Word: cabarete
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...Mamas"; of lung cancer; in Manhattan. Buxom, brassy and schmalzy, she toured the whole of show biz, breaking into vaudeville at 20, shimmying her way into Cole Porter's 1938 Broadway hit Leave It to Me and Hollywood's Honky Tonk, but mostly working the cabaret circuit, where for 50 years she made them hum along with Blue Skies, grow misty-eyed with Some of These Days, and roar over her gravelly Nobody Loves a Fat Girl, But Oh How a Fat Girl Can Love! "Red-Hot Mamas never grow old, they just go up in smoke...
Punching the Clock. Biggest and newest of the nightspots is the Mikado, in Tokyo's swank Akasaka District. Run by a Korean "cabaret king" named Yoshiaki Konami, 54, the Mikado boasts an electric eye to open the door, a "dancing" West German water fountain, 1,250 hostesses in evening dress or kimono, and 30 Japanese Rockettes who bump and grind through Papa Don't Preach to Me in top hat and tails. Bare-breasted "Arabian" beauties alternate onstage with lion-maned Kabuki dancers. There is an exclusive downstairs party suite with 120 of Tokyo's most luscious...
...movie in five or six different styles at the same time, none wholly his own. But even the deadly slow stretches are redeemed by Cameraman Henri Decae, whose breathtakingly sophisticated photography is a show in itself, imperceptibly shaded as the action moves from lush Rousseau tropics to the cabaret scenes that exude a smoky golden haze in which Moreau and Bardot appear like creatures of Lautrec or Degas, ineffably alluring...
Erhard has used the phrase before. For weeks before the September election, he lectured campaign audiences on it, giving cabaret performers a field day for jokes about the "chloroformed" and "uniformed" society. Others unkindly compared it to the Nazis' Volks-gemeinschaft (people's community), or to the treacly togetherness of Moral Re-Armament. Ludwig Erhard had something quite different in mind, and he spelled it out a bit more fully in last week's two-hour inaugural address to the newly elected Bundestag. The new society, said he, "is not created by one action, but unfolds through...
Clara Bow never found the limelight again. Her comeback efforts-two pictures, a Hollywood cabaret called, embarrassingly, It-all flickered feebly and failed. She retired to live with her husband, Cowboy Actor Rex Bell (later Lieutenant Governor of Nevada), on Bell's 350,000-acre ranch near Searchlight, Nev., and raised their two sons in complete obscurity. She took the fever of the '20s with her. Throughout the next three decades she was in and out of sanatoriums, continually racked with insomnia, often unable to speak coherently or recognize old friends. Every Christmas she wrote to Louella Parsons...