by Julie Klausner
Julie Klausner: A big pet peeve of mine is when people confuse Bob Fosse’s stiff jazz hands for spirit fingers.
Natasha Vargas-Cooper: UGH! Jazz hands are like Lady Liberty’s crown of spikes. They make a precise statement. Spirit fingers are for RENAISSANCE FAIRE WEIRDOS.
Julie: They’re deeply sexual, Fosse’s hands, especially when you consider that he stuck his troll pole in every chorus girl.
Julie: Look at the girls in “All I Care About is Love” from ‘Chicago.’ Rolling around on the floor around Jerry Orbach? That shit is filthy.
Natasha: You’re right.
Julie: This is like the precursor to “stupid drunk chick passed out in dorm room gets fucked.”
Natasha: Sexual delirium, but, like controlled.
Julie: Of Fosse’s muses, I think Liza was the least tabula rasa.
Natasha: Well, sure! There’s so much LIZZZAH packed into Liza.
Julie: Gwen Verdon was his collaborator whereas Anne Reinking embodied that fascist precision of Fosse’s manias.
Julie: And Anne Reinking was the vessel he just filled up.
Julie: Like, creampie style.
Natasha: Anne in sparkly bowler hat of pain!
Julie: She was just glitter, legs, and teeth.
Julie: That’s the kind of mistress you have to be for Fosse, I think.
Julie: Like, “May I move my pinky now?”
Natasha: It’s like he drew her.
Julie: When she gives those hips it’s like she oiled her hinges for him.
Natasha: What psycho-sexual element are we dealing with here?
Julie: It’s that link between fascism and sexuality (and so much glitter).
Julie: That wrist flick in â€˜All That Jazz’ kills me every time.
Julie: It’s like gorgeous Malcolm Mcdowell’s eyelashes wide open at the beginning of â€˜Clockwork Orange’!
Julie: And only his foot taps.
Natasha: So sexually menacing.
Natasha: So that’s the kind of woman you have to be, huh?
Julie: To be married to that man?
Julie: Well, ask Mrs. Coppola.
Julie: Or like, ask Sharon Tate.
Natasha: *SAD HANDS*