cabaret night club

10

PORNOPOLIS est un manifeste pour une métropole érotique.

Ce Projet de Fin d’Études s’inscrit dans la continuité du travail de Mémoire effectué en amont et traitant des apports du magazine Playboy en termes d’architecture et de design sexuel et genré dans les années 1950 à 1970 aux États-Unis. 

En abordant les thèmes de la sur médiatisation des images sexuelles dans nos médias contemporains ainsi que de l’omniprésence des prothèses numériques dans notre intimité, le projet propose une certaine quantité d’utopies sexuelles, des pornotopies, dans des espaces cachés de l’architecture publique chinoise. En tant que métropole mondiale, Shanghai est un terrain de jeu idéal pour une telle expérimentation sociale et spatiale profitant d’une quantité impressionnante d’influences diverses, du capitalisme effréné occidental au rapport introverti et caché dans l’intimité chinoise. Le centre commercial Bailian New Era situé dans le district de Wujiaochang a été choisi comme principal laboratoire d’expérimentation de ces théories en raison de son importante double peau existante. Invisible de la rue tout comme de l’intérieur du mall et abritant quelques programmes résiduels, elle est au centre d’un puissant imaginaire lié à l’invisible, au caché, à l’interdit. Cette double peau et l’imaginaire qui lui est associée sont utilisés pour y développer une série de pornotopies touchant une mutlitude d’aspects du sexe et du plaisir humain de manière plus générale : sex shop, strip club, spa et bains, restaurant gastronomique, cabaret burlesque, peep shows, clubs gay et LGBT, club échangiste, boutique de lingerie fine, librairie et cinéma érotique… 

En accord avec la culture chinoise, PORNOPOLIS suggère plus qu’il ne montre, dévoile, effeuille un équipement banal du consumérisme de masse. Seuls les initiés sont avertis des profondeurs schizophréniques et sulfureuses de la double peau dans laquelle ils sont happés par des procédés de miroirs coulissants, de parois molles et organiques, de fausses portes, de cabines à double fond, de rideaux, de murs labyrinthiques…
Ce dispositif pornotopique s’enroule autour du volume parallélépipédique du mall en un labyrinthe géant. Au-delà de son aspect provocateur et décadent, PORNOPOLIS s’applique à aborder des thématiques et des champs de l’architecture peu théorisés, à vocation philosophique et sociologique.

Alors pourquoi mettre en relation sexe, genres, urbanisme et architecture ?
Cette question n’est pourtant pas le propre de nos sociétés contemporaines puisqu’elle a déjà été abordée notamment dans Le Pornographe ou La Prostitution réformée (1769) de Restif de La Bretonne, dans lequel il imaginait réformer la prostitution à Paris en créant des maisons closes autogérées en dehors des enceintes de la ville afin de protéger la population de la propagation de la syphilis. La place de l’érotisme en métropole est une vraie question lorsque l’on observe aujourd’hui un renvoi des pratiques du sexe en dehors de ses murs ou dans les quartiers les plus marginalisés en raison de l’embourgeoisement des centres-ville, alors même que les panneaux publicitaires affichent des images au contenu explicitement sexuel. Comment, dans ce contexte, explorer la piste d’un érotisme urbain qui tendrait à rendre la ville moins hypocrite dans son rapport au corps et au genre ? A ce sujet, on constate une forme évidente de domination masculine sur la rue - liée aux modèles patriarcaux des sociétés occidentales hérités des années 1950 (date qui correspond entre autres à l’essor du modèle capitaliste au niveau mondial) -, qui fait ainsi de l’espace urbain un domaine genré et source de conflits liés aux pulsions.


PORNOPOLIS tend à réconcilier villes et sexualités en proposant des pornotopies libidinales génératrices de plaisir urbain. Il ne s’agit toutefois pas d’un projet de solutions mais bien d’interrogations ouvertes, dont les principales pourraient être « Que faire du sexe en ville ? » et « Est-il juste d’en architecturer les plaisirs ? ».


________________________________________________________________



PORNOPOLIS is a manifesto aiming to bring an erotic dimension to our cities and our connection with them.

Its  main purpose is to urbanize the industry - and in a larger scale, the practice - of sex in order to decomplex hidden spaces in chinese architecture and turn them into an alternative and erotic metropolis. This Graduation Master Project is closely linked to my Graduation Master Thesis done earlier on my last year in architecture school. This thesis deals with the contributions of the Playboy magazine in terms of sexual and gendered design and architecture during the 50’s and the 70’s in the USA. By treating themes like media coverage on sexual imagery in our contemporary media and the ubiquity of digital prosthesis in our intimacy, this project presents several sexual utopias (pornotopias) taking place in hidden spaces of chinese architecture.


Shanghai is an ideal playground for this urban and social experimentation as it is one of the biggest metropolis in the world undergoing several influences, from occidental capitalist standards to traditional uses in their intimacy. The Bailian New Era mall in Wujiaochang district has been especially chosen as the principal laboratory of an alternative and erotic Shanghai due to its hidden second skin. Invisible from the street as well as from the inside of the mall, we develop several types of pornotopias touching every aspect of sex, from soft to hard : sex shops, spas and saunas, a love hotel, a burlesque cabaret, gay and LGBT night clubs, swingers clubs, a gastronomic restaurant, an erotic library, a brothel… According to chinese culture, PORNOPOLIS suggests more than it shows and only insiders are advised of the schizophrenic depths of the mall. Entering the pornotopic spaces through different processes (moving mirrors, soft and organic walls, rabbit holes leading to wonderland…), pornotopias’ architecture is thought as a giant maze twisted around the principal parallelepipedic volume of Wujiaochang’s Bailian New Era.

The imaginary of this invisible second skin and all the fantasies related to that particular space are used to question our relation to sex in an urban context. Which place are we giving to sex related activities in our cities when we today assist at the criminalization of the prostitution or the removal of places dedicated to sex (sex shops, brothels…) from our city centers to the suburbs, far from our eyes ?
Beyond its provocative an decadent aspect, PORNOPOLIS deals with contemporary thematics within the fields of architecture, philosophy and sociology which are generally less theorized.
So why relating sex, genders, urbanism and architecture ?
This question is not only related to our contemporary societies but has, on the contrary, been already theorized. The place that eroticism takes in our metropolises is a real question when sex shops and sex workers are removed from the gentrified city centers whereas ads with sexual content are spreading in the streets.
In this context, how can we explore the possibility of an erotic urbanism which will transform our cities to less hypocrite organisms when it comes to body and gender ?

PORNOPOLIS is not a project for solutions. It is on the contrary a project of questions, which could be « What to do with urban sex ? » and « Is it relevant to architect pleasure ? »


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Clémentine Dufaut

Projet de Fin d’Etudes_septembre 2016_domaine Architecture, Ville & Territoire_directrice d’études : Anne Jaureguiberry_Ecole Nationale Supérieure d’Architecture de Strasbourg

BAAL

Description:
‘A scene from Bertolt Brecht’s first play “BAAL” at the Phoenix Theatre. In this photograph Baal (Peter O'Toole) is about to sing in the night club cabaret, but the manager (Trevor Martin) is trying to dissuade him as he is drunk and undressed whilst the young waiter (Terry Bale) feeds him drinks.’


BAAL
by Bertolt Brecht
Phoenix Theatre, London, 1963
directed by William Gaskill

Peter O'Toole
as Baal

Trevor Martin
as Mjurk

Terry Bale
as Lupu / as Second Young Man

Fifty Pounds Chapter 2

Fifty Pounds

A/N: Yes, I made up a band for this chapter. I am most definitely not sorry. Let me know what you guys think! I’m having WAY too much fun with this fic.

 Chapter 2

It had been an unnaturally long day. Finn had woken up in the morning to find that the artist who’d bought the rights to his latest song had turned it from a slow, acoustic ballad into a dance hall nightmare, drowning out the poignant lyrics and chords with a generic dub step beat. He really shouldn’t have cared- he’d already gotten paid for it, really, and that was to be expected, but he’d been so proud of that particular piece, and ever since they’d moved him up from sound engineer to producer he hadn’t had as much time to work on his pet projects. Then, he’d toiled for hours arranging a new piece for one of his label’s indie artists, going back and forth with the sound engineer who’d taken his old job, Hard Amy. It had all been well and good until her laptop died, taking the last hour of mixing with it. Finn had to lock himself in the break room to collect himself before he could step out to try recovering what was lost. Then Chop, good ol’ Chop, darling fucking Chop, had given him a ring and reminded him that he’d unwisely agreed to accompany him to the new cabaret club that night, where Finn was currently enjoying being laughed at by a bevy of half-naked women and being told that the woman he’d been about to drop fifty pounds to see was actually tone-deaf.

“Wha-?” Finn said. “But…the posters say all the performances are live! No recordings! That’s half the appeal!”

Chloe’s eyes and voice are flat. “Yeah, and they’re true.”

“Then how–”

“Another performer. She sings, I look pretty on stage and flap my gums a bunch.” Chloe mimed crooning into a microphone exaggeratedly, her mouth opening wide for a silent belt. She cut off the display abruptly, crossing her arms and looking him up and down quickly.“S'not exactly rocket science. Look, I know you’re disappointed. You can keep your money, this is pathetic enough as it is.”

She turned to move back behind her curtain.

“Who’s your voice then?” Finn asked, before she could disappear.

“Go away,” was her response. Behind him, Stacey the Peacock giggled maliciously. Finn wondered how he ever could have found that girl attractive; he’d never seen anyone take such transparent pleasure in someone else’s misfortune. 

“Look, I’ve made a fool out of myself enough comin’ down here,” Finn said. “And I swear on my life, I won’t go spreadin’ rumors about you not being able to sing or nothing. You go on bein’ Aphrodite.” The name seemed silly and trite now that it was revealed to be nothing but a stage identity, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, of course given to the most beautiful girl of the troupe. “But you know as well as I that not everyone can sing like your…your friend can, and she should know about an opportunity if there is one, right?”

He wasn’t used to saying so many words. His place was behind a laptop or a turntable making other things make sounds. At the end of his declaration, his head felt a little light from the effort.

But it had been worth it. After a second, a small voice responded through the curtain.

“Her name’s Rae.”

“Ray as in Raymond?” Finn said, startled. That voice had been so distinctly feminine, though, how could a bloke hit notes that high-

“As in Rachel.” She mumbled something else, probably an insult to his intelligence. 

Finn waited a moment for her to elaborate, but when several seconds passed with no further comment, he stepped back on his heels.

“Thanks so much…er…Chloe,” he said. Then he turned to Samira, who was no doubt hanging back to show him out. “Sorry for the trouble, Samira,” he said, “but could you maybe introduce me to this Rae person?”

Samira scrunched her face in annoyance. “What do I look like, an errand girl? Only did it the first time cuz it seemed funny, to be honest, and my break ends in five minutes-”

Finn sighed, then pulled out the fifty pound note he’d intended for Aphrodite. It was a hell of a lot of money, and maybe tomorrow, he’d regret dropping it. But he’d parted with it already in his mind, so that made giving it to Samira that much easier.

“Yeah, well, now I’m paying you. You can help me out, yeah?”

Samira looked down at the note, then back up at Finn, and then with a curl of her lips, plucked the fifty pounds out of his hand and tucked it into her bra.

“C'mon, then,” she said, sweeping in front of him and leading the way.

**

Rae stretched backwards on her piano bench, sighing with satisfaction as each vertebrae popped dully. She hadn’t been able to watch the show, but Archie had told her that the crowd had been especially fun tonight. “Almost took a flower to the eye!” He’d said, far more excited at the prospect of being blinded by a carnation than he had any right to be. And Chloe, of course, had been an absolute vision. Izzy had trussed her up in this new gown that looked like it’d been made from stardust, and she’d never thought her biffle had ever been more deserving of her stagename. It was no wonder, Rae thought a bit enviously, that Chlo would have fans. Fans who would pay fifty fucking pounds just to see her up close! Who had money like that? They weren’t on stinking Broadway; they were literally just a group of misfit ex-theatre dorks in a dead-end town providing entertainment. And this fan had been a looker too, not a fifty year old businessman looking for a beautiful sugar baby like they were used to! He’d seen Rae standing there and looked away, probably wondering what a minger like her was doing in the company of so many lovely ladies.

Her fingers ran over the keys pensively, playing out a chord. She was glad, though, that it was Chloe out there singing and not her. She didn’t want to see the looks on the patron’s faces when they saw that their next performer wasn’t some little, curvy bird in a bedazzled bra, but a huge, ugly cow. They’d demand their money back.

Outside her door, she could hear voices. One sounded a bit like Samira. She liked Samira a lot- she was one of the youngest girls at the theatre, and had been part of the acts for the first two weeks until juggling show rehearsals and her schoolwork at the nearby Uni became too much for her and she’d had to drop down to being a server. It was a royal shame, too; Rae had put together a cover of a Sia song just for her, and Samira’d only been able to perform it twice. 

There was another voice, mostly unfamiliar, accompanying Samira’s. A male voice. That was odd; she knew all the guys at the Theatre pretty well, at least by sound. And Samira wouldn’t dare bring one of her beaus to the practice room; if Kester caught her trying to sneak a quick romp on the Baby Grand, she’d be out on her rump.

A knock sounded on the door. Rae jumped in her seat, then stammered out a “Yeah?”

“Hiya, Rae,” Samira said, sticking her head through. “Listen, ah, I’ve got someone who wants to meet ya. Don’t be mad, he gave me fifty quid to bring him, and you know I’m a little behind on the rent this month-”

Someone wanted to meet her? Bollocks. 

“No worries, love. Bring ‘im in, I guess.”

Samira opened the door a bit wider and revealed the last person she’d expected- the bloke from the dressing rooms, the one who’d been mooning over Chloe. God, was he fit. Black leather jacket over a red t-shirt, dark wash jeans and well-kept converse draped over a body sent in straight from the gods. True, all the male back-up dancers at the Grand were gorgeous, but they existed on another plane of good-looking reserved for models and actors and Rae could hardly find them attractive (her loins took one glimpse and decided it was a wasted effort.) But this guy was just barely ordinary enough to get her heart jumping. She’d never known how to talk to fit boys. Except for Archie, but as he wasn’t exactly gynephilic, he didn’t really count.

Why was a guy like him wanting to meet a girl like her, anyway?

“This is Finn,” Samira introduced briefly. “I’ve got to run, I’m at the bar next and I’m running late. Bye!”

She ran off, her sequined dress tinkling as she went, and Rae realized in alarm and horror that she was now alone with this…Finn. She winced as the door clicked shut behind them.

“What can I help you with?” Rae said, as professionally as she could manage.

Finn had the grace to look a little nervous, biting down on his lip and turning away before looking back at her again. 

“I was just talkin’ to Chloe…erm, Aphrodite, I mean, and she told me you’re the one who does the singin’.”

Rae narrowed her eyes mistrustfully. “Yah, I do,” she said shortly, waiting for him to continue. 

“Well,” he finally managed to meet her eye, “Then, Samira was tellin’ me how it’s you who picks the set list for the performances here, you work out how the covers work and all, and…” He paused, took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re…you’re really fucking good.”

The color is rising to her cheeks before she can stop it. So, he was coming to compliment her?

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking down.

“It’s the truth,” Finn muttered. “But anyway, I was thinking that with a sound like yours, you should go pro. I’m a producer at WhisperDome-” Rae gasped, that was where the fucking Pigeon Racers had started their career- “and I was wonderin’ if, maybe, you’d ever considered a music career? Something bigger than a little club in Stamford?”

The card he held up in his hands verified him as legit. Unless this Finn had a nasty habit of printing off glossy business cards with the label’s logo and his name on it for shits and giggles, at least.

The ecstasy and hope sprung up in her like a sprout and then died almost as quickly as it came. Stars don’t weigh sixteen and a half stone, she reminded herself. Stars have got to look nice and sound nice. Either this guy was here to make fun of her, or he’d been mistaken about her looks and thought she’d be prettier.

“You’re takin’ the piss.”

“I’m not!” Finn said, exasperatedly. “Look, if I was takin’ the piss, I wouldn’t have spent all that money tryna meet you, right? Why would I be taking the piss?”

“Cuz I know how these record labels work,” Rae shot back, “and they’re looking for the 'whole package.’” She swung around in her seat to face the piano again. “And obviously, I’m not that. Plenty of good looking girls with decent sound who could make it big just under this roof, so it don’t make sense for you to be here right now." She said the last bit softly, but there was nothing in her tone suggesting she was fishing for compliments. She wasn’t trying to get him to tell her she was wrong; she was speaking truths. If Britney Spears was fat, she’d be singing in her dressing gown in a mumu, not on stages across the world.

"Some places care lots about having real…specific aesthetics, yeah,” Finn countered, choosing his words with obvious effort, “but we’re not one of them. You can arrange music, and you could sing the sodding phone book and I’d sit here and listen. I dunno why you’re in this place, to be honest. Not even getting to take credit for your own sound.” He paused at the same time that her eyelashes lowered bashfully. “I’m not promising anythin’, you might start up as back up or somethin’, but I could help ya get your foot in the door.”

So basically he’s saying that I’m talented so they would take me on despite the fact that I’m a blob. Sounding good might distract from the fact that I don’t look good.

But he also thinks I’m talented. I mean, I know I’m talented. But this is different!

Like, we’re talkin’ professional level! 

“You ever meet Barney Mayfield?” She tried changing the subject, running her fingers idly over a few of the keys. 

“Yeah,” Finn said, cracking a bit of a smile. “Was probably the best day of my life, actually. Pigeon Racers was solid back in the day.”

Rae’s mouth dropped. “I was only jokin’! You’ve actually met him?”  When Finn nodded, she held up her hands in jealousy. “Well? What’s he like?”

 "Brilliant, but he talked like he was stoned all the time.“ He paused, then bit his bottom lip in a way that was just slightly too distracting. "I mean, well, he probably was stoned all the time, but…” He trailed off with a shallow shrug. 

The fact that she thought Finn was deluded didn’t stop her from gaping at him in awe.

“How’d you get to meet him?”

“Early days at the company. They’d just been picked up by a bigger label, so they was sayin’ their good-byes, and I happened to be there, scuttling around gettin’ everyone coffee." 

"Holy…holy fuck.” Rae’s hands grasped into the piano as if to keep herself grounded. “That’s awesome.” Almost as if she couldn’t help herself, she continued. “You meet anyone else?”

“Well…”

Then Finn recounted the story of how he’d met Liam Gallagher of Oasis, and Rae nearly had a conniption because Liam Gallagher had been the god of her teenage years. She’d been to a concert in Knebworth when she was sixteen and practically passed out in the middle of the mosh pit when Liam Gallagher had stepped a little close to the edge of the stage. She told Finn as much- “I think I got a bit of his sweat on my face, wiped it off with a napkin and nearly put it up for sale”- and Finn laughed so loudly that she started to laugh too, and soon they were both bowled over, nearly wheezing with laughter. At some point, he’d taken a seat next to her at the edge of the piano seat, close enough to feel intimate but with enough space between them not to feel inappropriate.

“He as much of an arsehole in person?” Rae managed, still grinning.

Finn shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I heard he was comin’, so I wore a Man City kit to make sure he’d like me.”

“It work?”

“I got a nod out of him,” Finn said, closing his eyes as if to relish the memory of Liam Gallagher acknowledging his existence.

 There was suddenly something so loose and easy about their conversation. She cared about music almost to the point of pathology; music was what brought her up when she was down, what she was good at, and she knew almost too much about it. But so did Finn. He asked her what her favorite kind was, and she’d responded of course with “the good kind,” leading to a discussion of whether mainstream pop could ever fit this category. (Rae thought no, though there was no denying their catchiness, while Finn seemed inclined to think that there were a few gems among the rough.) They both agreed that boy bands were the worst things to happen in the history of sound, though Rae admitted to having a One Direction song on her MP3 player (“Chlo really loves it, okay!”)

She’d never met a fit boy who actually wanted to talk to her as anything other than a means to an end (and the end was usually Chloe.) Granted, he wanted something from her- her voice- but she’d already refused him that and he’d still hung about to chat. That meant something, right? That he was actually enjoying her company? Rae had plenty of friends, sure, but most of them were ladies and the lads were either allergic to seafood or treated her like one of their own. 

Eventually, their conversation came to a lull, and she turned to find that Finn was looking intently at her, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. After a second, he dredged his eyes away to glance at his watch.

“It’s two'o clock in the morning,” he said dumbly. 

“Jesus.” They’d managed to kill two whole hours. 

He really ought to stop smiling at her like that. It was doing things to her gut.

“Well, Rae,” he said, standing up from the piano chair, “It was lovely to meet ya. I should…” He yawned loudly, “I should head home.”

“Oh,” Rae muttered, with a wide smile. Was that it, then? “So, you get your fifty pound’s worth?” She said cheekily.

His eyes twinkled, and a look that could only be described as mischievous crossed his face.

“No, no I don’t think I did, actually,” he said seriously. When her smile dropped, his recovered. “I’m thinking I’m gonna need a few more exclusive meetings with Rae Earl before I get my money’s worth.”

It took her a second to fully comprehend what he was saying he wants to see you again, you knob and in the time it took for her face to transition between dejection and delight, he’d started to lose confidence, playing with his hands like he didn’t know what to do with him. 

Then…

Oi, is he asking me out? 

Finn was scrawling something on the back of his business card, then handed it to her. “That’s my cell phone number. Give me a ring, yeah?”

She looked down at the digits in her hand, her heart thumping in her chest. “Yeah. Course.”

“Right. Cheers. It was lovely meetin’ ya, Rae.”

“You too.”

One more warm smile, and he was out the door. Rae waited a few moments to make sure he wouldn’t burst back in before slumping backwards in her seat, hitting a few errant keys on the way.

“What the actual fuck.”

anonymous asked:

So my personal headcanon is that Carmilla's actually really wealthy (she has hundreds of years worth of money/assets) so whatever job she gets post S3 is for fun. What if they play off Nat's singing/opera background and make her a sexy cabaret or night club singer. Laura comes in looking all sexy and powerful in that blazer to visit her at work one day but is so turned on after one of her performances, she leads her into her dressing room, peels of her dress and they have the hottest sex ever.

This made me sweaty af, someone write it.  

And agreed with Carmilla being actually wealthy.  Had I been a vampire, I’d definitely save up all those years bc might as well right?  If you’re gonna live that long, you need security d: