Mel Gordon - Voluptuous Panic - The Erotic World of Weimar Berlin

Besides being an object of carnival-like fascination, Jolly was also considered a romantic idol. Starry-eyed Nuttes came to the Hackepeter just to marvel at their unshaven prince-in-a-cage. (Male columnists thought he looked more like a frozen lizard than a hunk.) Among the worshipping female hordes was the young American heiress, Evelyn Rockefeller. In a lovesick plea leaked to the press, Evelyn proposed immediate marriage, a Monte Carlo honeymoon, and eventual retirement on her New York estate.

In March 1926, Jolly completed a 44-day fast, surpassing all known records. To celebrate, Lotte Schulze, the Hackepeter’s owner and a war widow, invited the entire corps of city-desk editors to a sumptuous banquet of Rheinish delicacies. Jolly’s observers and the midget joined in the festivities but the champion hunger artist absented himself. He was with Evelyn.

At the end of the month, Jolly rejoined his place at the Hackepeter and issued a public statement, rejecting the millionairess’ marital offer. Jolly maintained that he had fallen into a deep “spiritual depression” after his 44-day ordeal, which was why he foolishly agreed to the engagement in the first place. Jolly since realized that no hunger artist can both wed and be true to his calling.

The Berlin journalist Adolf Stein (a.k.a. Rumpelstilzchen) thought Jolly changed his mind once more, years later, and followed Evelyn to her Long Island mansion. Where Jolly—and Evelyn—really wound up is unclear, since Evelyn’s name does not show up in the Rockefeller dynasty’s family tree (as far as I can tell) or in the New York Social Registry of the period.

The theatricalization (or eroticization) of Berlin restaurants took many peculiar forms. “Heaven and Hell” dropped the two afterlife locales side by side, like movie-sets, within a single restaurant-nightclub, supplying separate menus and styles of service. “Café Braun” masqueraded its help as world leaders and show-business personalities. The “Quick Bar” brought a bit of exotic Americana to European shores. At its oval counter, one could order just milkshakes or Martinis from a toothy, white-capped soda-jerk. In the Quick dining hall, breath-taking beauties, incongruously dressed in Puritan-Shaker outfits, took orders for dubious Blue Plate Specials.

Theme-restaurants, nightclubs, and dance halls began to overlap in the Twenties to form the newest enclaves of Berlin’s nonstop action. But among the fortresses of Girl-Culture, still anoaher modern concept was added to the glamorous melange, the department store. Instead of cabbing from Diele to restaurant to nightclub, one could experience everything in a single, multi-leveled building. Two of these Pleasure-Palaces became world-renowned, “Haus Vaterland” and the “Resi.”

Occupying an entire city block, Haus Vaterland radiated modernism. Like a still from Metropolis , the domed roof of Vaterland was crowned with a Futuristic ring of neon bands. The arresting sight was said to resemble the head of a giant phallus. Inside its five floors were twelve restaurant-“environments” and a separate variety house. The Vaterland issued its own magazine, The Berolina , and could accommodate 6,000 patrons at any given hour.

The twelve dining arenas were devoted to international and provincial cultures—mostly fabricated—and appropriate culinary spreads. One could select from Turkish, Bavarian, Spanish, Viennese, Baden, Rheinish, Japanese, North German, Italian, Hungarian, Prussian, or American cuisines. And the amusements were site-specific too. The glittering motto of the Vaterland illuminated the Potsdamer Platz entrance, “Every Nation Under One Roof!”

The theatricalization in Haus Vaterland was extreme. For instance, in the Rhineland Wine Terrace, an artificial river flowed at the edges of a 70-foot panorama of the Rheinish countryside and a castle ruins. Stationed inside the mock fortification stood a student a cappella group, the “Cologne Boys.” For 55 minutes of each hour, the Terrace was bathed in sweet synthetic sunshine; suddenly, on the hour, the music stopped and “the Storm on the Rhine,” a five-minute environmental “event,” started up. First, an ominous cloud-cover darkened the entire room—so dark that partygoers couldn’t even locate the sauerkraut on their plates. Charges of simulated lightning and a huge clap of thunder resounded. Then a mechanically operated rain shower swept across the entire vine-garlanded enclosure. The “Storm” concluded with a blinding sunburst from a battery of electric apparatuses and a cheery rainbow. These five minutes were said to be the best theatre in Berlin.

The Resi offered another kind of diversion. It was an interactive pickup bar- cum -wired nightclub. Designed in another monstrous Baroque style, Montmartre Music Hall crossed with UFA spaceship, the Resi sported several tiers of dining, dancing, and infantile play. One of its many ceilings was a motorized glass dome, painted with images of squawking birds and exotic flora. Mechanical geysers erupted with three-foot streams of sparkling, dyed water and 100 mirrored-balls continuously revolved and then split open, like welcoming orchids, when the overhead lights went down. There was a downstairs private rendezvous wine-room, competing bands and bar counters, a parquet dance floor for one thousand box-steppers, even a gigantic “Carousel and Shooting Gallery” for drunken revelers, attempting to relive adolescent Luna Park memories.

Mostly patrons came to the Resi for its promiscuous atmosphere and helpful technology. On 150 tables and 50 balcony stations, numbered telephones allowed celebrants to dial up complete strangers from across the palace and converse in naughty word-play or whisper instructions which bar to meet at. Additionally, an ingenious pneumatic system, built into the Resi handrailings, allowed guests to send small goodies to potential comrades-of-the-evening. On request, waiters brought gift-menus. Lovestruck customers selected from a list of 135 pocket-sized presents, like a bottle of perfume, cigar-cutter, or travel plan for a secret weekend (encased in leather). The luxury item was then placed in a sealed container, rocketed through hidden pneumatic tubes, and finally landed with a dramatic whoosh in a basket at the edge of the intended’s table.