From Sophisticated to Sleazy?: ‘Behind the Burly Q – The Story of Burlesque’

It has its roots in vaudeville and the musical panto of Britain and France. It became a sensation when Depression-era audiences found its sometimes scandalous fare a decent escape from the dismal dimensions of daily life. By World War II, it was considered upscale, sophisticated entertainment, viewed as viable family fare. Afterwards, it catered to the more mature needs of a returning male clientele.

By the late ’50s, it was already showing signs of pornography’s sour patina. Today, we mistake strippers and their skanky ilk for same. What the women of Leslie Zemeckis’ thoroughly entertaining documentary Behind the Burly QW – The Story of Burlesque want you to know is that Burlesque was never about sex. The carnality was purely commercial, just part of a way of getting otherwise reluctant patrons to part with their hard earned (and desperately needed) cash.

Combining wonderful interviews with several of the remaining “stars” from the era (including Tempest Storm and a by-telephone Blaze Starr) and offering both historic and anecdotal perspective, Burly Q hopes to change the reputation of the entertainment artform. While many see women baring their breasts and come to some rather close-minded conclusions, former dancers like Joan Arline and Carmela, and the family of famous comics and straightmen such as Lou Costello and Robert Alda speak in support of the overall spectacle (yes, Alan Alda is a surprise participant here).

One of the key things people forget about burlesque is that it was more than nudity. It was a comprehensive bit of stage variety where the occasional naked lady supported such otherwise normative acts such as singers, dancers, comics, and acrobats.

Unless you are a fan of Something Weird Video and have immersed yourself in their wonderful DVD anthologies, you probably don’t understand the whole burlesque ideal. Even the current revival sweeping the contemporary pop culture scene fails to fully recapture the concept’s previously glory (and don’t even mention that recent Cher/Christina Aguilera atrocity that borrows the moniker). As one participant points out, burlesque was where the talent unable to break through on Broadway initially went. It was a stopover between career paths, a place where the up and comers constantly ran into those who were backtracking or falling fast. In fact, the first half of the film makes a strong case for the comedians being the real draw. The girls where just interchangeable cogs who eventually became marquee names in their own bawdy right.

It’s in the individual stories where Burly Q gains its power. Listening to their sometimes tragic tales, you instantly recognize where the exotic performer stereotype came from. Many talk of broken homes, familial abuse or abandonment, dashed dreams of “legitimate” stardom, and the obvious financial windfall. It’s sometimes hard to remember this, but there were few options, career wise, for single women in the ’30s. They were either forced into nominal secretarial or clerical work, waitressing, or relegated to rooting out a potential husband. Burlesque offered a chance for capable gals to support themselves, often making much more money than they could ever achieve in the stiff, square world.

Of course, such a lifestyle choice lead to its own issues, and it’s here where Burly Q reveals a slightly darker, more depressing element. Many of the early stars faded away far too quickly, most consumed by addictions to drugs and alcohol. Almost all have tales of bad marriages, numerous nuptials, and the difficulty in finding a mate who could understand the job. Some definitely discovered long term partners. Others appear unhappy, acknowledging that relationships with musicians and other members of the company were almost always a recipe for disaster. Oddly enough, the view from the cheap seats is never really discussed. We hear about occasional Stage Door Johnnies and other starstruck fans, but few friendships seemed to derive from a life dancing flash for a paying crowd.

Zemeckis flits around from subject to subject, staying on those stories that she believes best illustrates her noble objectives. There is a short and rather superficial discussion of minority acts in burlesque (including the rare African America and Asian dancer) and the mob’s involvement with the theaters (and therefore, the production companies and booking agencies) is given some slight lip service. It is interesting when the ladies note that the gangsters were more interested in protecting their performers than screwing them. As a question of cash, a safe and secure artiste was better than a bedded and pregnant one.

A lot of the more intriguing backstage detail comes in the forms of various signature props and production design. Lili St. Cyr was known for her bathtub routine. Evangeline the Oyster Girl arrived onstage in a huge shell and, after a suggestive dance meant to mimic her search for a mate, the oft green haired beauty returned to her deep sea bed, alone and dejected. Breast size is also mentioned, yet plastic surgery (or the meatball aspect of the pseudo-respectable science that existed beforehand) is never even breached. Some of the ladies look like they’ve never seen a doctor’s knife. A few, however, have used the available medicine as a means of keeping the reality of aging at bay.

Humorlessly, there is a bitter, vindictive air that seems to seep in whenever Blaze Starr and Gypsy Rose Lee are mentioned. The former finds disfavor in her cutthroat “Me, Me, Me” approach that saw her undermine fellow acts and steal some of their best material (and bookings). The latter, on the other hand, is viewed as unattractive, incapable of carrying a tune, a mediocre dancer, and a famous fluke. In reality, the women featured here, many of whom are nowhere near the household name as these two, are far more accomplished and attractive as member of the burlesque guard than the individuals held up as their primary example. For her part Zemeckis treats them all with respect, no matter how bright or brief their time in the limelight.

In the end, Behind the Burly Q is an amazing primer, an introduction to a lost art and unsung world which only gets more interesting as it goes along. Of course, the real education begins with SWV titles like The Best of Burlesque, and companion pieces like Varietease and Teaserama (as well as numerous shorts found all over the company’s digital catalog). While the rise in full blown smut seems to be the main contributor to the downfall of this particular showcase (along with a lack of viable venues in which to play), it is clear that the contemporary mythos about lap dancing divas selling themselves to men for champagne and $20 bills is what really killed off burlesque. However, only a fool would confuse today’s acrobat pole dancer and the sophisticate swagger of Sally Rand and her fabulous fans. As the participants constantly remind us, there was more to the Burly Q than flesh. This sensational documentary definitely confirms this…and much, much more.