A strange gathering of toys and burlesque playthings took place in the city this week. Putting me in mind of Beauchamp, holding his soiree for the Bunyip boheme, when colour graced the antipodean stage with such vintage poise around the Leviathan belly. Many dressmakers and many happy snappers attended this week.

The glad crowd and mezopaparazzi are such fickle flibbertigibbets, not known for their dedication to anything other than bright light novelty, but here we have an example, my dear student of the low church, of timewarp seamstresses, flairful couturiers, flashing harrys and snapping henriettas coming together to pay tribute to the toyland of the cabaret psyche.

The acts lined up by Sugartime, now established and flourishing as the producers of shows with themed sartorial flair, were strong. Evenings put on at 34b are getting ever stronger and more ripping each time. Tonight it was the Dollhouse show, an island of misfit toys, a Pandora’s Box of burlesque. And everybody came to the party. The night is the last big theme night by Sugartime, before the sweet troupers of Oxford Street fly out for the New York Burlesque Festival to make the nature of Australian Burlesque known in those parts. They will do us proud when given their head.

Plush Panda as MC for the evening, was replete with Spweech Impweddiment, Mr Panda prepared us for pandemonium making good with the mic whilst the ladies made good with the magic.

Germaine’s gyrations in lipstick is an act that grows; we noticed tactical cranky grimacing which coloured her routine agreeably. Gypsie Germaine’s tribute to “girls, girls girls” made the crowd want more, more, more. Little touches and flourishes planting movements well. Adulation will soon become tiresome to her if she continues to be this adept. A brunette with legs as long as any nutcracker ballerina, Gypsie is the ubernusery plaything, the toy that nanny wouldn’t allow you to play with when you were young. But now we are all growed up. The Gypsy Wood is alive and beautiful, if you go down there today. We discovered her as she was discovering herself and losing herself in the song.

Danger money took the money and began. Her promise was an abundant mystery that will tantalise a lucky gathering when it fruits. Beneath that trenchcoat lies I cannot say what other than a bodice that conceals a conundrum ineffable.

A night at the burlesque is a tasty thing. This night was extra scrummy. You are never sure what will happen at such nights; it is part of the joy. If burlesque ever cleaned up its act and became polished it would cease to be burlesque. Sartorially splendid anarchy, that’s the dream. Burlesque proper, is everything the organized theatre is not, and that is it’s value.

The bad toys came out to play, as the all tap dancing, all Singing Sadie, with her renowned potty mouth, came out to shriek at the boys in the playground, ( and anyone else that got in the way ), and we were sure of a nasty surprise. Her bell tingles sweetly and her words let rip. She made short work of seconding help from the audience to swoon a song and with equal dispatch returned him to his seat after he danced a pas de deux with her. She is a boop-oop-pi-doo kind of girlie who could knee any boy in the necessaries at a moments notice, all the while maintaining a blossoming smile. Her lyrical ragtime karaoke should be a signature Australian export; her hybrid talent should be in cabinet. Copping an earful of this was so hilarious I bought the CD. A ratbaggette of choice, she takes the piss with such élan it was sweet and scary at the same time. Singing Sadie is the sensation of the bar dear readers !And like those bygone days of the gyspy pacific, which are rapidly reapproaching according to burlesque barometer, the crowd pressed themselves to the stage to ogle.

Sadie was tapping her way through her numbers charming onlookers with the barbs of her songs. Putting the fun back into dysfunctional.

La Viviana danced up a storm of toreador bravado so hot she very nearly made the dye in her frock melt. The storm of laughter that accompanied her show came in flurried waves dripping from the ends of her frilly spins and standoffs. A subversive lass with a pugnacious sass, she pouted and strutted and owned the stage with flamenco rage.

Panda MC kept bringing the dolls out of the dollhouse.

Lola the Vamp descended from the tropical heavens, a vintage clockwork doll of studied precision. She can pass on lessons in the blink of a silent screen eye that make secret acolytes. Her curls and her love spots configured themselves in an admirable array as if we were privy to a naughty dancing gadget sprung from a jewellery box long hidden in the mementoes of a courtesan.

Lot’s of Sugar Please! I don’t mind if I do! The Sugartime club is a boon for the gracious and the glibly salacious. It’s dolliscious, it’s dollightful, it’s dolluvley !

Polish puppeteers played a pleasing panegyric to interspecies passion. Where a marionette was moved to swoon and beam an inner glow for the puppet master. People went Oohh ! People said Ahhh ! And behold, it was indeed a beautiful thing. From artifice to art, the night was alive with acts.

Pillow talk is a dangerous poppet, especially unsupervised. The gorgeous toy box diva showed us some clever gymnastic stage tricks with the able assistance of a skull sock wearing sidekick. This brolly dolly has moving parts. Such a fully adjustable figurine on the Sugartime stage signaled Pandora’s box was truly open and that Darlingithurts nights are unsuitable for children under a certain age. High camp, high vamp, and full of creamy goodness.

In a Pinkish promenade Ms St James took a turn on the stage, with an enviable array of costumes to match her enviable array of attributes. She proposed a martini for the crowd, and splashed it about for all to share. Being the Supreme Barbie, the stage was awash with her wet providence by the end of her turn. Russal, ‘the doll maker’, Beatie, his mantra “follow me”, plucked two fresh sponge bears from the throng and sopped up her wake with aplomb. A much admired act in itself.

Annabel Lines came out as a puppy with pout, and like all poodles freshly clipped, she wanted to get dirty. Once unleashed she proved very hard to bring to heel, and a howling audience only helped to encourage her to gern under the spotlight, & to be naughtier still.

With the fabrics, the rosy cheeks, the dressing and undressing of dollies, the strong men figurines and the kissing booth, all were having a fine party indeed. Kaspia who is a doll, the pink Mai Tai (the maestro) also a doll, circulated magnificently assuring the stream of fun and sights was unbroken.
Bravo sweet Sugartimers.

Colour was the order of the night. Not a few patrons had fashioned their own fine garments, having plundered the dressups from scores of Sydney glory boxes. My own personal dolly, wore a dinner jacket aptly appliquéd with a betattooed Queen Victoria, on her regal arm, the ink still wet, a motif devoted itself to Sugar and its sweetness. A banner for his playful legion. In his arms he cuddled his own mad toy. Through the looking glass and down the burrow I’m sure I spotted Alice finding things ‘curiouser and curiouser’ in the middle of the toys and teddies, but by this hour the bar had gained so much from me and I from it that I don’t know exactly. Absinth, being so much cheaper than petrol now it is the fuel of choice if not distinction. A swing dancing Alice in her party frock cutting a rug with an action man is not an illusion at Sugartime. It happens punters, it happens.

What a lovely nursery it was, a nursery of talent, a den of devine dolls, a great game of pretend was to be had. This squad of dolls showed no sign of disbanding before the wee hours when all bad bears are apt to play up.

The diversity of talent on show at 34b tonight made us sure that only hope remained in Pandora’s Box as ever, as everything else had been let loose! We hope they’ll be back soon. We hope they will demonstrate what it is that is different about our antipodean ways with freshness. We hope they sail not just to America, but from Australia.

The word is out now. When they return take your mother and your father, discover their risqué side, but arrive early. When somebody laments the sartorial inelegance of the club set remind yourself that you know a place where the splendour reigns.