Original subtitles

You know, it's imagination that fills in the shadows when night falls over the

city.

Soiled dreams come to life when the smoggy breezes and strange pursuits hide

behind the most mundane facades.

Lonely souls hanging out at tenement windows on boozy summer evenings.

And motels full.

Forbidden bodies with empty hearts and emptier bottles.

This old strip joint is full of stories.

The ghosts here bump and grind all night to the sass of muted trumpets and the

wail of a lonely saxophone.

Stories to make your flesh creep, your eyes weep.

or give you a raging hard-on, depending.

I don't know what to make of your ass.

You is one of the stupidest-ass white boys I ever run into in my life!

Night after night, he can't wait any longer to share his memories

of the stars that used to shine in the darkness, filling

his every fantasy.

When you watch this one thing for certain, as they do the dance of love,

the show continues behind the curtain.

If these ladies never get enough.

You know, you don't know burlesque.

All us dead now.

Stripping was a risky business, and most girls who fell into it never climbed up.

You know, bimbos who came out of the Midwest with traveling shows, carny

types.

Sleazy bastards who promised them the stars and showed them the gutter. When

was all this?

Back about 57 or 58, I guess.

There's this one guy, a punk named Cinch.

Temperamental, jealous, small-time hood.

He had a girlfriend who was one of the main strip acts at the Peekaboo Lounge.

Peekaboo. That's right.

Great place.

Well, she was a real doll.

A real knockout, in fact.

And that's what he had in mind of doing to her when he heard through the

grapevine that she was fooling around in her spare time, getting frisky.

Damn that bitch.

Damn, fuck, fuck, shit.

What are you looking at?

What are you looking at?

Hey, shithead, you greasy asshole.

Shit. What is this?

You or me or what?

Both.

Both, shithead.

What kind of a girl would go around with a worm like you anyway, huh?

Hey, fuck you.

She's been my girl for... I know what you know. Don't forget that.

Hey, everything's been eaten off the same tray.

Where do you think she is, huh?

I know.

Some lame fuck's probably got his dick stuck up her.

Or maybe she's licking some cop's badge with her tongue, huh?

You blew it, cinch. She's not coming back to you, never, ever. You blew it,

old boy.

Fuck you. There she is right now, stupid bitch.

Good. That goddamn bastard isn't here now.

Oh, thank God we're home.

I am beat.

I'm beat.

Thrown.

I've got to get out of these clothes.

I know what you mean.

Oh, yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Want to pee again?

Oh, yes.

Oh, baby.

Oh, yeah.

Oh, thank you, God.

Oh, God.

I still got a toy.

Oh, yeah. It's in my top drawer.

Oh, I'm ready.

Oh, push it in me.

Just having a little fun?

How to knock your head off and throw shit down your neck, you know that?

What's the matter, you jealous?

Suck your dick a lot harder.

Oh, yeah.

Use your fingers.

There's more, but you gotta come across, babe.

Barton!

Frank?

Um... I remember, uh...

Bambi.

Bambi Forrest.

Now, there was a looker, if ever there was one. And class?

Shit, she had it all.

Although she was a stunner, she was past her prime.

And love?

Love was a forgotten joke that she never got.

Bambi tried to bust into the movies once, but she couldn't handle success,

and failure couldn't handle her.

So she made her living in the only place where she could forget who and what she

was.

In bed.

Oh, this is so great.

Bambi, baby.

Help me baby, help me.

oh oh

Don't let me come, baby.

No.

Oh, baby.

Oh, yeah.

Oh.

You have reams of personality there, Bambi. Did anyone ever tell you that? I

mean, if you entered the Miss America contest, you'd probably win for Miss

Congeniality. Look, a lei is 20 bucks.

You want personality?

That's another Jackson.

You know, it's like getting fucked in the ass.

You know, it costs more.

Hand me my shirt, babe, will you?

So, uh, how about dinner?

the dance tonight.

Hey, my fans have a cigarette.

Hey, that's right. I forgot you have fans.

Little did she know that that very night, she would meet him.

A kid who would melt down her heart faster than Three Mile Island.

Everything about this kid was green except for his teeth.

His youthful verve and his shyness got to Bambi.

Just a minute.

Kid,

what can I do for you?

Hi, Miss Forrest.

Come on, spit it out.

It's late and I've got to get my beauty sleep.

Well, I'm a really big fan of yours. I saw you on the stage.

And if you wouldn't mind, could you sign an autograph for me, please?

Why, sure.

Sure, kid.

Turn around.

So what's your name?

Harold. My friends call me Bumper, though.

Pumper?

No, no.

Bumper. With a B. Oh, bumper.

Bumper. With a B. Okay.

Bumper.

To a great kid.

Stay sweet.

Of course.

Love.

Hold still.

Bam.

How about that?

My God, I don't believe this.

Thanks a lot.

Okay.

Thank you.

Bye.

Bye.

Wasn't that nice?

Times got tough, and Bambi took the work in any gig she could get,

even to the point of playing the strip clubs and...

downtown, the other side of the tracks.

After brushing off another faceless John, Bambi gets an aching for the sauce

again and orders up a pint of Kessler's bourbon, a

pack of Pell Mills, and a roll of Tums.

Little did she know what fate would deliver her instead.

Okay, we got a pack of pound of meld and all the pounds.

Holy shit.

You're Bambi Forrest.

Ban, huh?

Well, welcome to Mount Olympus, kid.

You got a name?

Harold.

Bumper, remember you signed my picture a couple years ago, remember?

Oh, yeah, pumper bumper.

It's Kate.

Sit down and take a load off your ass.

How you been?

Good.

Here you go. Here's something to grow hair on your chest.

No, I shouldn't. I'm working. Okay, go ahead. I won't talk about it. Go on.

Oh, shh.

Smooth, huh?

Yeah.

I thought so, too.

You look great.

Yeah?

Well... Bumper.

You sure do look good.

So do you.

I gotta get back to work. Oh, no.

You stay right here.

I love you.

Amen.

I've waited this for a long time.

Keep going.

BAM!

Yeah.

And after that, Bambi got lost in Lovesmore Ass.

She forgot her husband in Winnemucca, took down all the old photos and lost

her past in a future she couldn't pay for.

She was his Guinevere.

And he was her Lancelot.

And the rest of the world became a movie they'd never even buy a ticket to.

You're the greatest, Bambi.

You're the absolute greatest.

But you're cold, babe. You're still cold. Real cold.

Yeah. And I'm also going to be retiring soon.

No, no, no, baby. You're never going to retire.

This business was made for you.

So what do I owe you?

The usual?

What the fuck is that?

Just a minute.

Hey, Bambi, baby.

I told you not to come till tomorrow. I'm sorry, baby. Just had to see you

again.

Who's that?

Uh, nobody, baby. Nobody.

I'm sorry, Bambi. If I would have known you had a customer coming, I would have

left already, you know?

Customer?

What, is he a trick?

I told you not to come here till tomorrow.

You're a whore?

Yeah, I'm a whore. And it pays for this fucking room.

It pays for your cigarettes. It pays for the goddamn booze.

What, do you do this all the time?

Now I know why you were so good.

Bit of a professional touch.

Tell you what, I don't like going out owing anything.

The service is rendered.

Keep the change.

Fucking whore!

Now that it's over, do you still want me?

You know, I think you're absolutely right.

This one's on me.

Hey, hey, wait a minute. I don't know if I'll be able to get it up if I don't

pay.

Oh, come on.

I'll make sure you do.

Every heart that soars too high back to earth must fall.

Hey, bartender.

Knee into my sponge here.

Okay, so now I'm going to tell you about the time that April showers.

Now, now, wait a minute. Hold on, Bumpy.

April showers.

Now, are you talking about a stripper or some kind of pee freak?

April Showers was her real name. I happen to know that she was one of the

Philadelphia Showers.

I'm going to tell you about the time that she rubbed the strip joint's odd

job, man, Sal the Pal, the right way at the wrong time.

See, Sal was kind of the backstage mascot.

He would fetch lost pasties and discover long-forgotten G-strings.

Everybody would say, Sal, fetch me my pasties, or Sal, bring the piano up to

the balcony.

and buy me a douche. My new boyfriend's coming tonight, and I don't want to

stink a pizza face after the show.

Yeah, okay.

Okay, but you gotta wait right here, all right? I'll be right back.

Okay? Wait right here.

You know, you shouldn't go hitting on Sal like that.

You know, you shouldn't pick on me like that. You shouldn't be mean to me.

Sal, be a pal and go fuck yourself.

And you know what?

You shouldn't talk to Sal like that. You know why?

Because it hurts my feelings.

And you hurt my feelings so bad if you ever wanted to be my friend again.

You'd have to suck my dick.

You're kind of cute for a half-wit.

But, uh... But, uh... But Sal ain't just asking.

Sal's telling.

Mm-hmm.

Oh. Oh.

She wasn't prepared for where Sal's love shower fell.

And just at that point, a stagehand found him. Sal's coarse animal member

still spurting all over the place and told her to get on stage fucking pronto.

Hey, say, buddy, whatever happened to Sal?

Well, Sal got all sorts of grief and shit for that episode from the manager,

but...

All he could understand is that he was guilty by omission.

Say what?

Forget it.

Why don't we go back upstairs and you can buy me another double?

Say, tell me about Lucky.

Lucky? Lucky's gone now.

That's what I heard.

Lucky was a tough, quiet type who used to operate the follow spot down at the

old Ivor. Hollywood.

That's the place.

Lucky had fought in Nam.

And when he came home, with all the decorations a grunt could get, his

parents were dead and his wife was, well, liberated.

The Ivor Theater.

It became a foxhole for Lucky, just like those girly magazines had been back in

High Farm.

Until one day, his spot caught her in its circle of sin.

Her name was Melissa, but she called herself Tumbalina.

It was late Sunday night. Booze wasn't available anywhere except for one place.

And little Tumbalina knew right where to go, right for Lucky. And that is when he

made his move.

Uh, hang on one second.

One minute. I'll be right there.

Hold on. I'm coming. I'm coming. Hang on.

Jeez, what took you so long? I don't have all night.

Do me a favor.

I'll just have you drink over here on the couch.

Something I want you to do for me, all right?

Hmm.

I want you to play with my friend Peter.

He's right over there in the basket.

Why don't you just tell me a little bit about yourself?

About me?

It's not much to tell about me. I mean, this little stripper.

My name is Peter. My name is Melissa, but all my friends call me Tumbalina.

My mom and dad got divorced when I was 12 because my mom caught my dad with

Cocker Spaniel. Then I got mono, and then I had this dream I could become a

ballet dancer, but I was too freaked out to handle it, so instead I had a nervous

breakdown. Anyway, my mom got married to the president of ASPCA, and my dad, he

died in the nuthouse after chasing a tractor.

Stand up.

Take your dress off.

Sorry you like my stripping clothes.

You look like a lollipop, baby.

Yeah.

You lucky, huh?

Oh, yeah, baby.

Oh, yes.

Oh,

yeah.

Oh, yes.

My drink.

My drink.

That's good.

You'll be my little doggy then, huh?

She said, I'm not telling you this.

Why is it like this, huh?

There's a nice little puppy.

You're such a good girl.

Uh-huh. Such a good girl. And you are one crazy motherfucker.

Come on, Major. Just give me one more for the road. Be kind to me.

Another dream!

I'll get you another one.

Bartender!

Sadie the Fridge.

That should have been on the marquee instead of Pearly Gates or whatever the

fuck it was she called herself.

Sadie was okay in my book.

There was a real bright kid that had gone to college, and she made men feel

kind of inferior, because she was bright. She wasn't no fucking street

corner philosopher or nothing.

She could take out the flames on a couple of candles with one shake of her

twin 38s.

Sadie hits the streets and winds up here.

This was about 10 or 15 years ago when all the girls were paying protection

money.

Except for Sadie.

Paying the cops to let her practice her art.

This didn't make any fucking sense to her.

None of the guys who saw Sadie could ever get her out of their besotted

heads. One sigh from this woman and men left their wives and never

looked back.

So, one day finally this bitch gets green eyes and tips off the vice boys.

And a couple of jerks.

Staked out her flop and busted in.

Figuring to slap her around a little bit and split with her dough.

Nice legs.

Thank you.

What do you mean?

You want protection? You pay, though.

What are you talking about?

Our neighborhood.

No, I don't pay for... Forget.

Well, I can take your dick if you want.

But first, let me take some drinks with you.

That's what I'd like to do. What do you say?

Well, we gotta get our money's worth somehow.

Real hard. Real hard, yeah.

Maybe at the same time.

Like, yes, split her cheeks apart and fuck her like that. Like, yes.

Hey, guys.

For you.

Two flatfoots for dead of the world, she went to work.

One well-placed phone call would do it.

So she takes the bracelets out of their pockets and cuffs them together,

see?

Then she makes them up like a couple of Tijuana whores.

Evidence is firm as her thighs.

She can't come back to town anymore.

But those two rot pricks who fucked her up are never going to get out of that

Delaware dildo factory. I ain't had enough.

I got to be getting back to the barnacle, my shit.

Oh, come on. How about one more just teensy-eensy-beansy triple bourbon?

Shit, I'll be damned if I don't pay any more else out.

Go on.

Thanks for the terrific story. Yeah, sure. I hope it got you hot.

I hope hair grows on your fucking palms.

It was all a lie anyway. A goddamn lie.

Hey.

Now that it's all over, you still want me?

Bambi?

For Christ's sakes, you're always talking about Bambi.

It's Betty.

Betty, remember?

Come on, Bumper.

Let me take you home and pour you into bed.

He can't wait any longer to share his memories Of

the stars that used to shine in the darkness Filling his every fantasy

When you watch this warm thing for certain As they do the

dance of love The show continues behind the curtain

if these ladies never get enough