Primitive London Page #4

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she usually gets it.

With the fizzy, tight curls,

there's the primary problem

of straightening out to be dealt with.

While for the straighter hair,

the process goes ahead quite quickly.

Lotions, curling pins and

all the paraphernalia

that women have demanded

and got over the years.

For the more recent problems

of the frizzy head,

the chemists came up

with this de-frizzing cream.

Your hair can be straighter than straight.

Now, every man knows

he couldn't get this service from science

for any problem, like, say, baldness.

But if women suffered from baldness,

the scientists would be working

night and day to find the answer.

Now all that remains is to remove the pins.

With the last few essential touches

from monsieur,

and, voil, the final effect.

Both as sleek as chemistry can make them.

And they talk about equality of the sexes.

There is one field, however,

where no man can compete with the female.

In the world of club entertainment.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING)

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Since Salom, beautiful girls

have always been able to entertain

and dazzle the male with physical display.

The reverse is not true.

The male works alone in his gymnasium.

Cultivation of the male physique has never

lent itself to commercial exploitation,

and so the cult of the body beautiful

in the male

remains one of personal satisfaction

and a certain skill

gained only by considerable application

and self-discipline.

The rippling of the pectorals,

the shudder of the sinews,

the flexing of the biceps,

all this is more likely to bring a laugh

rather than a sigh from the lips of women.

The bodybuilders are concerned with

muscle control and muscular definition.

The exercise is more

cosmetic than functional.

But these men are more in earnest.

Their muscles work for them.

Here is a way for the muscular male

to exploit his strength,

if not his physical beauty.

This is the world of the all-in wrestler.

No holds barred,

no quarter given and none asked.

The man in the tee-shirt is Mick McManus,

a star of this world,

billed as "the man they love to hate."

During workouts like these,

professionals practice the throws and holds

that bring a huge audience

to professional wrestling

and make it one of the

top TV entertainments.

We use the word "entertainment" advisedly.

The boys themselves

recognised this a few years ago

when they all joined

the British Variety Artists' Federation.

Personal combat has always been

the prerogative of the male.

Suitably attired, he would sally forth

in defense of honor, title or reputation,

carrying his lady's favour

and ever-ready to meet his opponents

in mortal combat.

Chivalry was the code.

Pride, the touchstone.

(IMITATES WHOOSHING)

Women just don't go in for personal combat,

except in beauty contests, of course.

Everyday, someone somewhere

is being chosen as Miss Something-or-other.

Suitably draped or undraped,

the girls parade to show

off the physical shape

they've been able to pull,

push or diet themselves into.

The prize may be cash, a screen test,

or a promotion tour in aid of some product.

But what these girls are really after and

what they're competing for, is attention.

Being noticed. They want to be discovered.

By whom, for what, they're not certain.

But they are sure that somewhere,

someone is watching, admiring,

deciding that this is "the" girl.

Each one dreams of being noticed,

of being swept up on a gush

of hot-air publicity to undreamed heights

while they ride the magic

carpet of affluence.

But there's no skill in it,

no element of ingenuity,

no long hours of solitary practice.

Either you have it, or you don't.

The judges will decide.

It's true, isn't it?

What's that we were saying

about personal combat?

Merciless? No holds barred?

Well, suppose you do cheat a bit.

Pinch a little, pad a little.

What if the dressing room does look

more like a meeting of the Magic Circle

than a beauty contest?

The judges can't see into the dressing

room, so what does it matter?

They do say one girl pulled a rabbit

from her bra,

but it turned out to be a photographer

from Playboy magazine.

Now, with the way the world is, you don't

actually have to have it any more.

Just look as if you do. Sound as if you do.

It's enough. It's marketable.

One of the strangest impulses among humans

is the desire for personal decoration.

Tattooing is perhaps one of the earliest

manifestations of this impulse.

Before man decorated the walls of his cave,

he decorated himself.

It predates clothing.

It was an identification mark

showing which tribe a man belonged to.

Its survival into the 20th

century is a curiosity

and owes much to the servicemen

seeking to escape the sameness of uniform.

But lately in Europe, more and more

young girls are going to tattooists,

and presenting a puzzle for psychiatry.

(MACHINE BUZZING)

The design being worked out here

is simple and anonymous,

but will be prominent

in a swimsuit or a low-cut dress.

How come this primitive urge

amongst a generation devoted to modernity?

Is it an extension of the sweater emblems which

declare adoration for some current idol?

Or is it a further manifestation

of the loss of identity?

The terror of anonymity

which so besets so many youngsters?

No one knows, but the thing is happening.

This form of bathing is very ancient.

The Turkish bath aims to liquefy...

LOUIS:
I'd like a word with you.

HARRY:
Yeah, Louis?

LOUIS:
Perhaps you'd like

to explain this sequence.

HARRY:
Well, Louis, it's

like man was saying.

Turkish baths should really

be called Roman baths.

LOUIS:
Roman?

HARRY:
Sure.

See, the Romans invented them,

and the Turks took them up.

LOUIS:
Why was that, Harry?

HARRY:
Well, the early Christian fathers

got worried about their behaviour.

Some of the goings-on in the baths.

LOUIS:
Yeah? What sort of behaviour?

HARRY:
Well, you know, misbehavior.

- Ha! I made a funny.

- LOUIS:
And?

HARRY:
They closed them.

But the Turks kept at it.

LOUIS:
You got something

against Turks now?

HARRY:
No, Louis, that's the way it was.

LOUIS:
And?

HARRY:
Well, the crusaders went crusading

and brought the idea back again.

They called them Turkish baths.

LOUIS:
And this misbehavior,

that started up all over again, huh?

HARRY:
No. No, it didn't. See for yourself.

LOUIS:
We got any girls in this picture,

Harry? HARRY:
Sure. Coming up next.

LOUIS:
And what are they doing?

HARRY:
Taking a bath.

LOUIS:
Well, don't just stand there.

Cut to the girls.

What's this?

HARRY:
That's the girls.

I told you. Taking a bath.

LOUIS:
With their clothes on?

HARRY:
Sure. They're jean-shrinking.

LOUIS:
Which one's Jean?

HARRY:
Jean is the pants they got on.

LOUIS:
Uh-huh.

HARRY:
See, the idea is that

if the jeans don't fit tight enough,

they get in this bath

and shrink them around their legs.

LOUIS:
I get the picture.

HARRY:
You like it, Louis?

Because I've got an idea.

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