Everything you need for a perfect day at the seaside.
Above is British icon Joan Collins, making an outfit switch for two great beach photos from 1965. You can tell it's the same beach because of the distinctive wooden railing fronting the boardwalk behind her, but we couldn't hazard a guess where it might be. In any case, these are great shots.
He'll make you love him even if it kills you.
Patricia Highsmith's reputation demands that you read any book of hers you find, so when we ran across This Sweet Sickness we knew it would be good. Originally published in 1960 with this paperback coming from British publisher Great Pan in 1963, she tells the story of another troubled man à la her famous Tom Ripley novels. Here we have David Kelsey, in love with a woman who, inconveniently, is married. No problem, though, because obstacles mean nothing. He's determined to win his prospective love's affections, ignoring the fact that she's both unavailable and uninterested.
The book is told from the perspective of this dangerously deluded man, and his mental dissonance, deftly written by Highsmith, is cringe inducing. In Kelsey's head, everything is proof his love is returned. When the woman he desires is kind, it encourages him. When she's resistant, he assumes she isn't acting of her own accord, but instead is being pressured by her husband. There's nothing she can do—literally nothing—to dissuade Kelsey from the idea that his love for a woman obligates her to love him back. It all leads pretty much where you expect—to conflict, terror, death, and the high, lonely ledge of insanity.
It's fascinating to us that the U.S. born Highsmith was unappreciated in her own country, despite her breakthrough at age twenty-nine with Strangers on a Train. Well, considering she spent her life writing novels while residing mainly in France and Switzerland, we doubt she suffered much from the neglect. She's well remembered now, and deservedly so. This Sweet Sickness is an interesting and relevant book, and we highly recommend it.
She'll have you eating out of them in no time.
1960s nude photography in countries like England and the U.S. usually involved coming up with ways to hide pubic hair, which, if it appeared, merited a one-way ticket to jail for obscenity. Often the offending region was simply airbrushed away, making women resemble sexless aliens, but here British model and actress June Palmer keeps it simple—fingers steepled, hands placed just so, and only her palms know how thick the carpet is. This is a clever pose. Her hands make a triangle, and leave a triangle shaped space. Palmer, along with Pamela Green, was the most famous of the Harrison Marks models of the 1960s, and appeared often in his nudie magazines Kamera and Solo, as well as in nudie film loops. This great shot is from a Modern Man special edition called Modern Man Deluxe Quarterly, and was the centerfold shot for winter 1969.
She was mysterious in life but all her secrets came out in death.
This National Insider published today in 1964 highlights an event that was of global interest at the time, but which has since been forgotten. Julie Molley, pictured on the cover, led a double life. She worked in a dentist's office by day and was a party girl by night. Apparently this hidden life began with placing newspaper ads for a friend who wanted to hook up with men but needed to protect his reputation. The responses seemed almost innumerable, and exposed her to the world of clandestine sex in repressive 1960s Britain. This in turn eventually led to full-fledged participation in underground bdsm orgies. Wealthy men rewarded her with money and expensive gifts for whipping and humiliating them.
When she was found dead of an overdose of sleeping pills in a Buckinghamshire mansion in November 1963, police labeled it suicide, but friends said it had to be murder. Found in her effects were 3,500 photos of her in compromising positions with various men. Two diaries she wrote contained the names of numerous high profile figures. Police believed Molley was involved not only in an underground sex ring, but may have been part of an extortion racket that took advantage of various well heeled Brits' kinky sex preferences. But as late as 1966—the last year we found articles about the case—police still had not found evidence of foul play.
This National Insider labels Molley the “High Priestess of Love” and "Pocket Venus," and compares her underground parties to those at the center of the Profumo Affair. But her death is today still officially a suicide. Police believed she was depressed, basically friendless, and they noted that her pill usage had been increasing for months before her untimely end. In the final analysis, authorities decided she ended it all because she was simply fed up with an unhappy existence. The general sentiment was summed up by her mother, who said, “I sent her to a convent school because I wanted her to be a good girl. But she wanted a good time—and it ended like this. It always does.”
I'm fine. It's all good. I'm calm. I said I'm calm!
Winston Churchill coordinated his share of bombing campaigns, and it looks as if his daughter Sarah Churchill learned a thing or two about bombs herself—f-bombs, that is. Check the time on the clock. Things started out okay, but over the course of several minutes it looks like she worked herself up to, “Fuck you! And fuck you! And fuck you! And fuck you too!” This is funnier than we can explain because we had a female acquaintance do this very thing to three cops a little while back.
Churchill, who is also known as Sarah Millicent Hermione Touchet-Jesson, Baroness Audley, opted for a show business career when she was young, and as Sarah Churchill appeared in films such as Royal Wedding and All Over the Town, as well as in dozens of television movies. In these images she's been arrested in Los Angeles for drunkenness, and after being conducted to the copshop had this little dust-up with the uniforms and a nurse.
This wasn't the only time Churchill drank herself into custody. In general, she lived a flamboyant life that overshadowed her acting career and annoyed her father. She wrote about these issues in her 1981 autobiography Keep On Dancing, the title of which refers to her early dance classes and subsequent desire to become a chorus girl. But on the above occasion we suspect Churchill probably learned that cops don't dance. That was today in 1958.
Screw it. My insurance is paid up. I'm going for a loop!
Above, a fun image of British actress Alexandra Bastedo, who was a television stalwart but did appear in such films as the 1967 James Bond spoof Casino Royale. We don't have a date on this photo, but it was probably made around 1965.
Dors takes a shot in the dark.
This beautifully composed and photographed image stars British actress Diana Dors and was made for her 1957 drama The Unholy Wife. We wrote about it a few years ago. Long story short, Dors wants to murder her rich husband. The film is in Technicolor but depending on who you ask falls into the category of film noir. That makes it one of the earliest color efforts to do so, as far we know, but all the promos we've ever seen for it are black and white. This one really shows the power of that medium. In fact, looking at it, it's hard to even imagine it's for a color film, isn't it? This image may actually be the best thing about the movie.
Sabrina covers her biggest assets.
Every once in a while we run across stories about Hollywood stars insuring their body parts. A couple of examples: Bette Davis was famous for her small waist and insured it against weight gain for the equivalent of $400,000; and 1920s comedian Ben Turpin, who was famously cross-eyed, took out a policy of similar value should his eyes ever straighten. National Enquirer insists on this cover from today in 1960 that British starlet Sabrina, aka Norma Ann Sykes, insured her breasts. The tabloid is in fact correct—she allowed her manager Joe Matthews to insure her endowment with Lloyd's of London for £UK100,000. In today's cash that would be about £2.4 million, or $3.2 million. You may think that's excessive, but when's the last time your boobs caused a riot? Unfortunately the weight she carried on her torso led to chronic back pain and a failed attempt at a surgical fix that left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. She died in obscurity last year. It was a sad ending for the former sex symbol. But once upon a time she was a one-name star—just Sabrina—and a global obsession.
The public adored watching her. And she adored watching quite a few of them too.
Diana Dors was marketed as Britain's answer to Marilyn Monroe. It was probably an unfair comparison, because Monroe was a unique talent. Dors was talented in her own right, but her time in show business was turbulent. There were brawls, a divorce, reporters who broke into her home, the loss of a studio contract due to a morality clause, and eventually the stunning revelation that she hosted parties at which she used two-way mirrors and closed circuit television to watch guests having sex. These wild parties began in the early 1950s and continued for many years. And later, long after her death of ovarian cancer in 1984, came accusations that she was a pedophile. But we judge her artistic output separate from her crimes (see: Polanski). Her movies remain worth watching. This shot of her is circa 1960.
Sokol's racy cartoons gave Playboy a touch of—well, maybe class isn't the word—but something.
It's nice to have friends that like Pulp Intl. We had a visitor not long ago who brought us some pages he'd clipped from old Playboy magazines. It was an unsolicited and much appreciated gift. This friend is an animator in Hollywood, so he has a keen interest in the work of British cartoonist Erich Sokol, who was one of the best visual humorists regularly published in Playboy. Sokol's mission was simple—try to be artful and funny, while discussing sex in an entertaining way. His style is distinct—curvaceous women with wide, archer's bow mouths, men with long noses and often baffled expressions, and, compared to other cartoonists, deep dimensionality and color in the backgrounds.
Sokol was a wit off the page as well. Friends and acquaintances describe him as a bigtime partier who dreamt up much of his material while drinking in bars. As with any vintage humor his gags are hit and miss today. After five decades that's no surprise. Time can be a humor killer—we made a quip earlier today and it was stale before we even finished it. In any case, when Sokol's humor falls flat it's still cute, at least as far as we're concerned. Our girlfriends might feel differently. Six of these cartoons are original scans, and we augmented the group with examples we found online. We also enlarged the text to make it more easily readable. Enjoy, and keep an eye out for more Sokol, because we plan to revisit him a bit later.
The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1937—The Hobbit is Published
J. R. R. Tolkien publishes his seminal fantasy novel The Hobbit, aka The Hobbit: There and Back Again. Marketed as a children's book, it is a hit with adults as well, and sells millions of copies, is translated into multiple languages, and spawns the sequel trilogy The Lord of Rings.
1946—Cannes Launches Film Festival
The first Cannes Film Festival is held in 1946, in the old Casino of Cannes, financed by the French Foreign Affairs Ministry and the City of Cannes.
1934—Arrest Made in Lindbergh Baby Case
Bruno Hauptmann is arrested for the kidnap and murder of Charles Lindbergh Jr., son of the famous American aviator. The infant child had been abducted from the Lindbergh home in March 1932, and found decomposed two months later in the woods nearby. He had suffered a fatal skull fracture. Hauptmann was tried, convicted, sentenced to death, and finally executed by electric chair in April 1936. He proclaimed his innocence to the end
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