Old stuff

We really enjoyed our time in Shanghai, but I remarked to both our friends and to Ed that it was surprising to me that no trace of old Shanghai glamor was to be found.  The deco architecture is preserved and the European influence remains, but everywhere you look is modernity.  Facsimiles of legendary 1930s Shanghai abound; clearly I'm not the only mo who wants to see this.  Renovations across the Bund and beyond promise restoration to Shanghai's storied past.  The reality, though, is that Shanghai is a thoroughly modern city and these renovations are just copies of copies of copies...

No where was this more in evidence than the evening that Allison, Ed and I visited a club/bar called Chinatown.  A 3 story bar with a stage in a converted 1930s Buddhist temple brought to us by the dream team behind the Slipper Room and the Box in NYC, Chinatown promises an evening variety show, tawdry burlesque, old fashioned cocktails, etc.  And as it turned out, the cocktails were fantastic, and the space was beautiful renovated.  The evening, overall, was pretty fun but that was largely due to our amusing ourselves with running commentary.  The experience is supposed to be 1934, but this is 2010 and even with vodka and imagination, that couldn't be ignored. 

The performers weren't drunk or high on opium or for hire; they were expats, failed actresses most likely, who clearly take vitamins and get plenty of sleep and keep head shots behind the bar.  We wondered aloud what one of the male performers, a Frank Sinatra type, had done or not done to land himself a regular gig here.  We concluded work release program.  The juggling clown, when offered a shot by a drunken bachelorette, declined saying "oh, I can't, I have to perform again later."  The Chinatown girls had clearly been instructed to wander about the club between acts, wearing flapperish dresses and smoking out of long handled cigarette holders.  The crowd was mainly expats in chinos, many on business trips; there wasn't even an illusion to be ruined. 

The whole conceit, from the Cabaret-imitating emcee to the awkward burlesque felt contrived and controlled.  But I should have known better.  China is a nation obsessed with progress, happily leveling historic buildings and converting temples into night clubs. 

Did I really expect the glamor and recklessness of the 1930s to remain in Shanghai, where the government doesn't allow access to Facebook?