creative

Every so often, an aspiring screenwriter wanders into the dim red glow of Jumbo’s Clown Room hoping to interview one of the dancers. “They’re like: ‘I’m writing a screenplay. Can I interview you?” says Cecilia Fairchild, one of the longtime dancers at the renowned East Hollywood bikini bar.

Her response is usually some version of this: “I’m like, ‘Why are you writing about that? Don’t you know we are all writing that too? Leave us alone,’” Fairchild says with a mischievous laugh. What bothers Fairchild is the assumption behind it — that the dancers are voiceless and helpless. Worst of all, they’re presumed to have stories worth mining but not the ability to produce literature themselves.

Jumbo’s has a longstanding reputation of being part of L.A.’s literary lore.

In the 1970s and 1980s, Charles Bukowski — L.A. nightlife’s debaucherous poet laureate — was rumored to haunt the bikini bar in its early days. David Lynch wrote his classic screenplay “Blue Velvet” at the bar. (According to local legends, the iconic opening shot of “Blue Velvet” came to Lynch when he spotted a dancer with only one ear.) Writer and director Quentin Tarantino reputedly wrote at the bar. But while Jumbo’s has garnered a mythology as a magnet for filmmakers, writers and musicians who collect impressions, the dive’s dancers have shifted from being the subject to the artists.

Many of Jumbo’s dancers write fiction and memoir, host literary salons across Los Angeles and find ways to tell their own stories rather than serve as muses. “It’s funny because I wish that male auteurs would tell the story of customers. I want a sniffer’s memoir. I think that’s a real point of view,” Fairchild says. (Speaking of alienation and horniness, the dancer has been meaning to crack the Marcel Proust canon.)

Honey Ryder (Claudia Musikul) types on the bar inside Jumbo’s Clown Room. (Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Fairchild is a playwright, poet and memoirist. Her recently completed memoir, “The Poison + The Spit,” traces a life of tumultuous love affairs and a stint dancing in New Orleans, rendered in prose that is whimsical, surreal and deeply emotional. The dancer also hosts the Downpour, a popular monthly literary salon at Bar Covell, and recently directed “Fool in the Pool,” a play that premiered at El Condor in Silver Lake this summer.

Her writing style mirrors her dancing: kinetic, wild and unpredictable. She sometimes takes the stage in roller skates, dancing to David Bowie. Her memoir achieves that same sense of hypnotic motion. “The memoir is so heavy,” she says. “Everything was so sad that I needed some lens to look at it that was fun, zippy and crazy.”

For Fairchild, dancing and writing possess the same need to expose oneself. “Vulnerability is one of the most interesting things about dancing,” she says. “There really is the potential to look into people, and they look into you, and you wordlessly share something with them that is half sexual and half this other thing.”

Meanwhile, Danielle Henderson — another dancer and aspiring novelist at Jumbo’s who writes under the pen name D.M. Faulk — has been working on a science-fiction novel titled “Meridian.” The book imagines a dystopian American wasteland where pregnant women are surveilled and controlled. She has been a longtime science-fiction fan since she and her father watched “Jurassic Park” and “Planet of the Apes” when she was a child.

Long treated as passive muses by visiting writers, Jumbo’s dancers — from left, Caroline Blaike (Caroline Moyer), Honey Ryder (Claudia Musikul), and Cecilia Fairchild — are reclaiming the narrative as active poets, memoirists and screenwriters.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Unexpectedly, the Jumbo’s comically tiny dressing room became the inspiration for her novel. In 2022, when Roe v. Wade was overturned, conversations between dancers about reproductive rights ignited in the dressing room, which in turn informed her novel.

“A lot of those conversations happen in the dressing room. I’m incredibly inspired by the women I’m with who are incredibly sex positive and strong.” That ethos informed Henderson’s protagonist, Zayla.

In recent years, the bar has become a local author hangout. Allie Rowbottom, the author of the recent buzzy adult film novel “Lovers XXX,” discovered the bar in 2011 on the occasion of writer Elizabeth Hall’s birthday party. “I recall sitting front row on novelist Jon Lindsey’s lap, raining dollar bills on dancers performing intricate, beautiful athletic feats,” Rowbottom says. “I spent more than I could afford that night and have been back often since.”

Increasingly, Jumbo’s has cemented itself as a watering hole to the local writing scene. “Two years ago, I rented out a few tables for Jon Lindsey’s birthday, attended by Los Angeles literati like Tea Hacic-Vlahovic, Sammy Loren, Morgan Krantz, Tex Gresham and Nada Alic,” she adds.

According to Rowbottom, Jumbo’s is rife for literary inspiration. “To me, Jumbo’s feels uniquely dedicated, as a venue, to intersecting sex and art, despite the obvious dissonance of selling either,” she says. “I suspect such is what has historically made it a rich spot for writers, dissonance and tension being of utmost importance to good literary work.”

From left, Caroline Blaike (Caroline Moyer), Honey Ryder (Claudia Musikul), Cecilia Fairchild and Stephen (Aaron Laughton) inside Jumbo’s Clown Room.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

A charged scene in L.A. writer Aiden Arata’s critically-acclaimed 2025 essay collection, “You Have a New Memory,” features a night out at Jumbo’s Clown Room. “The dancers are starlets, athletes, artists; the theme is clown, and also longing — longing is a high form of physical comedy,” says Arata. “It possesses that heady mix of scuzz and glamour that can trick you into thinking your life is about to change.”

Jumbo’s burgeoning literary interest revives a hotly debated question: Who gets to tell the stories of sex work? For decades, the club has inspired celebrated writers and filmmakers, but Claudia Musikul — a dancer at Jumbo’s and a screenwriter herself — hopes its literary legacy will increasingly belong to the people at its core: the dancers.

“I hope that everybody can actually get their work out there because I feel it’s much deserved,” says Musikul. “You’ve probably heard about Bukowski, David Lynch doing ‘Blue Velvet’, or Anthony Bourdain. That’s all really cool, but in a way, it’s the actual dancers’ turn to have that kind of recognition.”

Musikul primarily writes screenplays about strippers, a subject she believes is seldom represented authentically. She has been in writing partnerships and workshops while developing scripts centered on dancers. In a sea of films depicting sex work, she cites Paul Verhoeven’s “Showgirls” as a film that resonates with her experience.

“‘Showgirls’ is my very favorite movie,” she says. “It’s my very special place in my heart movie.”

For Caroline Blaike, a poet and dancer at Jumbo’s, the connection between dancing and writing lies in observation. Years of performing have made her acutely attentive to the people who pass through the club, a voyeuristic habit that carries over into her poetry.

“When you’re a dancer, you’re very observant. You watch every person that walks in,” she says. “I feel like the way dancing makes you observe people helps you write from a perspective that other people can then relate to.”

Blaike has been working on a poetry collection that explores love, queerness, desire and personhood. “It’s gotten a little sexier over time, which is kind of fun,” she says. “I also just write about love, being gay, just existing. It can be a little aggressive, but people seem to like it, so that’s good.” She writes these poems from her prized typewriter — a “1951 Olympia typewriter that is my child.”

Among Blaike’s earliest literary touchstones was Maya Angelou. She still remembers encountering Angelou’s line in her poem “Still I Rise,” “I dance like I have diamonds at the meeting of my thighs,” and being stunned by it.

“I was like, ‘Oh, you can write that? That’s amazing,’” she says.

The literary ambitions at Jumbo’s extend well beyond the stage. Stephen Laughton, one of the club’s security guards, jokes that he leads a double life. By night, he keeps watch at the door; by day, he is an award-winning playwright. He’s recently been named the new associate artistic director of the Echo Theater in Atwater Village, and Laughton’s served as the writer-in-residence in the astrophysics department at the Natural History Museum in New York. Last November, his latest play became the first in the world to be staged in a planetarium.

“It’s this crazy, beautiful science play about two guys who meet in a club that explores mental health in the LGBT community, human interaction, time and astrophysics,” Laughton says.

Like many of his co-workers, Laughton has found himself turning Jumbo’s into copy. The club, he suggests, has a way of compelling everyone who works there to write about it.

“I think that probably what we’re all going to realize is that we’re all writing a version of the exact same story,” Laughton jokes.

Blaike argues that the dancers’ diverse talents are a key reason why Jumbo’s Clown Room has become such a beloved institution in the city. “It attracts confident, creative women who work there,” says Blaike. “Our community of women is supportive of each other and each other’s endeavors. … It really does facilitate that.”

What do you do when a creative team mounts an acclaimed production of a beloved play, breaking box office records as one of the most successful shows in your theater’s more than 100-year history? For the Pasadena Playhouse, the answer was clear. You get them back on the boards as soon as possible — say, six months later.

Which is how it came to pass that more than a dozen creatives behind Peter Shaffer’s “Amadeus,” including director Darko Tresnjak and actor Jefferson Mays, have returned to the historic theater for a new production of Swiss dramatist Fredrich Dürrenmatt’s revenge tragicomedy “The Visit,” running through Oct. 4.

“It feels like we just cleaned out our dressing rooms and we’re moving back in,” notes Mays.

The cast and crew of the adaptation of Friedrich Durrenmatt’s “The Visit,” at the Pasadena Playhouse. Many have returned to the venue after helping stage the hit production of “Amadeus” there in April.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“Amadeus,” which ended its run in April, was a critical and box office hit, so popular that after tickets were gone, additional shows were added — which also quickly sold out. Danny Feldman, producing artistic director of the Pasadena Playhouse, puts it simply: “Theater is a team sport, and when you’ve got a winning team, you want to keep playing together.”

It was during tech for “Amadeus” that Tresnjak told Feldman of his love for “The Visit,” which he first directed in college. “I quite literally found my calling in life because of it,” says Tresnjak.

Feldman was also a fan — of both the play and working with Tresnjak — and quickly scheduled the show for the new season.

“Our job is to give artists a home where they can stretch and take risks,” says Feldman. “Audiences got to experience this artistic synchronicity during ‘Amadeus,’ and we’re so excited they get to deepen their relationship with these artists as they watch ‘The Visit.’ ”

The respect is mutual. Mays, who has won almost every major theater award in existence including a Tony and an Obie, says the Playhouse is one of the best he’s ever worked at. “It’s certainly the most healthy,” he notes. “They are unabashed theater fans and lovely people.”

Only days earlier, Mays had given what could be perceived as a backhanded compliment. “I said, ‘You don’t run a theater at all, you run a high school drama club,’ ” Mays recalls. “I meant that in the way it’s infused with joy and a sense of play and support and that we can do anything with impunity and embarrass ourselves and they will be there to pick us up and dust us off. It’s just a gorgeous feeling.”

While Mays brought Tresnjak to “Amadeus,” this time the director asked the actor to join “The Visit.” Mays admits he wasn’t very familiar with the text. Tresnjak’s production, which utilizes the 1956 adaptation by Maurice Valency, centers on the small town of Güllen, which is facing financial ruin.

Actors Jefferson Mays and Melinda Page Hamilton star in an adaptation of Friedrich Durrenmatt’s “The Visit,”at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

The townspeople are preparing to welcome back former resident and potential patron Claire Zachanassian (Melinda Page Hamilton), who has become the richest woman in the world since leaving. It turns out, Claire is more than happy to help. But there is one condition: Someone must kill her former lover Anton Shill (Mays), who impregnated and abandoned Claire in their youth.

Audiences expecting an easy villain and a clear case of right and wrong will be surprised as the narrative unfolds with an examination of community, complicity and corruption within institutions of power.

Tresnjak says “The Visit” can’t be described as one thing. “I don’t want to call it a feminist revenge fantasy because that belittles it,” he says. “It’s also an inversion of a medieval mystery play where the Earth Mother is not benevolent. It’s also a fun, nifty stage thriller.”

And as relevant as the day it was written, Tresnjak adds. Dürrenmatt penned “The Visit” as a critique of Switzerland’s neutrality after World War II, which he saw as an abandonment of ethics driven by capitalism.

Tresnjak says he recently directed a scene where one townsperson urges the others to hold out against Claire’s proposition of murder, on the same day news broke that the U.S. Department of Education had pressured the American Bar Assn. to end Diversity, Equity and Inclusion efforts. “It made me think how in some ways, the citizens of Güllen are better off than we are,” Tresnjak says

“It really is more timely than ever,” agrees Mays, who wonders if that might keep audiences away. In 2007, he starred in the World War I drama “Journey’s End,” which went on to win a Tony Award for best revival. “It was a beautiful play, but nobody came,” he says. “We were at war with Afghanistan and Iraq, and people had enough of war. Sometimes you hold the mirror up to the world, and it reflects it too well.”

Mays jokes he said yes because “it was only fair after I hornswoggled Darko into ‘Amadeus.’ ” The actor is known not just for his versatility but for displaying it in rapid succession. He won the 2004 Tony Award for playing more than 40 characters in “I Am My Own Wife,” and his 2022 adaptation of “A Christmas Carol” saw him take on more than 50 characters.

Mays admits the role of Anton is “a strangely passive and reactive role that I’m still not sure I’m entirely right for,” even going so far as to say, “I can name 10 actor friends who would be better.” But he was bowled over by the director’s passion. “It’s so thrilling when someone approaches you with something they are burning about, and I couldn’t say no.”

Indeed, Anton has a lot to react to; Hamilton’s Claire is the proactive role, forcing the action at every turn. Hamilton is known to TV audiences for her roles on “Mad Men” and “Desperate Housewives,” but she previously worked with Tresjnak on “Bell, Book and Candle” and “Rear Window” and is a big admirer of his work.

Melinda Page Hamilton plays Claire in an adaptation of Friedrich Durrenmatt’s “The Visit.” She is one of a handful of cast and crew that didn’t appear in “Amadeus” this spring.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“I also tried to see ‘Amadeus,’ but I couldn’t get tickets,” she says with a laugh. She was thrilled to get a call from Tresnjak, who felt it was important to cast L.A. actors and enjoys working with previous collaborators — to the point where he didn’t hold auditions.

“I think traditionally Claire has been portrayed as crazy and evil, and that didn’t interest Darko,” Hamilton says. “I also think post-Epstein, post-#MeToo, post sheer volume of terrible behavior that men get away with, it has a different resonance today.”

Tresnjak says the role of Claire has long been special to him. “This is a woman who owns everything she is, who never tells a single lie or tries to obscure what she wants,” he says. “She is simply making society look at itself.”

Tresnjak’s upbringing was largely influenced by his mother, Maria, an immigrant from Yugoslavia (now Serbia) who served as a military skydiver in World War II. “My mother was a very strong woman, a woman who fought for what she believed in,” he says. “I have no interest in doing something like ‘Streetcar,’ where a woman is being driven out of her mind. I enjoy characters with agency.”

Director Darko Tresnjak has long wanted to stage a production of Friedrich Durrenmatt’s “The Visit,” a play dear to his heart for many years.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

And he’s thrilled to have found a home that supports his vision, praising Feldman and associate artistic director Jenny Slattery, who was his student when he taught at UC San Diego. “They’re not afraid of big swings and of taking chances, and not only do people seem to appreciate that, they’re coming to see it,” he says.

With two productions in a year, is it too early to hope that this team has found a recurring home at the Pasadena Playhouse? Tresnjak demures, “I wouldn’t want to put that pressure on Danny and Jenny,” but admits he would be thrilled to return. “Of course, I’m very happy here.”

Mays is equally game. “It’s such a rare and wonderful thing in this country to have a sense of company,” he says. “To have so many actors and designers back from ‘Amadeus’ and to return to a place of such support; it feels like something that rarely exists anymore.”