After the whole Side by Side fabulousness, M then gave me a copy of Joanna as a Valentine’s present. Yes, he may well be the perfect man; I had already moaned about it not being available back in January!
The first either of us knew about Joanna was when I found the soundtrack LP in a record shop in Norwich. Don’t even get me started on my idiocy in not buying it. I was transfixed by the front cover, the synopsis and the fact that it has Donald Sutherland in it. Why had I not seen this before?
Geneviève Waïte plays the title character (she would later release a cult album called Romance is on the Rise, and marry John Phillips after he split from Michelle) and the film was written and directed by Michael Sarne, occasional actor, pop singer and ex-husband of Ghost founder Tanya.
To say it’s an odd film, is to say the least. But odd in that perfect, no-need-to-make-sense kind of way that so many late Sixties films are. Better than Candy but probably not as downright amazing as, say, The Jokers or Smashing Time.
Waïte’s clothes were specially designed by Sue West and Virginia Hamilton-Kearse and were then sold through the Paraphernalia boutique in New York. There’s definitely something quirky and unique about them, they remind one of Foale and Tuffin, Quorum, Betsey Johnson etc, but have more of a homemade and eccentric feel to them.
I can see why Waïte never really continued with much in the way of acting, since I suspect that the role of Joanna was really not very far from her own personality. She’s cute, eccentric and ditsy, but with a healthy dose of logic and sense.
As with so many films of this style and era, it’s well worth watching for the exterior shots of London. This film throws up a real treat: the girls take a ‘shopping’ trip to Bus Stop where the rails are soon raided and no money is spent. Utterly brilliant.
I don’t think my screengrabs even begin to do it justice, but I hope they give you a good taste of what you might expect from the film. The outfit changes are relentless, her facial expressions ever-changing, and the locations are stunning. I’ve also captured what I’m fairly sure are uncredited cameos by Suki Poitier and Chrissie Shrimpton. Enjoy!
Some gorgeous new listings over at Vintage-a-Peel, including two pairs of amazing original late Sixties boots; one white pvc and one dark blue canvas. Both have been prised from my hands by dint of being just a smidge too small for me. Curses!!
I was aghast to read recently that Old England was being ‘relaunched’ as a brand. This isn’t entirely surprising, given my usual reaction to such endeavours, but I was particularly cheesed off because I was still awaiting my very own original Old England timepiece. Ever since I knew about their collaboration with The Avengers, in the Alun Hughes-era rather than John Bates, I have been wanting one of my very own. I have extremely skinny wrists, and I either need something very delicate and barely there or I need some ridiculously big statement. Old England watches are perfect for the latter…
So imagine my delight when I peered into a cabinet in a delightfully ramshackle antiques shop in Bexhill and spied this acid green confection. A wind and a few gentle shakes by the shop owner got it started after goodness knows how many years in the cabinet. It’s missing one of the strap bars across the back, but for £10 how could I say no?
Peregrine, my love, you make me feel quite naked when you look at me like that. I know my all in one is only a wisp of see-through Lycra, but a girl must have protection from such ardour. Now et out of the bath quickly: my husband may return any minute now.
Sometimes I just can’t help chuckling at the copy in vintage magazines. It’s also a helpful reminder that meaningless guff is not confined to the modern fashion press, but is a speciality of the genre. Although I don’t think most modern fashion writers would write such creative twaddle as this, which I think is another very disappointing aspect of modern life.
Aside from that, I love these photos. I want the flat, I want the lifestyle, I want the half-naked gentleman named Peregrine hanging around…
Peregrine my darling, you’ve made wet footprints all over the Aubusson. Just because you find me irresistible in my virgin-white control garment is no reason to abandon all self-control and respect for the decencies of civilised life. And besides, Edward’s Rolls will draw up before the front door at any second.
Peregrine, my angel, thank you for mopping up the bathwater, but a face towel just isn’t enough to confront the world in. I sppose I do look rather distracting in my near-transparent nude-look body-stocking, but then you, my lamb, are very distractable.
Peregrine, my precious, one kiss and then farewell; if we don’t get dressed soon, I shall be late for the Embassy reception and you will miss your bus. I know how you feel, but you must keep your hands away from my lace-trimmed pantie-girdle, however delectable it looks.
Peregrine, my treasure, you look divine with the light behind you in that ravishing Art Deco shirt, but I don’t think you are being quite serious enough about getting dressed. You are absolutely right of course; I look a work of art in my sexy satin undies, but I don’t plan to get hung by Edward just yet.
Peregrine, my beloved, all is over between us. Do up your shirt and depart. I hear the purr of my husband’s Rolls, and I must grab my mink and fly. Take a tender last look at my lissom loveliness clad in nothing but my slinky satin slip, and pop round and paint my portrait again next week.
A bevy of very dandy dudes grace this double page spread in London Life (March 19th, 1966). Look out for Michael Rainey, founder of Hung On You. I particularly love the juxtaposition between the young bucks and the old farts in the same spread.
A wonderful Valentine’s Day trip to the NFT to see François Truffaut’s La Peau Douce has really done nothing constructive to abate my current hair dissatisfaction. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it many times more, I want Françoise Dorléac’s hair. I know she must have had assistance from clever stylists and plenty of extra hair added, it’s a continuity nightmare, but still. I want.
Sometimes, you just don’t want or need to smile. It doesn’t make you moody, it doesn’t make you gothic, it’s a natural reaction of a thoughtful and reflective personality.
I am intermittently feeling gloomy and frustrated, and quite calm and reflective. Typical January I suppose. I want floaty dresses, loose, wild hair and dark eyes. I want some peace and quiet, and some inspiration…
I love the word “contemplative”. Just thinking about it, trying to pronounce it properly, it is immensely satisfying.