Well, Freud teaches us that an uncontrollable compulsion to sexually gratify older authority figures isn't necessarily a bad thing.
We really like these psychotherapy sleaze covers. There are quite a few out there, probably enough for a collective post of them, but today we'll just go with one—Adam Coulter's 1965 sleazer Couch of Desire, about a psychologist who has a sexually disinterested wife, and several sexually interested female patients. You know the drill. Just lay back, close your eyes, and you'll start feeling very, very... creepy.
If you're going to be a movie star you better look the part.
Above, a beautiful Technicolor lithograph of Hungarian actress Zsa Zsa Gabor clad in two of her favorite luxe accessories—fur and jewels. Gabor once said, “Don’t ever buy imitation furs, because that’s worse than death.” Times change, of course. The photo is entitled simply “Movie Star,” and she perfectly personifies the 1950's version of that concept here.
The law of this jungle is steal or be poor.
We don't need to tell you anything about The Asphalt Jungle because you've seen this film classic, right? So today we're all about the poster. Look at this beauty. It was painted by Italian artist Angelo Cesselon, complete with his distinct signature and its supersized “O”. Cesselon worked for many studios and mastered a distinct style featuring large character portraits such as the one you see here. His work is among the most immediately identifiable of the mid-century period. As for the film, when you get John Huston directing a heist story you can't go wrong. Don't let the poster fool you, though—Marilyn Monroe is a bit player. Why is she starring on the art? Because Cesselon painted it a few years after the film's initial release—by which time Monroe was world famous. The Asphalt Jungle premiered today in 1950.
Everything about her is right on the money.
Above, a nice promo photo of American actress Rosalind Cash, best known for co-starring in 1971's sci-fi classic The Omega Man. She went on to score parts on many television shows.
Light and darkness in New York City.
Alfred Statler honed his camera skills in Europe documenting the chaos of World War II and brought his gritty sensibilities to bear on his fine art photography once he returned to the visual utopia he called home—New York City. This shot is from the mid-fifties and captures a nighttime scene in Manhattan, with its neon signs and sky aglow with metropolitan lightbleed. We love this.
Mid-century tabloid hits all the familiar tabloid notes.
Lowdown makes the rounds in this issue published in May 1965. Inside, Ann-Margret claims she doesn't want to be a tease (fail), editors ask if women are more immoral than men (which they really are, once you take war, genocide, faithlessness, and generally violent tendencies off the table), and June Wilkinson's photo is among those used in a story about women supposedly receiving insurance covered breast implants from Britain's National Health Service.
Probably the most interesting story concerns Swedish actress Inger Stevens disappearing for a week. Lowdown hints at an alcohol binge, which is nothing special (hell, we do those) but while there are plenty of sources citing a 1960 suicide attempt, we found no other mention anywhere of Lowdown's missing week. The story is notable because Stevens would die at age thirty-five of a drug overdose.
Elsewhere you get nude skiing in Austria, Richard Chamberlain and his hit television show Dr. Kildare, the sex powers of mandrake root, and Belgian born actress and dancer Monique Van Vooren endorsing regular exercise. Scans below—oh, and sorry about the quality. Lowdown's printing process caused scanner problems. It's never happened before, so hopefully we won't encounter the issue again.
, Dr. Kildare
, June Wilkinson
, Inger Stevens
, Diana Dors
, Joan Collins
, Norma Ann Sykes
, Monique Van Vooren
, Richard Chamberlain
Dream a little dream with us.
Gypsy's Witch Dream Book of Numbers is a lucky number book published in 1972 and based on the principle of dream interpretation. Basically, you have a dream, look up its elements, and find the associated numbers. For example, take an average dream—say you're in an all nude, alcohol licensed strip club on the Turks and Caicos with about 10K in your pockets and the dancers include Anjelique Pettyjohn, Kimiko Nakayama, and Joey Heatherton, along with assorted Miss Universe contestants, and on a small stage in the corner the music is being played live by Shakira, but she's performing Curtis Mayfield's “Give Me Your Love” and the rest of the Superfly soundtrack. You can't decide who to buy a lap dance from, so in order to convince you Anjelique, Kimiko, and Joey begin demonstrating progressively more amazing and shocking contortionist maneuvers, even going so far as to ask you to help them achieve certain positions, at which point your waitress Elke Sommer brings a raspberry Rickey and tells you she's off work now, but go ahead and have a lap dance first, because she'll wait. We'll stop there. So then you go into the dream book and look up “naked,” “island,” “dancer,” and maybe, just to cover your bases, “summer,” “Star Trek,” and “pretzel.” You find the three-digit numbers associated with those items, which you take to the nearest 7-Eleven and voluntarily tax yourself by buying several Powerball tickets and losing. That's basically how the dream book works. Oh, and the cover was painted by mid-century paperback artist Gene Bilbrew. Almost forgot to mention him.
I'm sorry for bringing you here, baby. The travel guides didn't make the Day of Blood sound nearly so violent and terrifying.
William Vance's Day of Blood looks like a western at first glance, but it's actually set in Kenya against the backdrop of a looming uprising by the Mau Mau, whose “maniacal leader had vowed to kill all the whites in Kenya on sight.” What nerve, right? Some people just refuse to take invasion, land theft, and mass subjugation lying down. This one has all the hallmarks of mid-century fiction set in Africa—rugged and world weary hero, sexually desperate women ranging from rapacious to virginal, and, of course, wrongheaded tribal locals trying to ruin the colonial party. Not our thing, but for readers willing to look past the obvious shortcomings, these types of books often offer solid entertainment. 1961 copyright on this one, with nice art from Harry Schaare.
Scenes from a Roman marriage.
1960s and 1970s Italian poster art is consistently great. Even obscure pieces are beautiful. The above locandina style promo is for the drama Seduzione coniugale, which means “marital seduction,” and starred Gabrielle Tinti and Rosemarie Lindt in the story of spouses who hit a rough patch, resulting in the wife enjoying sexual extra- curriculars with a hairy young judo instructor, while the husband scores with the less hairy but more beautiful Gaia Germani. He pays dearly for his straying, though. In fact, you could say he hits another rough patch—at high speed and with irreversible consequences. Directed by Daniel Franco with an excess of style, and assisted by a dreamy title track that's a minor classic of the Italian sexploitation genre, the film is a curiosity but we can't really recommend much about it beyond Germani and the promo poster. It premiered in Italy today in 1974.
It's easy. We have an uploader that makes it a snap. Use it to submit your art, text, header, and subhead. Your post can be funny, serious, or anything in between, as long as it's vintage pulp. You'll get a byline and experience the fleeting pride of free authorship. We'll edit your post for typos, but the rest is up to you. Click here
to give us your best shot.