Ilene Chaiken was a resolutely below-the-line, behind-the-scenes kind of lesbian. Today, thanks to show’s success, she needs little introduction -- and not just among the LGBT audience. Chaiken is an integral component of The L Word’s global brand, a mainstream entertainment commodity that has been sold in dozens of countries around the world, from Uruguay to Lithuania to Iceland. Being thrust into the role of lesbian storyteller in chief has occasionally proved jarring for the cerebral, reserved writer-director.

“I was a blithering mess in the beginning,” says Chaiken, smiling. “It’s terrifying when you’re someone who is not groomed to be in front of an audience, and you don’t really feel well-suited for it.”

For the first year after the show launched, she took beta blockers. “Then I didn’t need to worry anymore. These days, I don’t shake nearly as much when I’m making speeches.”

The sixth and final season of the show is set to begin on Showtime January 18, exactly five years after the series launched. While it’s a bittersweet goodbye for Chaiken, one gets the sense she’s a little relieved.

“I feel that it is exactly the right time to be moving on,” she says slowly and purposefully, grating lemon zest for a mousse dessert as she talks to Advocate.com in her kitchen. “I’ll miss the community of The L Word, but I was personally ready for it to end. Jennifer Beals did joke that someday Bette and Tina would have grandchildren -- but I think all of us agreed that it was best to go while we were still relatively young and sexy.”

We spoke a few days before Christmas -- she’d recently returned to Los Angeles from Vancouver, where she had wrapped the 20-minute pilot of her new, as yet unsold L Word spin-off starring Leisha Hailey. It's rumored to be a prison drama, but Chaiken declined to go in to any detail about it. Even so, one would be safe in assuming that Chaiken has plenty more lesbian-themed entertainment up her sleeve, right?

“Yes, but remember, I never saw The L Word as purely lesbian-themed,” she points out. “I saw it as a show about lesbians for everyone. Personally, I’m interested in telling stories. Telling lesbian-themed stories, yes, but not exclusively. I’m interested in making mainstream entertainment.”

Her determination to appeal to a mass audience has occasionally put Chaiken at odds with women who felt unrepresented among the show’s glamorous cast of characters. But Chaiken makes no bones about her position -- she’s making TV for America, and America likes lipstick.

“I never had any qualms about the way we were representing the culture,” she says.

When The L Word ends in March, there may be no TV show on U.S. mainstream cable or terrestrial television featuring predominantly gay or lesbian characters to replace it. It’s a problem, says Chaiken. Niche cable channels that focus on gay content, like Logo, are “great for what they are,” she says, “but they don’t preclude the need to represent us and our lives and our stories in mainstream entertainment.”

And despite its massive global reach, The L Word has received little formal acknowledgment from Hollywood -- just one prime-time Emmy nomination in six years. “It’s pathetic,” says Chaiken. “We really were ignored by the Emmys.” (The late actor Ossie Davis, who played the father of Jennifer Beals’s Bette Porter and Pam Grier’s Kit Porter, received a posthumous nomination for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series in 2004.)

There’s always the possibility season 6 will receive more recognition. With Jenny Schecter (played by Mia Kirshner) revealed to be dead in the opening moments of the first episode, you can be sure that the final season of The L Word will continue take the term lesbian drama to new levels. All in just eight episodes.

”Having eight episodes was a business decision by Showtime,” says Chaiken. “We agreed it was actually kind of a great thing for a final season, because we could make it more contained. So we came up with a concept for wrapping it all round one story idea.”

And once The L Word’s final chapter closes, then what?

The Farm, Chaiken’s Leisha Hailey–L Word spin-off, has been taking up much of her time.

“It’s a very different show to The L Word,” says Chaiken. Actresses Famke Janssen, Melissa Leo (who played Winnie Mann on The L Word), and Laurie Metcalfe (Roseanne) are also rumored to be on board.

And what about an L Word movie?

“I would love to do an L Word movie,” she says. “My cast would love to do an L Word movie. We have no formal plans, but when I have a moment to take a breather, I certainly will think about what the climate is for actually doing one.”

Chaiken is also working on “a couple” separate film projects as a writer and director, and she has plans for a new Internet venture. Ourchart.com, the social network for lesbians that she cofounded, is on ice -- editorially speaking, at least. (Users can still network through the site, but there haven’t been any blog posts on the home page since November). Chaiken’s new venture “may or may not be separate to Ourchart.com,” she says. Whatever the future of OurChart, she promises to find a place online for the OurChart users who were L Word fans -- no doubt music to the ears of those wondering where they’ll be able to pontificate on Tibette (Tina and Bette) and express their continuing fury over Dana’s death.

“If I could do it all again, that’s the one and only thing I’d do differently,” says Chaiken of killing off the L Word’s Dana character, a move that resulted in a minor revolt among the show’s fans. “I think if maybe I had known how people would react to that and how long the anger and despair would last, I might have reconsidered it ... ”

Frontiers cover story on Daniela Sea from a while back


Story by CAROLINE RYDER
"All my life I’ve used clothes to express myself,” says The L Word’s chisel-cheeked resident
genderqueer, Daniela Sea. The impossibly handsome 29-year-old, dubbed “the female River
Phoenix” by L Word creator Ilene Chaiken, made history last year playing the role of Moira, a
Midwestern stone butch who morphs into Max, television’s first recurring female-to-male transgender character. Playing a transman wasn’t much of a stretch for Sea, who was already toying with her gender presentation when she was just 10, dressing like a mini 1950s greaser or fopping it up like a preteen Chaucerian gentleman.
A former punk guitarist, fire juggler, goat herder, and citizen of the world (she lived as a man in India for eight months), Sea has run the queer style gamut, ricocheting between medieval rebel boi and green-haired punk princess. “Right now, I think I’d describe my style as princely,” says Sea, who lives in Brooklyn with her girlfriend of five years, queer performer Capital b (formerly Bitch from folk duo Bitch and Animal).
Sea was working at a restaurant in New York City when the makers of The L Word flew her to L.A. to read for the part of Moira (her friend was a writer on the show and had given the producers Sea’s reel). They hired her almost immediately—great news for Sea, bad news for the show’s costume designer Cynthia Summers, who had just five days to come up with an entire wardrobe for Moira/Max.
Summers and Sea worked together to develop Moira’s androgynous rebel look, inspired by the cult teen movie The Outsiders. Later on, Max—complete with facial hair and biceps—would start wearing more conservative office shirts and slacks as he attempted to assimilate into mainstream life as a straight man.
Playing TV’s first regular FTM character was a “huge honor,” says Sea, who had only appeared in one film prior to The L Word (a small role in John Cameron Mitchell’s Shortbus). But her relative newness to acting was counterbalanced by her ultra-bohemian life experience, which equipped her better than most to play the role.
Sea was born in Malibu, the daughter of artist/surfer intellectuals who met on a sustainable farming community. Her father came out as gay when she was 3. “My mother didn’t see it as a betrayal,” says Sea. “They were really in love so she said, ‘OK, let’s see what this is all about,’ and they went to a gay bar in Hollywood. They tried to go through it together.” The couple eventually parted ways when Daniela was 5. “I don’t think it was a simple decision for my father, but I’m glad he did what he did,” says Sea. “It taught me about the importance of being true to yourself, at any cost.”
When she was 16, Sea left L.A. and moved to San Francisco to join the Gilman Street Project, a punkartist feminist collective. She came out as a lesbian shortly after, and all her “significant relationships”since then have been with women. She played guitar as “Dan-yella Dyslexia” in queercore bands Gr’ups and Cypher in the Snow, touring with big-name hardcore acts like Fugazi and Rancid. “I had a green mohawk, and sometimes I’d wear this crazy ripped-up prom dress with wings on stage,” recalls Sea. “It’s funny, looking back.” She then traveled through Europe, working as a circus performer and hitchhiking her way around while learning to play
the accordion and penny whistle.
“Music is very important to me,” she says. “When I met my girlfriend, one of the first things we did was play music together.” Sea and Capital b have a music project called the Exciting Conclusion, an edgy, political freak-folk combo scheduled to perform at Club Skirts’ Dinah Shore weekend in Palm Springs in April. The biggest annual gathering of lesbians in the world, “the Dinah” has developed a close and natural affiliation with The L Word, with cast members known to attend and mingle poolside with the ladies.
"[My father’s coming out] taught me about the importance of being true to yourself, at any cost.”
This year Sea is also starring in Itty Bitty Titty Committee, a coming-of-age tale by lesbian director Jamie Babbitt (But I’m a Cheerleader) which takes a wry look at the lives of a young group of womyn activists calling themselves “Clits in Action” (aka C.i.A.). “The film looks at the good and bad sides of being in a group of people trying to change the world,” says Sea, who stars alongside Guinevere Turner, Jenny Shimizu, Melanie Mayron, and Melonie Diaz. “And we get a chance to laugh at ourselves, which is great; people always think of feminism as being so serious.”
And Sea is, of course, looking forward to playing Max in another season of The L Word—although
sometimes she secretly wishes he would ditch the suits and ties for some funkier threads. “Fashionwise, I’m not a big fan of what I would call his boring office clothes,” she admits. “But it’s been a trip feeling him become more and more comfortable in his skin. Playing Max is an adventure, every day.”

Duchess Georgiana, for Variety, Jan 09.



The Duchess

Be faithful to an 18th-century fashion icon

Challenge: Be faithful to an 18th-century fashion icon in the absence of sartorial records

Regency aristocrat Georgiana Cavendish, subject of Saul Dibb's period drama "The Duchess," is widely recognized as one of the first true influencers of fashion, her giant plumed wigs and sprayed-on gowns sparking copycat trends across 18th-century Britain. And yet very little archival evidence of what she actually wore exists.

"If we had been doing a film on Queen Victoria or Queen Mary, it would have been different," says costume designer Michael O'Connor ("Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day"). "But with Georgiana, there's hardly anything. Even the portraits generally show her in biblical, classical-type robes -- not what she actually wore."

In all, O'Connor created 27 costumes for the duchess, dressing actress Keira Knightley in the most progressive, flamboyant styles of the era, styles Georgiana is known to have had a hand in creating. Dresses were often stitched onto the actresses, re-creating the "desperately tight, maximum bosom" looks that were popular then.

The gender-bending military uniform worn during a political rally is one look the duchess is known to have actually worn. Though Georgiana was known to have originally designed the outfit in red, O'Connor re-created it in blue, the color of the British Whig party. "That costume perfectly illustrated how the duchess always refused to blend in," he says.

Paper magazine: Troy Garity interview (excerpted)

I meet the actor Troy Garity at one of his hangouts, a rustic family-run café at the foot of the Hollywood Hills -- the kind with floral pink wallpaper, wood beams and ancient men sitting alone at the counter. Thanks to Garity, the café has just stopped using Styrofoam cups. "I persuaded them to use paper cups instead," he says proudly, with the manager piping in: "He's greening the neighborhood!"

Garity may be a film actor, but his instinct for serving the greater good is unusually strong. Perhaps that's because activism is in his genes: His father is Tom Hayden (peace activist and social justice figurehead) and his mother is Jane Fonda, the quintessential Hollywood activista.

Just the other morning, Garity's alarm radio woke him up with news that his mom was in trouble, again. This time, for dropping the "C" bomb on national TV. Fonda and Vagina Monologues creator Eve Ensler were being interviewed about turning the New Orleans Superdome into a giant vulva. Upon hearing the news, Garity was, naturally, very proud. "My mom has given some great TV quotes," he says. "My favorite was, 'If the penis could do what the vagina does, they would stick it on a postage stamp.' Brilliant."

Garity is intense-looking, with a gaze that could crack cement. He's also a little shy and speaks in ponderous slow motion with pauses so heavy I'm scared I'll run out of tape. Maybe growing up so conscious, so socially-aware, forces you to think about every single word that comes out of your mouth? He tells me he's reading a book about how to re-program your neural pathways. "I'm re-wiring myself," he says. "I'm trying to develop an optimistic reflex to things."


Jeremy Scott story for Oyster magazine


Beam me up Scotty


Good art, or bad taste? More than most, white-trash fashion innovator Jeremy Scott treads the line, Caroline Ryder writes.


Who else would send models down the catwalk wearing conch-shell inspired swimsuits with three-foot high collars, dresses that look like jukeboxes and army helmets with Mickey Mouse ears? Was the helmet an anti-war statement, I wonder? “Let’s just say our president is no different to Mickey Mouse,” he says, perched cross-legged in the living room of his Hollywood Hills house.

I had expected Jeremy Scott’s home to look like his fashion, some kind of ironic homage to bad taste with neon walls, chandeliers made from dangling Big Macs, and portraits of Alexis Colby. The reality, to my surprise, is much tamer — black floors, white walls, and zebra print furnishings. And then I spot a bust of Beethoven wearing a pair of Wayfarers — Scott, it seems, likes to keep his sense of humor close at hand. “Humor is a clear method of communication,” he says. “It helps everyone understand what you’re trying to say.” It must take supreme confidence to be able to be humorous with your art? “Yes,” he nods, “or supreme stupidity.”

Along with Terry Richardson, Corinne Day and Harmony Korine, Jeremy Scott represents the 1990’s generation of fashion anti-heroes. With the support of magazines like i-D and The Face, they spearheaded a new era of artistic irreverence, one which visited the margins of pop culture and transformed them into high art. Some people weren’t into the whole lowbrow = high art thing, but that’s OK as far as Jeremy Scott’s concerned. “To me, making fashion is about creating and enlarging my vision, not about selling blah number of units. It’s not healthy to even think in terms of sales.”

For Scott, the obsession with bad taste and Americana was no artsy bourgeois amusement—it reflected the world he came from. Growing in rural Missouri, America’s heartland, it was impossible for Scott not to absorb the Big Mac/trailer park/Rikki Lake culture of his surroundings. He has worn his hair in a mullet, the classic trailer park style, since he was 18. It’s the only look that really suits him, he says. “Even Vidal Sassoon told me never to change my hair,” says Scott.

And yet he was always different. He wore his mullet bright orange, for starters, to match his idol Cyndi Lauper. He was vegetarian (“I have never eaten a piece of chicken in my entire life,” he says) and has never smoked a cigarette in his life. Aged 18, He applied to New York’s prestigious Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT), and was heartbroken when they turned him down. They said his work lacked “originality, creativity and artistic ability.” He flew to New York City to appeal the decision, and found that his unconventionality was embraced by professors at the Pratt Institute. “They didn’t care that I wasn’t interested in designing khaki pants,” he says. His graduation show was typically outrageous, inspired by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.

Months after graduating, Scott moved to Paris, he dreamed of an internship with Jean Paul Gaultier. “I would have picked pins up off the floor,” he says, but try as he might, he couldn’t find a way in. Scott did, however, find himself drawn into the heart of the Paris club scene, and became a friend, muse and rumoured lover of Karl Lagerfeld, creative genius behind the House of Chanel. He art-directed photo shoots for Lagerfeld and in return, Lagerfeld gained access to Scott’s youthful, avant garde world. When asked what he thinks of Parisian street fashion, he suggest it’s not as avant as the rest of the world might want to believe. “Yes, there is a cool kid look, but at its heart Paris is about sophistication, and you can only have that with age, familiarity and security. If you’re talking about street style, London and Tokyo are where the envelope is really being pushed.”

In 2002 he left Paris and moved to Los Angeles where, tucked away in a mid-century modern home overlooking Hollywood, he enjoys a quieter, more anonymous existence. “My life here is about working on my ideas, and cocooning,” he says. Los Angeles, which is still struggling to find its place in the fashion world, was for many a surprising choice of location for Scott, who has only shown in his adopted hometown once. He showed in New York for five years, before returning to Paris. It was like a homecoming, Scott says. A recent runway show, called Happy Daze, had British model Agyness Deyn marching down the runway in a dress that looked like a pink Cadillac, complete with spare tire on her ass. For many, that show was the highlight of Paris fashion week. At the end he emerged triumphant onto the runway, wearing a smiley-face sweater. Naturally, the smiley-face had a bullet in the head.

British style bible i-D recently ran a 10-year retrospective of Scott’s work, calling him “bad taste personified…an i-Con for a generation...spreading bucket-loads of silliness in his wake”. Scott was featured side-by-side with model Devon Aoki, his number one muse. Scott first laid eyes on Aoki eight years ago in a Nick Knight magazine spread. She was 13, and Scott was smitten by her heart-shaped face and cushion-like lips. “My best friend when I was growing up was half Japanese,” he says. “Maybe that’s why her beauty resonated so much with me.” He had a friend of his call Storm, her agency in London, three times a day until she agreed to take part in his groundbreaking “Rich White Women” Paris show in October 1997. “I will never forget her walking in the room with her mom,” says Scott. “She has the best lips. I’m into the rarest, most unique, most precious things - and that’s her.”

There’s friends, and then there’s business. And in L.A., the only real business is show business. I ask him about his celebrity clientele, and it reads like a tabloid magazine’s wet dream. “Britney, Paris, Lindsey, Mary Kate, Ashley, Kristin, Mischa, Nicole…” he lists. “I dress rap people, I dress pop stars, I dress Kanye, Madonna and Fergie. I like to mix it up. They come to me because they know I have such diverse inspiration. I’m an anomaly.”

His greatest collaborative relationship, however, is with Bjork. She’s the one who ‘gets’ him the most, he says. “Maybe it’s because I’ve had such a long friendship with her,” he says. “She is such a pure, genius artist, with such respect for other artists.” A year ago she sent him a copy of the then-unfinished album Volta and he designed a tribal skeleton bone corset and rainbow-colored hairy skirt for her, while playing it. She wore it on stage this Spring, at the Coachella music festival in the California desert. “I am able to translate her music into clothes,” he says. “That to me is one of the most amazing things.”

Brian Lichtenberg story for Oyster magazine


The Obsessions of Brian Lichtenberg

by Caroline Ryder

Auburn-headed fashion designer Brian Lichtenberg rocks the fragile indie-junkie look so masterfully, it’s hard to believe that beneath the torn sweater and drainpipe jeans lies a clean-living rap and R&B fanatic, who thinks Ludacris is the shiz. Known for his futuristic sportswear and holographic leggings (as beloved by M.I.A.), Lichtenberg loves to shop, but eschews the trendy boutiques of Los
Angeles for the thrift stores of South Central, where security guards carry real guns and hookers flash their asses to passers by. Another anomaly - he doesn’t own a car. Raised in Los Angeles, the city of freeways and low-lying smog, he has no idea how to drive. Welcome to the topsy-turvy world of Brian Lichtenberg. Caroline Ryder writes.

Obsession # 1: M.I.A.
Lichtenberg and Sri Lankan/British rapper M.I.A. have been having a fashion love affair since the summer. She was in LA on tour for her new album Kala when a friend of his who works for her management company passed some of his hologram leggings to her…and the rest is history. M.I.A. owns more than a dozen pairs of his leggings now, and some body suits, and has worn them throughout her tour. This love affair was meant to be - two years ago, before they started their collaboration and became friends, Lichtenberg appeared as an extra in M.I.A.’s Bucky Done Gun video. “I was walking down the street with my friends and someone came up and asked us if we want to be in the video. I freaked out when I realized who it was for.” Lichtenberg and seven of his best friends were driven out to the Salton Sea, an eerie saline lake in the desert just east of Los Angeles, where the video was shot. “It was like a fun field trip,” says Lichtenberg. “And we got paid for it too.”

Obsession # 2: Thrift-shopping in South Central
When Lichtenberg was growing up, he, his mom and his brother loved to wake up early on the weekend and go to yard sales. Now he heads down to South Central, to neighbourhoods like Compton and Long Beach. It’s his little secret. “I’ve gotten all these vintage jersey tank tops and fur coats and sequined dresses there,” he says. “I have scored Christian Dior boys’ blazers, Chanel belts, all this amazing stuff.” Last time he was there, he recalls being mooned by one of the prostitutes that hang out outside cheap motels in the area. But that’s about as gnarly as it’s ever gotten, for him at least. “I have never been fucked with at all,” he says. “People have that stereotype about going to the ghetto, like something is going to happen to you. But I realized that I have never been messed with, probably because I look like a junkie.”

brianlichtenberg2.jpgObsession # 3: Ludacris and UK two-step
Lichtenberg’s look may be all stripy Kurt Cobain, when it comes to music, he veers heavily towards the urban. “I love hip hop and R&B, and any black-influenced music,” he says. He has a crush on Ludacris, whom he thinks is genius. “At the end of the day, the songs are still about money and booty and alcohol and drugs. But they are lyrically clever and funny and the beats are more progressive than in any other music that’s out there." He’s also into Ciara, Dizzee Rascal, and UK Two-Step. He says one day, he too would like to make music, probably R&B. “I would love to make music and collaborate,” says Lichtenberg. “My grandma always says I have such a nice voice.”

Obsession # 4: Going to Japan a lot
Lichtenberg hasn’t traveled much outside the US, except to Tokyo - four times. He even speaks a little Japanese, having studied it at high school (which, incidentally, was where Beverly Hills 90210 and Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series were shot.) “Growing up I had friends from all ethnic backgrounds,” says Lichtenberg. “Now when I have shows, I always want to include someone of every ethnicity. My friends call it the United Colors of Brianton.” He was raised in the L.A. suburb of Torrance, which has one of the largest Japanese ex pat communities in America. “That’s where my interest in Japanese pop culture was born,” he says. He loves to go to Little Tokyo and immerse himself in the magazine racks. “The magazines in Japan are so visually stimulating, and they showcase such amazing young talent and street style,” he says. “So much amazing shit.”

brianlichtenberg3.jpgObsession # 5:Taking the bus in LA
“I don’t drive,” says Lichtenberg. This, in LA, city of freeways, is a revolutionary statement. “I have driven, like, three times in my life. I wasn’t really into it.” These days, his assistant drives him around. But before he had that luxury, he took the bus. He would make sketches taking the bus from Torrance to the boutiques of Melrose Avenue and Vermont Avenue, where he would shop at XGirl, the store where Sonic Youth’s Kim Gordon once sold her line. Sometimes Lichtenberg would get inspired by the people he saw on the bus. And sometimes they would scare the hell out of him. “One time this guy pulled a knife,” he remembers. “He was older and there were these young gangbanger kids. He said ‘Oh, you guys think you’re tough?’ and got out this knife. It was scary. Another time this dude had a heart attack.”

LA Times story - The Bride Wore Black


THE BRIDE WORE BLACK

A pink-haired drag queen scattered rose petals before the bride as she glided toward the altar, looking every inch the goth princess – vampy eyes, raven bouffant, black veil and noir Dutch rose nosegay. She swooshed with funereal drama past her guests – burlesque diva Dita Von Teese, pop surrealist Mark Ryden and Bauhaus drummer Kevin Haskins among them. Waiting at the altar was her dapper, inky-haired groom. The DJ, lowbrow artist Tim Biskup, faded out the music – a dirge by Sigur Ros – and the wedding officiant cleared his throat. He was wearing, naturally, a giant Easter Bunny head.

Ladies, gentlemen, friends and fellow bunny lovers,” he intoned. Welcome to the wedding of Jessicka Fodera and Christian Hejnal.”

When goth rockers Fodera and Hejnal decided to get married on Valentine’s Day 2006, the usual white satin thing was definitely not happening. Fodera, known professionally as simply Jessicka, once sang with Marilyn Manson, and went on to form a noise-pop outfit called Scarling with Hejnal, a guitarist and visual effects producer at Sony. At the heart of Hollywood’s goth rock scene, they were introduced seven years ago by their mutual friend, best man Lisa Leveridge, who thought they would make a good couple because they were both “small musicians with black hair.”

Goth culture has thrived for more than 20 years, but nowhere more than in Los Angeles, where America’s first goth club, the Fetish Club, opened in the 1980s. Now there are more than 20 goth and death rock club nights a month, a goth-industrial roller skating event called Wumpskate and goth days at Disneyland. There are a slew of goth bands in Southern California, and goth clothing boutiques such as Necromance, Shrine and Panpipes selling the dramatic velvet and leather looks to devotees. Some of L.A.’s most relevant fashion designers have a goth bent, Rick Owens and L’wren Scott among them.

So a goth wedding was pretty much inevitable.

Fodera and Hejnal booked the deco-decadent Oviatt penthouse in downtown L.A. for Oct. 13, and artist friends began pouring their talents into the details – the invitations, the creepy bunny centerpieces and the goth-rock playlist.

Jessicka’s dress was a blend of influences – “Addams Family” and turn-of-the-century vintage. Costumers Adele Mildred and M’Lynn designed a silhouette that was slimmer on top and flared at the knees with a small train, made of champagne silk overlaid with black French Chantilly lace. Mildred had also made the dainty veiled doll hat worn by guest Liz McGrath, the diminutive downtown sculptor known by friends as “Bloodbath McGrath.” McGrath had, in turn, designed the dozen or so creepy little rabbit centerpieces, each ghoulish bunny elaborately attired in top hat, polka dots and pink lace collar.

Ryden’s wedding gift was a miniature portrait of the couple – a faithful adaptation of Jan Van Eyck’s “The Marriage of Giovanni Arnolfini” that was reproduced on the invitations. Gifts to the couple included a cuckoo clock, a mannequin head and an anatomically correct model of the human heart. Iconic horror comic book artist Roman Dirge gave them a framed sketch of a woman with vampire teeth and a fur-lined jacket.

It was Jessicka’s idea to have a rabbit, a symbol of fertility since pre-Christian times, officiate over the ceremony, and in his sermon, the bunny described how the star-crossed lovers first met seven years ago, on Friday the 13th. Then came the vows. Jessicka promised she would comfort Christian “in times of sorrow and insanity,” while Christian swore never to try to “restrain” his wife in any way, causing chuckles among many guests. As they slipped simple white gold wedding bands onto each other’s fingers, the couple vowed to “embrace each other – but not to the point of smothering” and to “say I love you a lot, and let go of the stupid little things.”

The mother of the bride sniffled through the ceremony. Then the bunny declared them husband and wife – and high-fived the groom.

The party was on.

The guests were fabulously attired, largely in 1940s siren style and, of course, black. There may have never been a wedding with so many black fishnet stockings, Vivienne Westwood heels and black crucifixes, unless it was in a Billy Idol video. Naturally, there was an abundance of body art, and complexions were fashionably milky.

Von Teese, who met the bride through her former husband, Manson, was a vintage vision in a 1940s clingy cap-sleeved black knit dress with tiny turquoise beads on the shoulders, Weiss costume clip earrings and a striking miniature aqua felt hat, adorned with a single saddle brown ostrich feather. In choosing her outfit, Von Teese was inspired by the 1944 classic “Cover Girl,” starring Rita Hayworth.

I don’t often get to wear top-to-toe vintage,” she said, showing off even her nylon stockings, as Biskup DJ’d on his Mac laptop.

There was a pause in the action for speeches from the best man, maid of honor and author Clint Catalyst, who waxed lyrical. (“Jessicka and Christian’s union is an integral part of an ancient umbilical cord, connecting multi-talented musicians to visual artists to writers to performers to designers, in a symbiotic relationship that academics of future days will pigeonhole as a ‘movement… .’ ”

Then Jessicka took the mic and commanded guests to “go forth and drink.” Most were happy to follow her orders.

Meet the Addamses

Jessicka and Christian had decided that once married, they would both lose their family names and start afresh. After considering Bubblestorm, Awesome, Applebottom and Deathblow, they settled on Addams, an homage to the macabre TV family. “It was time for a new bloodline,” Jessicka said with a shrug. “Plus, the name Addams just fits well, like an old goth T-shirt.”

No, their actual families weren’t horrified. Nancy Gissing, the mother of the bride, could barely contain her emotion throughout the ceremony, which she said fitted Jessicka’s personality exactly. “I would have been shocked if she’d done this any other way,” she said.

Samantha Maloney, bridesmaid and drummer for Peaches (and formerly Motley Crue and Hole), graciously assumed the role of tour guide, showing guests around the space. Surrounded by twinkling views of the L.A. cityscape, the penthouse was built by haberdasher James Oviatt in 1927, whose high-end shop once occupied the ground floor. The place oozes decadence. Oviatt and his wife, Mary, were known for their lavish soirees, and signed photographs of their friends – John Barrymore, Errol Flynn, Howard Hughes – still line the walls.

Downtown continues to be a destination for hedonists. As the Addamses and their goth royalty entourage celebrated at the Oviatt, around the corner indie folk hero Devendra Banhart was onstage at the Orpheum theater, while members of the Strokes and Mexican heartthrob Gael Garcia Bernal looked on.

At the former St. Vibiana’s cathedral, fashionistas had gathered for EcoNouveau, a green-themed runway show. And a stone’s throw away, on Santa Fe and Fourth, trance freaks dressed in garish neons and Mylar danced off the last of the playa dust at the Burning Man Decompression party. Back at the Oviatt, the music segued from Sisters of Mercy to Christian Death to Kajagoogoo. Even at this iconoclastic affair, one wedding tradition refused to die – crazy dancing. And the prize for best moves went, unsurprisingly, to the Easter Bunny, who by this point had revealed himself to be screenwriter Jeff Buhler.

When Jessicka asked me to officiate the wedding as a rabbit, I thought it was a great idea,” he said. “It exactly sums up our group of friends, you see.”

Later he made a brave attempt at the splits.

LA Times: My story about The Source fashion


BACK TO THE SOURCE

Incense lingered heavily in the air as cult members wearing silk headbands, caftans and long, long hair swayed to the sounds of YaHoWa 13, a three-man jam band rocking out with guitars and a large gong. The crowd talked about mind expansion and a new era of consciousness, while swirly visuals and flashing lights shone above them. At the end of the night, Sky Saxon, the singer for a psychedelic garage band called the Seeds, took the stage and sang “Give Peace a Chance.”

Sound like Woodstock, circa 1969? Try the Echoplex, last week.

It was the first time the Source Family, arguably the most stylish cult” of our time, had reunited in 30 years. With about 140 members, the Source was a fixture of 1970s Los Angeles. Now, a new book by former family member Isis Aquarian has brought the group back into the creative ether, inspiring some of L.A.’s hottest fashion designers and musicians.

The group was led by a man named Father Yod (pronounced “yode”), a Kundalini master and erstwhile student of Yogi Bhajan. He taught meditation, yoga and esoteric occult wisdom to his “family.” He also had 14 “spiritual wives,” drove a Rolls-Royce and owned the Source restaurant on Sunset and Sweetzer, where dishes such as Aware Salad, Aladdin’s Lamps and Magic Mushroom were served to a showbiz clientele – John Lennon, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Smokey Robinson, Frank Zappa, Cicely Tyson and Bud Cort (who briefly joined the family in the early years).

Members’ names were predictably ethereal – Mercury, Lotus, Venus, Pan and Infinity. Paris Match called the Source Family “Les Millionaire Hippies de Los Angeles,” marveling at its home, the Chandler mansion in Los Feliz, which boasted an Olympic swimming pool. The family later moved to a chic residence in Nichols Canyon overlooking Sunset Boulevard, originally built by Catherine Deneuve. (Let’s forget that there were so many of them, they had to cram into tiny pod-like sleeping areas, a precursor to Tokyo’s capsule hotels perhaps?)

The women of the Source, who included Lovely Previn (daughter of musician Andre Previn, who played violin at the Echoplex event) and the niece of Chief Justice Earl Warren, represented the stylish side of the au naturel spiritual subculture. As Jodi Wille of Process Books (which published “The Source: The Untold Story of Father Yod”) put it, these women were “incredibly sexy, cosmic rock groupies.”

Picture them in thigh-high moccasin boots, Victorian nightgowns with lace necklines and fluttery sleeves, figure-hugging panne velvet goddess gowns, off-the-shoulder robes and sheer caftans that they made themselves. The look has become so analogous to Los Angeles, you can see it on Sunset Boulevard now, any day of the week.

They had this very earthy, caftany vibe, but still they drove a Rolls-Royce, lived in a mansion and were very sophisticated about the way they lived their lives. It’s the blending of two sensibilities,” says Paula Thomas, designer of the label Thomas Wylde, who supplied caftans to Source groupies from Flaunt magazine at the Echoplex event in Echo Park. “And they had their genres, just like a seasonal fashion house.”

Even the Source children (51 in total, all born through natural childbirth) looked Renaissance Faire haute, decked out in satins and velvets. And don’t forget the slender, impossibly handsome men, who were wont to wander around with bows and arrows, looking like hippie variations on Legolas Greenleaf from “The Lord of the Rings.”

An Angeleno through and through, Father Yod often said, “Any man who does not take the time to look good is no real man,” and the male Source members duly took note, donning velvet-trimmed ponchos with custom-made “Tahuti belts.” The large round silver buckles bore Mercury/Wisdom symbols mounted on lead with solid gold centers. (Many of the Source Family’s jeweled and metal accessories were crafted by family member Sunflower.)

Fashion designer Corinne Grassini, of the offbeat Society for Rational Dress label, has picked up on some of the Source’s style cues, too. Caftans and tunics are a mainstay of her collections, as are leather belts and straps. “Actually having a connection to the physical materials and trims and leather is really important in my work,” she says. “When I was introduced to the Source Family and found out that they made all their clothes and belts by hand, I was very inspired, and felt like I was close to home.”

Influenced by esoteric traditions, Source Family members would often adopt the style of the ancients they happened to be studying at the time. Early on, it was an all-white, Essene-inspired look, which included white Mexican cotton pants, shirts and headdresses. This evolved into more colorful Greco-Roman, Atlantean and Knights Templar looks, with some Victorian lace thrown in for good measure (it was the ’70s, after all).

Sometimes when Father Yod was venturing into the outside world, or Maya, as he referred to it, he would swap his terry velour robes for a three-piece white suit, fedora and cane, looking about as superfly as a yogi could.

The book, which features 200 photos of the Source Family in their fantastical regalia, has sparked somewhat unexpected interest in the mystical group. Musician Devendra Banhart, filmmaker Wyatt Troll and music producer Rick Rubin are all, reputedly, hooked.

But not everyone at the Echoplex reunion was as taken with it all. It feels like Halloween,” remarked one attendee. Another felt uncomfortable with Father Yod’s multiple wives, some of whom were underage. Yod was, according to some sages, very much “stuck in his sex chakra.”

Mostly, though, the response among the 600 revelers was enthusiastic – something that came as a shock to most Source Family members, including Galaxy Aquarian, the family’s unofficial fashion designer.

Galaxy, who now goes by Dawn Hurwitz, created many of the looks worn by the family. All the members were uncommonly attractive, something Hurwitz ascribes to their raw food diet (“We wouldn’t even eat the food that was served in the Source restaurant – it wasn’t pure enough for us”), meditation and simple beauty regime. They wore no makeup, did not shave their bodies, partook of regular salt scrubs by the pool, used Dr. Bronner’s organic soap (“for everything”) and treated their hair with Nature’s Gate Herbal Hair Conditioner. “For long hair it is the best, and it smells really great,” says Hurwitz. I still use it.”

Homespun, a company based in Culver City at the time, was the favorite fabric house of the Source Family. “They made this heavy cloth from thick fiber and natural, unbleached cotton, and we liked that,” said Hurwitz. “It was heavy, so it worked well for robes.”

One day, after years of dressing almost entirely in white, Father Yod decided the family should inject some color into their lives. “It was like Dorothy opening the door from black and white into Technicolor,” Hurwitz recalls. “I sat in the room with YaHoWha (the moniker later taken by Father Yod), and he wanted me to go to International Silks & Woolens and buy velvets in the colors he saw us wearing. He chose gold for me.”

By this point, Hurwitz was making clothes for the outside world. She was commissioned to make a pair of opulent blue flared pants with rhinestones for Elliot Mintz, radio host, friend to Lennon and Yoko Ono, and current publicist for Paris Hilton.

Hurwitz also made the garnet velvet robe and black sleeveless over-robe Father Yod was wearing when he plummeted to his death on Aug. 25, 1975, after attempting to hang-glide from a sheer cliff in Hawaii. While he was in mid-air, the wind simply stopped.

Without their father, the family lost direction and, eventually, their trademark look. In late 1975, after the restaurant was sold, Hurwitz and other family members launched the Crabtree Fashions clothing line, but it never got off the ground. The Source dispersed in 1979, and Hurwitz returned to her native Chicago, where she opened a boutique. She also made costumes for rock bands such as the Ministry, dressing front man Al Jourgensen during his more romantic sartorial moment.

She moved to Hawaii in 1989, opening a metaphysical bookstore and cafe before starting her current business, selling and servicing Mac computers. She says she would love to design clothes again. But these days, Hurwitz doesn’t wear caftans. She prefers a more fitted look.

LA Weekly archives: Granny Chic



The Maude Squad

Our tribute to Harold’s gal, the ultimate granny-chic icon

Caroline Ryder

Published on March 30, 2006

I met my granny for the first time in October 2004. She lives in São Paulo, Brazil, in a bullet-riddled cement block in a neighborhood called Wobbly Frog. And like all Brazilian women, she looked hot.

She’s nearly 90 — yet there was something daring about her knee-length stripy wool socks. An elegance to the way she tucked her silver hair inside a brightly patterned knotted head scarf. Nothing she wore matched, yet she was far from dowdy. Her mix of garish greens and mustard yellows, her wools and her nylons — those things to me spelled insouciance, quirkiness, an innocent joie de vivre. That moment marked the beginning of my appreciation for “granny chic,” the frumpy-is-fabulous style that makes it cool for youngsters to rock visors, gloves, brooches, netted hats, string pearls, alligator handbags and face-eating glasses. And don’t forget the Kleenex. Never forget the Kleenex. Because the key to granny chic, the thing that separates it from plain vintage, is practicality. Grannies wear their knickers big and their shoes orthopedic — and they don’t give a damn.

The phenomenon was spawned, some say, when Prada found its new muse — old Italian peasant ladies — and fashion entered what Vogue would dub its “senior moment.” Skirts skimmed the knees, and youthful celebrities sported fashions that wouldn’t have looked out of place in their nanny’s closet. The Olsen Twins wouldn’t leave the house without their long string pearls or oversize beads. And remember Christina Aguilera’s Norma Desmond–esque head wrap? In 2004 Katie Grand, the British über-stylist working with Prada and Miu Miu in New York, announced the new crop of style icons: Margaret Thatcher, the Queen of England and TV detective Miss Marple. (And if you’re a guy, it’s Sherlock Holmes — time to dig out Grandpa’s houndstooth and pipe.)

Some say that granny chic is a backlash against the hoochie-mama-show-me-more-skin/Paris Hilton celebutante phenomenon. They call it a return to modesty. Maybe it’s no coincidence that in a time obsessed with aging, dressing like seniors has become de rigueur among the youth. Either way, now it appears we are entering the second wave of granny chic, as announced by Vogue last month. “The new granny chic is all about appliqué and eyelet. Spring’s catwalks have been flowing with clothes apparently made from tablecloths.” Marc Jacobs, Chloe and Dolce & Gabbana sent their models mincing down the catwalk in pristine eyelet lace — “broderie anglaise” — and linens.

The new senior styles are, according to Vogue, more elegant than before. Looking like a curtain may be their fresh and dainty new take on granny garmentry, but frankly I’m a purist, a fan of the old-skool granny who, like Ruth Gordon in Harold and Maude (the ultimate hot granny), looks sexier than hell in her musty faux furs, sagging stockings and clashing nylons. Echo Park stylist Charon Nogues, who rocks the AARP chic better than anyone I know, agrees, and came up with the following recommendations on junior-senior fashions for 2006:

If you’re going granny, your trouser should always be high-waisted and wide-legged. “Grannies don’t like things clinging to their pendulous bodies,” says Nogues. “And the high waist makes your legs appear longer and your ass smaller. Think sailor pants.” As for materials, it’s rayon, rayon, rayon all the way. Buy a cloche — a small 1920s felt hat that clings to the head, kind of like a skullcap. “Mark my words, that’s gonna be a hot item,” says Nogues. Basically, any hat with a feather or a veil says elegant granny. Don’t forget wide-brimmed gardening hats for the summer. The 1920s, 1940s and 1970s are key decades when you are putting together your granny-chic look. “Those eras celebrated bold patterns and simple construction. And the best part is, you can mix and match the decades to come up with a totally original granny ensemble.” Good pairings are ’20s with ’70s styles, or ’40s with ’70s. 2006 granny-chic hair is all about the finger wave — the Marcel. Think Charlize Theron at the Oscars, or Christina Aguilera of late and Maggie Gyllenhaal all the time. “The Marcel is a classic hairstyle that lends itself to granny chic if you wear it with a cloche, a big sweater and some clumpy shoes,” says Nogues. If you are going for the Palm Springs granny look, then a visor is essential (Prada put their models in visors and saggy gray stockings for a recent ad campaign). The truly committed should buy BluBlockers, preferably purchased from QVC. As for colors, always go bold and primary. Red-orange is hot right now, and green is a granny perennial. It doesn’t have to be putrid algae green — think crocodile green, avocado green . . . But the key to making granny chic sexy is to always wear garters. And here’s Nogues’ insider secret — buy designer tights and cut them off at the top. “The better made they are the less likely they are to run,” says Nogues. At night, you could try a little silk chemise worn beneath a kimono, à la Maude. And keep a boy toy in your bed at all times. Lastly, remember granny chic is not just fashion — it’s a way of life. While we’re not suggesting anyone wear Depends or carry mothballs, you should at the very least brush up on your granny lingo (it’s not a dress, darling, it’s a frock), watch British soap opera Coronation Street (character Hilda Ogden, who was always in a pinny, curlers and head scarf, is a granny-chic icon across the pond), and whatever you do, don’t forget the Kleenex . . .

LA Weekly archives...my Cory Kennedy story


Cory's World

Caroline Ryder

Published on August 03, 2006

Cory Kennedy, ubiquitous club urchin and object of desire for fashion-mag hags everywhere, is hanging with her buddies after The Like show at MoCA. One of them is designer Jeremy Scott. “Cory’s the It Girl!” he announces. Then, pointing to her boyfriend, nightlife photographer Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter, he adds, “She’s always being hounded by the paparazzi!” Giggles all ’round.

A blonde girl is hanging out with them, and I ask how she knows Cory. “I just met her tonight,” she drawls. “We’re really close now.” She turns to Cory and asks how it feels to be a celebrity. Cory brushes a tendril of matted brown hair from her eyes and pauses. “I don’t really think about it.”

Away from the group, we sit facing each other, cross-legged on the edge of the MoCA fountain. The New York Times interviewed Cory the other week. It must have been kinda surreal, I suggest, especially because she’s only 16.

“I can’t even grasp it yet,” she says, all big eyes and spindly legs, like a foal. She tells me they asked her about her childhood, her fashion sense and the controversial nature of being her.

Controversial?

“I think that’s why I’ve gotten so much attention, because I’m so controversial,” she explains. “People either love me, or they hate me, hate me, hate me.”

She twiddles a ’90s-rapper-style gold chain, which she wears over a Marc Jacobs T-shirt dress, worn backward. A metallic American Apparel boob tube glimmers beneath the giant armholes. A Marc Jacobs scarf is tied around her right bicep and her flat gladiator sandals — Salvation Army, $4.50 — are falling apart. One is held together by a hair band.

Why does she think people hate her?

“Maybe it’s ’cause most celebrities are, like, perfect,” she ventures. “They have their hair brushed and their makeup done and no bruises on their legs . . . and I’m like BLEURRRRGH!”

Then there are those who hate on her for being, as Gawker.com put it, “a malnourished teenager who dresses like she raided her retarded grandma’s basement and does nothing with her wasted life but pose for pictures on a Web site and hang out and live off her parents while waiting to get famous for some as-yet-unrevealed talent.” Ouch.

Either way, Cory’s life has changed dramatically ever since The Cobrasnake made her his intern and splashed photos of her all over his Web site. A latter-day Bianca Jagger in ballet flats, she’s the one with the messy long brown hair, the crooked smile and the glass of white wine perpetually in hand. Now she gets MySpace messages from admirers all over the world, and fashion bloggers in Europe, Australia and South America have been asking “Who is Cory Kennedy?”

Apparently, the worldwide Cory craze started in the Netherlands.

“They were the first international place that started giving me attention,” Cory says. “Then it went to Spain, and then London, and blah blah blah . . . and Australia kinda came last, and Canada’s chillin’.?”

People usually ask her about her age, and her clothes. She says her biggest fashion inspirations are Jean-Luc Godard’s À Bout de Souffle, the 1920s through the ’40s, Twiggy, Edie Sedgwick and Kurt Cobain. She loves to mix vintage with designer, and lists her favorites: Chanel, Oscar de la Renta, Marni, Jeremy Scott, Isabel Marant, André Courrèges, Obesity & Speed, Pierre Cardin, Tsumori Chisato and Mary Ping.

She tells me she’s especially excited to be working with Jeremy Scott on his next collection. “I bring him stuff and say, ‘Look at this!’?”

I wonder where Cory gets the money to buy designer clothes. “My parents are good to me,” she says, adding, “But I’m good to them.”

She lives in Santa Monica and has a twin sister (not identical) who doesn’t go out clubbing like she does. She also has two younger sisters, ages 14 and 13. Her folks run education programs for adults who did not complete high school. They don’t want Cory to end up one of their pupils.

She agrees, and plans on getting her high school diploma before pursuing her career, probably in fashion. Her parents are vaguely aware that she has a following, but “they don’t really understand. It’s kind of weird because I say, ‘Yeah, I kinda have some fan sites and stuff,’ and they’re like, ‘That’s cool.’?”

Cory’s starting to get fidgety. We wander back into the courtyard, while she tells me about some haters who have been posting mean things about her on livejournal.com. Then she spots Mark and yells his name with extraordinary force for one so petite. He comes over. There’s a party downtown, he says. There’s a possibility it may be lame, and they carefully weigh their options. It’s a tough call — after all, Cory isn’t even supposed to be out. Turns out she’s grounded.

Yuri manga story for The Advocate


Lost in Translation
What’s not gay about girl-on-girl comic book love? In Japan, everything. Caroline Ryder explores the elusive world of lesbian manga.
By Caroline Ryder

America’s appetite for all things Japanese is voracious -- sushi, karaoke, Hello Kitty. In the past seven years our Nipponese fixation has turned toward manga, comic books that have a distinctive Asian aesthetic and are published in innumerable genres, including romance, action-adventure, horror -- even sexuality.

In 2007 manga sales represented 56% of the revenue of all graphic novels sold in the United States. And things have been particularly good for manga in film lately: Warner Bros. put out Speed Racer earlier this year, and 20th Century Fox is adapting Dragon Ball for a 2009 release. U.S. publishing houses HarperCollins and Random House have teamed up with manga publishers.

Manga is so vast that there is an entire subgenre portraying love between girls. Yuri -- which literally translates as “lily” -- can revolve around anything from hard-core sex between impossibly pneumatic girl characters to sweet tales of schoolgirl crushes, where hand-holding is as racy as things get. And while you’d be forgiven for thinking yuri is a gay story written for a gay audience, the Japanese would likely disagree. In a country where homosexuality is still very much taboo, even the most conservative of Japanese parents are OK with their daughters reading yuri manga because the comics aren’t viewed as “gay.” (For the record, there are also boy-boy manga love stories, called yaoi. Raw in their depiction of romantic and sexual relationships between males, they’re primarily read by straight women in Japan.)

This cultural coyness may be attributed to the concept of tatemono honmono, a term for the space between what things appear to be and what they really are, says Erica Friedman, founder of ALC Publishing, the world’s only all-yuri publisher. “In Japan there’s intense societal pressure to live life as a straight person, more than any Westerner could conceive,” says Friedman, who is also president of Yuricon, a convention that celebrates yuri in anime and manga. “Yuri is accepted—so long as it’s perceived as being this fantasy world.”

To the contemporary Western mind, this nuance can be perplexing. In his book Japanamerica, Roland Kelts explains that “the strict codes of etiquette that govern daily life in Japan also allow for an extraordinary degree of creative and social permissiveness: the freedom to explore other identities.” So while a married woman may be able to explore her sexuality freely and without reproach by reading yuri on the subway, that freedom ends as soon as she turns the last page.

Take First Love Sisters, a classically sweet and innocent manga that, like so many yuri stories, is set in a school. The story revolves around Kizaki Haruna, a mysterious brunet teenager, and Chika Matsuzato, a younger student who develops an intense, somewhat obsessive, crush on her. “The instant I met Haruna-san,” Matsuzato gushes, “it seemed somehow warm, as though the very atmosphere had changed.” It’s romantic stuff, culminating in Kizaki licking ice cream from Chika’s face. But that doesn’t mean it’s a lesbian story, says illustrator Mizuo Shinonome. “Womanhood…is delicate, and changes so much with things like marriage and giving birth,” she writes at the end of First Love Sisters. “Love between two women might be seen as ephemeral, shining and gentle.” Shining and gentle it may be, but ephemeral? The assumption that lesbian relationships are the stuff of schoolgirls, merely fleeting fancies, is clear.

First Love Sisters is published in the United States by Seven Seas Entertainment, one of a handful of mainstream manga publishing houses translating yuri Japanese titles for the American market. The steady growth in demand for yuri reflects the larger manga boom in the States. While there are no statistics specifically for yuri titles, total U.S. manga sales in 2007 amounted to more than $220 million, according to Publishers Weekly. Cultural theorists like Roland Kelts say interest in manga was fostered after 9/11, when American readers were able to relate to the postapocalyptic narratives the comics often contain. Whatever the impetus, the fascination is likely to continue, particularly as Hollywood studios, insatiably hungry for a new supply of action heroes, turn to Japan for inspiration.

“I’d love to see more yuri content out there,” says Lillian Diaz-Przybyl, a senior editor at Tokyopop, the second largest publisher of translated manga in the United States. Tokyopop published 12 Days, a dark, deeply emotional graphic novel by South Korean expat artist June Kim about a woman who mourns the death of her female lover by consuming her ashes in the form of smoothies for 12 days. Boy-boy yaoi has established a stronger readership in the States, Diaz says, possibly due to larger demand for male-related themes but also because of continuing misunderstanding of what yuri actually means. “Some people think it’s lesbian porn geared toward men -- and that kind of manga does exist -- but there’s much more to it,” she says.

Riyoko Ikeda, who is largely regarded as a yuri godmother in manga circles, in 1972 created The Rose of Versailles, one of the first manga comics to contain girl-girl themes and the first translated manga to be available commercially in North America. It tells the story of Oscar, a handsome girl who dresses as a boy and serves the leader of Marie Antoinette’s palace guards. Most of the female courtiers have a crush on the dashing Oscar and become jealous whenever she’s seen with female escorts. The Rose of Versailles was adapted for the stage by the Takarazuka Revue, a regional Japanese theater where women play both male and female characters. Takarazuka fans are known for fawning over the actresses, and as with yuri, parents see it as a safe fantasy, having nothing to do with actually being gay.

Fast-forward to late 2006, when Ebine Yamaji’s manga Love My Life became a popular feature film starring one of Japan’s hottest model-actresses, Asami Imajuku. Now available in the U.S. from Wolfe Video, the film provides a positive portrayal of lesbian life in Japan and has an ultraprogressive L Word feel to it. The plot focuses on Ichiko, an out lesbian college student who p finds out that her father is gay and her mom is a lesbian; Ichiko herself spends plenty of time rolling around in bed with her beautiful female lover, Eri.

Yet in a July 2007 interview with Tokyo Wrestling (a Japanese website promoting lesbian and queer culture), Yamaji denied having had any gay friends or acquaintances when she was writing Love My Life. She claims she had never met an out lesbian until after she made the film. And when asked what she thought about lesbian life in Japan she replied, “I really don’t know enough about anything to give my opinion.” Whether tatemono honmono was at work or Yamaji is a straight woman with an astoundingly deep understanding of lesbian culture is debatable. But her statement makes clear that lesbianism isn’t something discussed in polite conversation in Japan.

Mari Morimoto, a professional manga translator and self-identified queer woman living in New York City, says that because of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” nature of lesbian culture in Japan, it’s almost impossible to make generalizations about the relationships readers have with yuri. “Remember -- yuri is very specific, and yet it is very vague,” Morimoto says.

But in America, teens have the freedom to view manga as more than receptacles of repressed sexual feelings. Morimoto says manga and anime conventions in the United States like Otakon and AnimeNext can turn into places where young gay and trans people use the manga fantasy as a stepping stone toward coming out. In that way manga actually helps prepare them for gay life in the real world.

“At these conventions the environment is always very accepting and open,” she says. “You can cross-dress as an alien character and no one will bat an eyelid. As you can imagine, it’s a totally freeing experience.”

Swindle mag: Don La Fontaine (RIP)

Don LaFontaine

By Caroline Ryder
Photo By Aaron Farley

Don LaFontaine

You may not know his name, and you probably don’t recognize his face, but you’ve undoubtedly heard the voice of Don LaFontaine. His is the deep, ominous baritone behind countless movie trailer clichés, from “in a world beyond time” to “nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” Somehow, these clichés take on a new poignancy when whispered by LaFontaine in the darkness of a movie theater. “My philosophy is that you have to really believe what you’re reading, even if you think the film’s a piece of junk,” says LaFontaine. “Even the worst picture is someone’s favorite film, and that someone is the fan I am always talking to.”

Nicknamed “Thunder Throat” and “The Voice of God,” Don LaFontaine sounds like a nine-foot-tall, cigar-smoking commando. In real life, the man behind The Voice is a very human 5’8”, blessed with Sean Connery eyebrows and a perfectly bald head. His regular speaking voice is clear and steady, with a strong dash of Olivier—but when he turns on The Voice, it’s as though Jehovah himself is commanding you from the clouds. “I think there’s a part of my voice that lives in its own frequency range,” says LaFontaine. “I can be whispering, and my voice will still cut through the sound of a car explosion. There’s only a few of us who can do that.”

And that’s why LaFontaine is the highest paid trailer narrator in Hollywood, and, until recently, has held a virtual monopoly on his niche for nearly four decades. Some of his classic trailers include Fatal Attraction (“A look that led to an evening, a mistake he’d regret all his life”), 2001: A Space Odyssey (“A shrieking monolith deliberately buried by an alien intelligence”), The Terminator (“In the 21st century, a weapon would be invented like no other”), and Rambo (“They knew he was innocent, and they didn’t give a damn”), as well as The Godfather, Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, Doctor Zhivago, M.A.S.H., The Untouchables, Ghostbusters, Batman, and many, many more, totaling around 3,500. It’s easy to understand why they call him the “busiest actor in Hollywood.” Until 20 years ago, LaFontaine also often wrote the trailers he narrated, studying movie rushes and distilling the plotline into a two-minute narrative.

LaFontaine started his showbiz career as a recording engineer. He became a trailer narrator when, in 1964, he filled in for a voice actor who was unavailable to finish the trailer for a Western called Gunfighters of Casa Grande. The filmmakers loved his melodramatic approach, and by 1970 LaFontaine was the most imitated trailer narrator in Hollywood.

LaFontaine sees himself as a storyteller, and possesses a genuine reverence for the power of words. It stems back to the first time he read Cyrano de Bergerac as a young man. “Since then, I have been enchanted by words,” he says. “But we don’t have great orators anymore, people who can stand up and inspire.” He takes issue with fellow storytellers, most notably those in the rap world. “What’s wrong with that Ludacris fellow?” he asks. “I think some rap music is very poignant, but I also see it contributing to the complete breakdown of communication. Words are mispronounced, beaten up, and misspelled just for the sake of misspelling them. Rap is reducing thoughts to the simplest Neanderthal grunts.”

LaFontaine predicts that trailer narrating will evolve toward a soothing, more everyman style in the future. One of the biggest thrills, he says, would be for the next big trailer narrator to be a woman. “I think women are vastly under-represented in this area,” he asserts. “You’d think that for films directly aimed at women, chick flicks, the logical choice would be for a woman to narrate the trailer. But the studios hold focus groups and the people in them—women included—seem to prefer the male voice.” LaFontaine was recording up to 10 trailers a day during his busiest period, being ferried around the studios in his own chauffeurdriven limo. These days, he takes things a little easier, working from home at about “two-thirds the speed” he worked at 10 years ago. There are also more narrators on the scene, people like Ashton Smith and George Del Hoyo, but there’s no denying that LaFontaine forged the path being trodden by the new generation. “I don’t think that there will ever be another career quite like mine,” he says. “It can’t be duplicated. I came into the field of movie promos just as it was being born. I had the opportunity to work in virtually every narrative style, mostly reading copy that I had written or co-written. Many of the younger narrators of today grew up hearing me. And right or wrong, it became sort of a template for how trailers should be read.”

Swindle mag: Black Panther Bobby Seale

Of all the revolutionary groups to emerge from the 1960s’ counterculture, one of the most compelling—and certainly the most badass—was the Black Panthers. With their shotguns, berets, raised fists, and angry anti-police rhetoric, this group of armed African Americans captured the imagination of both black and white disaffected youth, sparking a new racial consciousness and riling the FBI like never before. Two men started it all: former Air Force mechanic Bobby Seale and charismatic lawyer Huey P. Newton. Together, they created the largest Black Power organization America has ever seen.

Born Robert George Seale in 1936 in Dallas, Texas, Bobby Seale was raised by his carpenter father and devout Christian mother. Seven years later, the family moved to Oakland, California. Bobby failed to graduate from high school, and instead enlisted in the Air Force. He was eventually discharged for refusing to accept military discipline. On returning to Oakland, he enrolled in Merritt Junior College, where he met Newton. The civil rights movement was starting to explode, and in 1966, inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X, Newton and Seale founded the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense.
Angry at police brutality against Blacks in Oakland, Seale and Newton decided it was time to raise arms. They penned a manifesto, the Ten-Point Program. The seventh point demanded “an end to police brutality and murder of Black people.” Armed with guns (back then, it was legal for citizens to carry weapons for self-defense), law books, and tape recorders, they began patrolling the streets of Oakland, their sole purpose being to observe and document police interactions with Black people. It was the first time the community had stood up against institutionalized racism in this way. “If you read our Ten-Point Platform, you’ll see we weren’t that different from other civil rights organizations,” says Seale. “Except we had guns.”
The Panthers became icons among the many leftist, militant groups at the time due in part to their trademark uniform, born when Seale saw Newton wearing a black leather sport jacket, black slacks, a starched blue shirt, shined shoes and “pimp socks” – sheer black socks. “I said ‘Huey, that’s it, that’s it, man! That’s our uniform! Our people are black and blue after being oppressed and bullied. So our colors will be black and blue.’” They added berets, inspired by old movies Seale had watched about the black-capped members of the French underground resistance during World War II.
“We needed a uniform,” says Seale. “As I told Huey, the low-income African-American community will not accept hippies as the leaders of their community. We have to be neat and respectable and organized.”
The Panthers achieved national notoriety in 1967 after storming the California State Capitol in Sacramento with their shotguns while Governor Ronald Reagan was talking to children outside. The Panthers were protesting a bill that would ban people from carrying loaded guns in public places. They had planned on marching into the spectator section, but ended up taking a wrong turn—onto the floor of the California State Assembly. “Suddenly we look around and all these legislators are ducking under their seats,” says Seale. “I was raised to be polite, so I said, ‘Oh sir, I am sorry. We are in the wrong goddamn place!’” Seale was charged with disturbing the peace, and jailed for six months.
That October, Newton was involved in a shoot-out with police and charged with killing an officer. During the three years Newton was behind bars, Seale oversaw the expansion of the party from 400 to 5,000 members nationwide, with a surge following the assassination of Martin Luther King in April 1968.
As the Panthers expanded, the government became increasingly nervous, and instructed the FBI to “neutralize” the Panthers and other Black Power groups as part of the COINTELPRO program. More than 2,000 people were arrested in FBI raids on Panther offices. In one, New York Panther leader Fred Hampton was drugged, shot, and killed in a joint police operation with the FBI while other party members were dragged into the street, beaten, and then charged with assault. The FBI tried to destroy the party from within, breaking up relationships and planting agents provocateurs within the Panthers’ midst. “They used to come inside our organization and do dumb shit that had nothing to do with the policies of the Black Panthers,” says Seale. He believes one member, Bill Brent, who held up a gas station and drove away in a truck with the words “Black Panthers” on the side, was almost certainly a plant. “The letters spelling ‘Black Panthers’ were a foot and a half high on the truck. It sure was funny.”
Seale was himself jailed in the aftermath of violent anti-war protests at the August 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. He was one of the Chicago Eight, charged with conspiracy and incitement to riot. During the trial, Seale was bound and gagged after calling Judge Julius Hoffman a “fascist dog” and a “pig.” He was sentenced to four years in prison for contempt of court.
Meanwhile, cracks were starting to appear within the Panthers’ ranks. Where Newton and Seale preached power to all oppressed peoples, not just Blacks, some factions were clearly leaning towards extreme Black Nationalism. Information Minister Eldridge Cleaver, for instance, had gone so far as to condone the rape of white women, calling it “an insurrectionary act.” The ideological split, combined with continuing pressure from the authorities, led to the demise of the Black Panther Party in the early ‘70s. In the Panthers’ lifetime, 34 members were killed and 69 wounded, and 15 police officers were allegedly killed by Panthers. Nine Black Panthers remain in jail today, and Seale is the only surviving founding member.
After the Panthers disbanded, Seale continued to work as an activist and public lecturer. He has written three books: Seize the Time and A Lonely Rage, both memoirs of his life as a Black Panther, and Barbeque’N With Bobby, a collection of traditional Southern and Western barbeque recipes, with proceeds going toward education and employment programs for Black youth.
Today, Seale lives in Philadelphia, where he devotes much of his time to lecturing and R.E.A.C.H., an organization he founded to teach young people how to organize. He still receives hate mail from people saying the Black Panther Party was nothing more than “the Black man’s Ku Klux Klan.” This couldn’t be further from the truth, says Seale. “From day one, the establishment media called us a paramilitary organization that hated all white folks. But we didn’t. We had working coalitions with leftist white organizations. The media simply liked to project us as a menacing threat because we had guns, and because violence sells.”
Seale worries about the resurgence of extreme Black Nationalist groups in America, two of which use “Black Panthers” in their name. “It makes me mad,” he says. “They have hijacked an organization that I founded and created.” As far as he’s concerned, the Panthers were less about skin color and more about human liberation as a whole. “Remember: the Black Panthers stood for all power, to all the people.”

In Variety, Project Runway's LA Talent


'Runway' shines light on L.A. designers

Reality show features rising West Coast couturiers


It may be shot in Manhattan, but "Project Runway" -- Bravo's competitive reality show that pits 15 aspiring fashion designers against one another -- is giving America a healthy dose of L.A. style. How so? Through its characters.

Remember Jeffrey Sebelia, the tattooed teetotaler who won season three? Santino Rice, the all-singing, all-dancing eccentric? What about Nick Verreos, the bolero-jacket loving dandy; Rami Kashou, the suave red carpet whiz (and season four runner-up); and Kit Pistol, the Silver Lake indie goddess? And let's not forget Sweet P, Kara Saun, Raymundo Baltazar, Andrae Gonzalo and the rest. All hail from L.A.

With season five to air in July, nearly a quarter of "Project Runway" alums to date are Angelenos, outnumbering contingencies from anywhere else in the country.

Perhaps this should come as no surprise; in a city that values showmanship over talent, "Project Runway" represents a smart career move for entertainers with sound sewing skills. When "Project Runway" moves from Bravo to Lifetime for its sixth season this fall, expect even more Tinsel Town -- Lifetime plans on shooting part of the show in Los Angeles.

"I'll admit, before 'Project Runway' I didn't know much about L.A. as a fashion center," says Tim Gunn, the show's resident onscreen Yoda. "Other than the leading costume designers like Adrian, and Edith Head, nothing about L.A. was in my vocabulary. But now I feel that you can't responsibly talk about American fashion without thinking about L.A."

A former chair of fashion design at Parsons and current CCO at Liz Claiborne, Gunn attends all the "Project Runway" open calls in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago and Miami. "There's a slickness in many ways to the Los Angeles crowd, and a sense of savvy about the entertainment industry," he says. "In New York there's a little more naivety about what being on the show is about."

"Project Runway" casting judge Jen Egen, who is national VP of arts organization GenArt, believes the show reflects L.A.'s fashion eclecticism. "If you look at Nick's line and Santino's line and Rami's and Jeffrey's lines -- they are all very different. I mean, Jeffrey works in leather and boning, and Nick will do bolero jackets and gold lame."

Both Jeffrey Sebelia and Rami Kashou have found that publicity generated from the show has propelled their businesses to new heights. Others, like Nick Verreos, are carving second careers as media fashion commentators. After being ejected from the show, Santino Rice gained representation and became a spokesperson for Saturn cars, and has performed his now-infamous Tim Gunn impersonations on college campuses around the country. Other "PR" graduates are carrying on from where they left off. And all have stayed in L.A.

Sebelia was a Hollywood production designer and art director before venturing into fashion. Filming in New York City was what put him off ever living there, even though Seventh Avenue is widely known as the fashion epicenter of America. "Ever tried lowering a couch down 44 floors in the snow?" he asks. "Why would I spend my life battling that?"

Even before "Project Runway," he had a successful fashion line -- thanks in part to the contacts he'd made in the film biz. "I knew a lot of fashion stylists from working in film," he says. "So when I started designing clothes, I called them up and they helped get my clothes into the right hands."

Sebelia says he enjoys "a lot more latitude" with his Cosa Nostra fashion line since winning "Project Runway." "When I started five years ago, I was doing handmade pieces and selling them individually to stores and celebrities," he says. (Dave Navarro, Gwen Stefani and Billy Bob Thornton were fans.) "But my label had become pigeon-holed as inaccessibly priced. The show has allowed me to develop a broader range, for a wider audience." As well as Cosa Nostra, Sebelia is now working on a new (and as-yet-unnamed) higher-end line, comprising custom evening gowns and dresses. "Just don't call it 'couture,' though, OK?" he says. "That is the most misused word in the world."

Likewise, Kashou already had generated a following before appearing on "Runway" -- he had shown collections at L.A. Fashion Week, and his designs were being worn by the likes of Dita Von Teese and Jessica Alba. "I knew I didn't need to move to New York to widen my reach -- I just needed extra exposure," he says. Enter "Project Runway." Since appearing on the show, demand for his draped, custom-made evening and wedding gowns has exploded, and Kashou has added to his list of celebrity clientele -- even "Project Runway" host Heidi Klum has ordered four dresses from Kashou.

He was invited to create a dress for HSN (the 350 pieces sold out in four minutes), and gowns he created for the "Project Runway" finale will be featured in the third annual "Outstanding Art of Television Costume Design" exhibit, being held in downtown L.A. this summer. (He had to purchase his own dresses back from the Weinstein Co. -- which owns the "Project Runway" franchise -- as the designers do not own the garments they make on the show.) Nonetheless, "If I had not had that exposure, I might not have gotten these kinds of opportunities," Kashou says.

Verreos, a season two alum and founder of the fashion line Nikolaki, agrees. "My whole life and business have changed," he says. "Things are now very different in terms of calling stores or making appointments with publicists and stylists. Five years ago it would be 'Nick who?' Now they're calling me."

Since appearing on the show, Verreos, who also teaches fashion design at Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising, has signed a deal with MSN.com to be a fashion commentator on its "Style Studio" site. And this year, Marlee Matlin wore one of his gowns to the Oscars, something of which Verreos is justly proud. It's known that while actresses may let L.A.-based designers dress them for smaller events, they still turn to the European couture houses when it comes to the most important red carpet of all -- the one outside the Kodak Theater.