High life
Studious
Taki
New York Two years after taking New York by storm, the most successful nightclub in recent history has gone the way of the Labour government. In New York, where people take these things extremely seriously, the demise of Studio 54 has everyone talking. 'It's worse than Watergate', was the way one Australian journalist working for Time magazine put it. Studio 54, the club everyone aspired to be part of for so long, has been taken over by the bisexuals from the Bronx, the would-be beautiful people, the Biancas from the suburbs, and all the other tvvitchy-nosed nocturnal low-lifers who used to lay fruitless siege to its doors. To say nothing of the occasional full-fledged polyester duo from Cleveland or Atlanta.
Their vigil is now over. Soon they will be able to join the freaks, transvestites, groupies and professional gays who at present are masquerading as the in-crowd at Steve Rubell's version of capitalist deca dence. Because the in-people, the crowd that does not rely on PR men to place their names in tomorrow's gossip columns, has been staying away from the place as if it were Cambodia. In the world of disco, however, which vibrates to the sound of an eternal Saturday Night Fever and where an ingenious hype machine has lobotomized all but the most discerning, the news that a place is no longer 'in' travels slowly. The change comes as subtly as the ageing process: by the time the mot-so-beautiful ones find out, the glitterati are long gone. Then the game begins all over again elsewhere. Carrot, stick, hope, humiliation, and finally disappointment. Ironically, a disco makes its greatest profits when the slobs are allowed in at last. This is the case with Studio 54 today.
In a town where celebrity-watching takes precedence over sex, the demise of Studio 54 is quite an accomplishment. And it has to do with its Fiihrer, the diminutive kid from Brooklyn who looks like Peter Lorre but once he was successful began acting like Humphrey Bogart: Steve Rubell. It also has to do with the fact that New Yorkers, who are known as the most masochistic people on earth after the British, suddenly would not take it any longer. They were insulted, pushed and beaten up once too often. One man lost a testicle while being thrown out. He is a man of sixty and was caught in the middle of a fracas. A well-known physician, Dr Louis Rogow is suing the club after having his jaw broken by a bouncer, and a well-known actress received multiple bruises but filed no charges.
None of these problems, however, was the catalyst that forced the people who count toinove. All nightclubs are steeped in louche glamour, and the Studio's excesses only helped its image. Rubell's high-handed ways are a different matter. His barechested, athletic barmen wear satin shorts and are personally hired by him after a close examination. Needless to say they are rude to customers.
Rubell's Quaalude intake is legendary, but doesn't help when it comes to making friends. One mini-celebrity who continues to attend Studio 54 is the designer Halston. The elongated, Dracula-like figure has a propensity for the young and is rewarded with introductions. In turn he brings in Bianca and her crowd. But the European contingent. probably as instrumental as anyone in making a nightclub the place to be, have all for the last month been going nightly to Xenon. Xenon combines the craziness of Studio 54 with the luxury of Regine's. No-one has as yet lost a testicle at Xenon. And readers should not be surprised at the demise of 54. It was a microcosm of New York and the jet-set. Here today, gone tomorrow.
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