Tina louise ever been nude3/8/2024 It does not seem to be an act, but it is also not something Bernhard readily admits to feeling. The ambient rage that binds Bernhard’s performance is not easily captured on the page. She sings the Rolling Stones’ “Angie.” She sings “Midnight Train to Georgia.” She reads a couple of awful poems. “I love a good bayberry candle,” she remarks, as she puts a match to that definitive symbol of shopping-mall gentility. She impersonates a jive-talking spider skittering down a silken thread to bite a sleeping Sandy on the arm. She purifies the theater with an Indian sage stick. She slags, in no particular order, Madonna, Courtney Love, Tina Brown, Elton John, Tom Cruise, New York Times columnist Alex Witchel, and David Letterman. She transforms herself into a strutting Naomi Campbell and sings a self-infatuated Versace “tribute” called “On the Runway.” She becomes a lurching Liza Minnelli performing a trouper’s medley of “alternative music” tunes that lapse reflexively into the druggy Weimar shtick of Cabaret. She rhapsodizes, as she always has, about that order of beautiful nobodies known as supermodels, a cult of which she is herself an ordained priestess. She mocks, by turns, the sham pathos of Gianni Versace’s funeral, the edgy animus behind Caller ID, the grief orgy ensuing from Princess Diana’s J.G. Damn It!, the comedian/actress/singer once described by a critic as “a pathetic neutered Barbie doll with a frightening Medusa head” (and by another as a “terrorist lap dancer”) struts the stage of a dingy West Village theater wearing a transparent Isaac Mizrahi dress over a black lace G-string her hair is a wild, vaguely Medusan tangle, and she is fully sexually charged-not the least bit pathetic-as she riffs, with her customary scattershot brilliance, on our garbage culture.
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