'Carol Doda Topless at the Condor' pays tribute to the '60s icon

Botticelli's Venus of San Francisco was nightclub dancing goddess Carol Doda, whose shell was a white baby grand piano held up by hydraulics and descending from a hole in the ceiling rather than emerging from the sea. But also, perhaps in the key difference with that painting, she is not so modest as to cover her breasts with a timid hand.

After all, Doda gave herself here to move topless, and by being the first to do so, she also shook the culture of the 1960s. The Golden Gate may have been the single most popular attraction in the Bay Area, but From her perch at the Condor in North Beach's bustling entertainment scene, Doda's celebrity was also a bridge to a new era of sexual liberation. The story of her rise from waitress to wowza in a turbulent era, and all the ways her revolution excited and was exploited, is engagingly told in the playful, funny, and archivally rich retrospective “Carol Doda Topless at the Condor” by the filmmakers. Marlo McKenzie and Jonathan Parker.

Like one of those energetic Martin Scorsese montages in which we learn how a vibrant underground ecosystem works, the documentary introduces us to a festive atmosphere of lights, stage tricks, trendy dances and tough, colorful characters, some of whom are interviewed here . along with some cultural commentators. That's because Doda's giving up dumplings on June 19, 1964, could have sparked a craze (topless gangs, topless shoeshine boys, a topless clam chowder joint, and finally, bottomlessness). ), but as the film forcefully argues, it also reflected a broader social change, of people breaking free from old ways, fighting for civil rights and equal rights, and against war. And, like Doda once was, he too was arrested for it.

When Doda grew up, she also did the American thing about growing up, resorting to dozens of silicone injections (her own hydraulic system, in a way) that gave new meaning to the pair of consonants in her last name. The queues outside also increased. Note that, for all the abundant nudity in “Carol Doda,” there is also a surgery clip of what those injections looked like and a grim story of the side effects from similarly augmented exotic dancer Judy Mamou, which makes clear the risk that so many women went through. to change their bodies.

If Doda ultimately turns out to be barely more (ahem) developed than the snapshot of an unflappable, charismatic and competitive workhorse that we are presented with, it is not for lack of effort on the part of the directors. We believe that as she became famous for exposing everything, she remained adept at revealing very little, except for the fragments that interviewees who knew her can remember gleaning: probably an abusive childhood, clearly a bad early marriage, a rarely satisfying love life. . (Even alone, sleeping with what she called “them” didn't seem so easy.)

Rather, he lived to perform, returning an insistent male gaze with an independence that only burnished his global recognition. Today's online influencers, who always share about her, would hardly recognize her kind of guarded public persona (something one could argue she also helped promote). It's endearing to see her in archived interviews dismiss questions with irony and terse honesty about her notoriety. If we feel sorry for her because of some of the film's adoring tone, it's that Doda wasn't the best at diversifying or monetizing her appeal: getting out of the Condor took decades, already in North Beach's shift toward things increasingly more dangerous. sordidness.

Attempts to portray Doda, who died in 2015, as a feminist pioneer (especially by an enthusiastic on-camera cultural critic) may seem a bit far-fetched: the reality of her choices is as complicated as it is thought-provoking. But as a portrait of an unconventional entertainment world that pushes the boundaries of expression, led by a limitless icon, “Carol Doda Topless at the Condor” is an optimistic tribute to a life of exposure.