Remembering Soho with Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin

Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin 

strolling round Soho in 1977

 

 

I. 

 

There are two main reasons why I love this photo. 

Firstly, it features two of my favourite people: Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg; the English rose and French homme de génie, in London for the UK opening of Je t'aime moi non plus (1976), a film written, directed, and scored by the latter and starring the former as a love-starved, rather vulnerable and androgynous-looking young woman called Johnny [1].

 

And secondly, it affords us a glimpse of a lost world: for not only are Birkin and Gainsbourg now no longer with us, but the Soho they stroll through has also disappeared (or been significantly transformed by gentrification). 

 

 

II. 

 

Taken on Broadwick Street in the spring of 1977, at the north end of Berwick Street Market, where Jane has been buying the apples she carries in her new straw basket, one can see the Blue Posts pub in the background, next to the ladies dress shop, Hilda.  

 

The former is still there, nearly fifty years later - just as it was there fifty years earlier - styling itself now as a proper London boozer, complete with a tiled exterior, carpeted floor, and banquette seats. Smokers are now legally required to stand outside, but dogs are more than welcome inside [2]. 

 

The latter, however, is sadly not still there - and I'm guessing the little Jewish woman who owned and gave her name to the shop is also dead and buried (though I'd be pleased to discover otherwise). 

 

Back in the day, Berwick Street was as much known for its dress makers, tailors and fabric shops as it was for its fresh fruit and veg market and I was once told that many of the local prostitutes would buy their undergarments from Hilda, or purchase items for clients who liked to experiment with transvestism (and as many of Hilda's pieces were one-offs they always looked special) [3].

 

 

III. 

 

I have a personal reason to remember Hilda, because, a decade or so after this photo was taken, I began working in the first floor rooms she rented out and which served as the office of Red Moon; a tiny business established by an old hippie called Bob Moon, selling all manner of rock and pop merchandising (from badges, patches, and belt buckles, to postcards, calendars, and T-shirts).

 

Readers might also be interested to know that on the second floor, worked an old Hungarian seamstress who used to make shirts for various stars of film and TV at that time, such as the Scottish actor Robbie Coltrane.       

 

And next door to Hilda's - although unfortunately not captured on the photo reproduced here - was a traditional fish 'n' chip shop above which was (an equally traditional) walk-up, where a young model called Monica would entertain gentlemen callers [3].

 

I'm not sure these days gone by can best be described as happy, but Gainsbourg was right, I think, to describe the London he knew and loved at this time as the most exotic city on earth.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The film is a sexually explicit story of a love triangle involving Birkin's character and two gay garbage truck drivers, Krassky and Padovan (played by Joe Dallesandro and Hugues Quester respectively). Released in France in March 1976, the film received poor reviews and was branded by some critics as immoral. Having said that, François Truffaut - one of the founders of the cinematic French New Wave - praised the movie.

      Readers who wish to know more might be interested in a text by Jack Sargeant, the British writer who specialises in cult, underground, and/or independent films, entitled 'Hot, Hard Cocks and Tight, Tight Unlubricated Assholes: Transgression, Sexual Ambiguity and "Perverse" Pleasures in Serge Gainsbourg's Je t’aime moi non plus', in Senses of Cinema, Issue 30 (February, 2004): click here.

 

[2]  The Blue Posts, 22, Berwick Street, Soho, London W1: visit their website by clicking here. 

 

[3] A Soho walk-up is a small studio flat used by a female sex worker for the purposes of prostitution. The flats, located on the upper floors of buildings above shops and other businesses, are accessed by a staircase from a door on the street. No appointment is necessary (i.e., they operate on a first served first come basis).

      Walk-ups, which were characteristic of the sex industry in Soho in the 1960s, '70s, and 80's, have since rapidly disappeared like so much else in the 21st-century.

 

 

Bonus: click here to watch the official trailer to a restored and re-released (2019) version of Gainsbourg's film Je t'aime moi non plus.  

 

 

Dinner with Malcolm at L'Escargot

Malcolm McLaren enjoying a glass of wine in 1984 [1].

 

 

I.

L'Escargot is London's oldest - arguably finest and most famous - French restaurant [2].

 

Housed in a mid-18th century Georgian townhouse and located in the heart of Soho, L'Escargot was established by snail-loving Georges Gaudin, a painted sculpture of whom still sits astride a giant snail outside the restaurant to this day (see image below).

Ella Alexander - no relation - provides an excellent description in a review piece for Harper's Bazaar:

 

"If L'Escargot were a person, it would be a wealthy French dandy never seen without his cane, cravat or cigar. London's oldest restaurant is a bastion of Soho decadence, where red velvet, chandeliers and jacquard curtains still reign. It's as far from modern luxe as you can imagine, which is all part of its charm." [3]

 

Regrettably, I've only had the pleasure of dining there once - almost 40 years ago - when L'Escargot was owned by husband and wife team Nick Lander and Jancis Robinson, and managed by Elena Salvoni, widely recognised as one of the greatest maître d's of the time and known fondly by regulars as the Queen of Soho [4]. 

 

But it was a memorable night for me - not so much because of the food (mushroom soup followed by pheasant), but because of the company; for it was one of the few times I accompanied Malcolm McLaren for dinner and got to enjoy his unique genius in a more relaxed setting than the office on Denmark Street ...

 

 

 II.

 

Note: the following account is based on an entry in the Von Hell Diaries dated Tues 27 Nov 1984. 

 

Myself and Lee Ellen - the Charisma Records Press Officer - were supposed to be going for a quick bite to eat and then to the theatre. But whilst dropping off some new photos that required his approval, Malcolm insisted that we go for dinner with him and a friend who designed rubber jewellery in the shape of fish (and who, according to Malcolm, was in the IRA).

 

After a brief discussion, it was decided we'd go to L'Escargot ...

 

Malcolm was in a very buoyant and - even by his standards - exceedingly talkative mood; he was pleased with a film made for The South Bank Show that was soon to air on TV [5] and he was looking forward to escaping the muddy hole of London and starting a number of new film projects - such as Fashion Beast - in the US. 

 

Nothing was happening any more in London and any up and coming young rascal who wanted to do something radical, should, he said, relocate either to New York, Leningrad, or Australia. 

 

Other topics of conversation (by which I mean McLaren monologue) included: the history of the English music hall; famous Victorian scandals involving the British Royal Family; the influence of Jack Zipes on contemporary readings of the fairy tale; why fascism is an ever-present danger and England in the 1980s resembles Weimar Germany in the late 1920s.  

 

Malcolm was disappointed that I had to leave early - though it was nearly 1am - and told me I was a drongo for living way out west in Chiswick and should move to Bloomsbury as soon as possible. 

 

However, he did confess that whilst an art student he dated a great big fat bird who lived in Turnham Green (he also told me that at around this time he'd shot up the Spanish Embassy with a machine gun in order to protest the Franco regime, but I have my doubts about the veracity of this latter tale) [6].  

As Malcolm and Tom walked off into the Soho night, Lee Ellen and I got a taxi to Sloane Square. Walked her home and then made my way back to Chiswick. Bed at around 3am, but couldn't sleep as I felt sick - the sign, so they say, of a good evening. 

www.lescargot.co.uk

 

Notes

 

[1] Unfortunately, in an age before smart phones, no photos were taken on the night at L'Escargot that I reminisce about here. However, this image of McLaren - screenshot from The South Bank Show (see note 5 below) - was taken only a few weeks earlier in New York and he wore the same suit on the night I dined with him in Soho.

 

[2] L'Escargot, 48, Greek Steet, Soho, London W1. The restaurant is currently closed for refurbishment, but is due to re-open on 10 May 2023.

 

[3] Ella Alexander, 'L'Escargot, London: How London's oldest French restaurant kept its allure 90 years on', Harper's Bazarre (29 June 2017): click here. 

      It's easy to understand from Alexander's description why L'Escargot would be such a popular hangout for actors, artists, and fashionistas. And whilst I'm sure McLaren liked the place, I think he found the history of nearby Kettner's - founded in 1867 - far more exciting, and used to love telling stories of how the Prince of Wales would dine there with his mistress Lillie Langtry, whilst Oscar Wilde entertained young boys in the rooms above. It was in Kettner's that he also once encouraged me to smash a window.

 

[4] Born in Clerkenwell, in 1920, to parents from Northern Italy, Elena Salvoni died in March 2016, aged 95. Having started work aged 14, at Café Bleu in Soho, she devoted her life to hospitality, ending her career at L'Etoile, also in Soho, where she continued to work even after her 90th birthday. 

      Readers who are interested can find a nice feature on Elena published in the Evening Standard (29 April 2010): click here.  

 

[5] See the recent post 'When Melvyn Met Malcolm (A Brief Reflection on The South Bank Show Episode 178)' - click here.

 

[6] Who knows, maybe it's true ... As Paul Gorman reminds us, McLaren attended several political rallies and demonstrations as an art student in the 1960s, protesting against the war in Vietnam, the apartheid regime in South Africa, etc. He was even arrested, aged 20, for burning the American flag outside the US Embassy on 4 July 1966. 

      See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), pp. 71-72. 

 

 

Cover Girl Killer (1959)

Sex and horror are the new gods 

in this polluted world of so-called entertainment

I.

There are many reasons to love the black and white British film Cover Girl Killer (dir. Terry Bishop, 1959).

For one thing, it stars Harry H. Corbett in a pre-Steptoe role that demonstrates what a fine dramatic actor he was; one trained in Stanislavski's system (famously developed as method acting in the US). He may never have become England's Marlon Brando, as some critics predicted, but he coulda been a contender, could've been somebody, instead of a rag-and-bone man ...

      

II.

The film is set in the seedy but seductive world of post-War Soho; a world of strip-clubs, brothels, and dirty bookshops, where it was de rigeur to wear a raincoat whatever the weather.

Corbett plays a psychopath who hopes that, by killing the young models who appear on the cover of a notorious glamour magazine, he may free himself from his unsavoury obsessions and the lustful images that corrupt his thought.  

(It's always shocking to be reminded that murder and misogyny are often regarded as less shameful than masturbation by puritans who, as a matter of fact, have been driven insane by their own moralism, rather than corrupted by pornography.)

Having killed several young women - including Gloria, the showgirl with the most on show - Corbett's creepy character is lured into a trap set by the police and the publisher of Wow magazine, with the very lovely Felicity Young (as June) providing the bait. This results in a pervylicious climax to the movie, as the latter is chased around backstage at the Kasbar theatre in her underwear ...  

Cover Girl Killer may not be a great film - it's no Peeping Tom, Michael Powell's masterpiece that was released a year later - but it is, arguably, a seminal one that anticipates the direction that cinema (and popular entertainment in general) was moving: sexually explicit and ultra-violent; two decades later and the slasher movie was a staple of the horror genre and Mary Millington was starring in The Playbirds (1978).  

Well done to Talking Pictures TV (Sky 343, Freeview 81, Freesat 306) for deciding to broadcast it as part of their superb archive of films.

Harry H. Corbett and Felicity Young in Cover Girl Killer (1959)

To watch the trailer to Cover Girl Killer (1959): click here.

Pamela and the Lost World of Soho

 Luxor Press (1955)

We are all born naked; but we are not all born to be naked. For as Nietzsche says: "A naked human being is generally a shameful sight."*

But that's not true of everyone. There are some, like the glamour model and actress Pamela Green, who look fantastic either in or out of their clothes and it's fitting that she made the first full-frontal screen appearance in a British feature film; as Milly, in Michael Powell's pervy psychological thriller, Peeping Tom (1960). 

Born in 1929, and the only child of an English father and a Dutch mother, Pamela spent her first ten years living in the Netherlands. Shorty before the outbreak of war, however, she and her parents moved to England.

Always keen on painting and drawing, in 1947 she was accepted on to a course at St. Martin's, where she also began working as a life model in order to help pay for her studies. Miss Green soon discovered, however, that she could make much better money by posing for photographers who were not particularly interested in art. Her saucy snaps proved so popular with punters that many Soho bookshops and backstreet newsagents stocked postcard sets featuring her and, indeed, supplied by her.

Fans could also see Pamela in the flesh working as a dancer in several West End theatres, including the Hippodrome, or on stage in shows that incorporated static tableaux of the type made famous by the Windmill; i.e., shows in which models were nude, but remained perfectly motionless, like statues, in accordance with the laws of the land.

In 1955, a pictorial monograph was published by Luxor Press entitled Pamela, featuring photographs by her lover and business partner George Harrison Marks, with whom she set up Kamera Publications, responsible for several top shelf magazines. As their success grew, the couple ventured into the world of 8mm striptease films, producing classics such as Naked as Nature Intended (1961), written and directed by Marks and starring Miss Green in a happy state of undress.

Between the the two of them, Marks and Green established a commercial porn business that was as quintessentially British as the retail empire founded by Marks and Spencer and very much rooted in a time and place - i.e. Soho in the 1950s - that is now, regrettably, long vanished; a bohemian utopia where artists, writers, actors, showgirls, prostitutes, pornograpers and other queer fish all gaily lived and rubbed along.

Today, London’s once sleazy yet exhilarating district of pubs, cafes, and clubs, has been transformed by the relentless tide of gentrification and every red light dimmed. I fully support the work being done by Tim Arnold, Stephen Fry, Colin Vaines and others involved with the Save Soho campaign, but, in all honesty, there's very little left to preserve other than memories; for even the spirits of the dead seem to have departed ...  

Notes

Nietzsche, The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann, (Vintage Books, 1974), V. 352, p. 295. 

Readers interested in knowing more about Pamela Green should visit her official website: pamela-green.com

Those interested in the work of Harrison Marks should visit: thekameraclub.co.uk.