‘Topless at the Condor’ Profiles Carol Doda and the Tawdry Raunch of 1960s North Beach

If you’re familiar with North Beach anecdotes, you might have heard the one about the man who died on the Condor Club’s infamous hydraulic piano. The story goes that in 1983, Jimmy “the Beard” Ferrozzo was having sex with a girlfriend on the piano when he accidentally flipped a switch and wound up crushed against the ceiling.

One of the many revelations in the new documentary Carol Doda: Topless at the Condor, is that Ferrozzo was, more likely, murdered by the mob. Friends confirm that he was in trouble with some very dangerous people at the time, and news footage featured in the film demonstrates that police originally considered the death a homicide. What initially seems like a quirky little legend takes on a much more sinister air.

That, in a nutshell, is the message of Topless at the Condor: much of what’s been passed down as amusing stories actually belies a much darker underbelly.

The documentary follows Doda, the first woman to dance topless in North Beach, who sparked a craze in 1964 that ultimately transformed the neighborhood. Her story here initially seems a lighthearted one. The dainty, energetic, go-go-dancing cocktail waitress first bared her breasts at the Condor by wearing the most preposterous swimsuit in history — designer Rudi Gernreich’s monokini. Prior to that, nightclub dancers always covered their nipples with burlesque-style pasties.

Doda was such an instant sensation that topless novelty acts quickly emerged all over North Beach. Other bars scrambled to keep up with the Condor, introducing their own spins on Doda’s act. (The topless band at Tipsy’s is a particular highlight here. As is Judy Mamou, the dancer who incorporated snakes and a monkey into her routine.) Soon the entire neighborhood had topless fever; a menswear store opened with topless assistants, along with a topless shoeshine stand. (Those last two proved to be a step too far for local authorities.)

That, unfortunately, is right about where the fun ends. Topless at the Condor reveals that Doda was the product of childhood neglect and an abusive early marriage. Doda also apparently had two children during that marriage — a fact that comes up almost as an aside towards the end of the movie. (Topless at the Condor would have benefited from more on that topic.) Doda spent her life desperately seeking love wherever she could find it — and her audience was the most immediate and consistent source. That emotional reliance on the limelight, paired with a dearth of other job options ultimately left Doda overworked and underpaid. Though her likeness graced the Condor’s sign for decades, the club’s owners cruelly locked her out of any revenue shares.

Even bleaker, it was the Condor’s publicist Davey Rosenberg who first encouraged Doda — a naturally very small-chested woman — to get silicon injections. Though she spent her life making jokes about the largeness of her enhanced assets, behind the scenes, the injections caused Doda lifelong pain, as well as the disease that ultimately killed her in 2015. (A rival topless dancer interviewed in the film followed Doda’s lead, had her breasts pumped full of silicon and lost both of them at the age of 30 after developing gangrene.)

Though Topless at the Condor does its best to explore whether Doda’s decision to take it all off could be considered a feminist act, the issue is far too complex for the film’s soundbites. Within Doda’s story, there are seeds of joy: bold women exercising the freedom to show off whatever body parts they wanted. The film attempts to draw a parallel between second-wave feminists who burned their bras and Doda’s decision to free her nipples. But this point is a stretch, at best.

In another line of argument, the film weighs dancers’ individual financial gains against the collective effects of normalized objectification. Unfortunately, despite some solid input from commentators like Wednesday Martin and Florence Williams, there simply isn’t enough time here to effectively unpack questions of empowerment and exploitation.

What the film does more successfully is transport the audience back to the sights, sounds, lights and music of 1960s North Beach. Sly Stone’s history in the neighborhood is a welcome addition to the narrative, as is the music of Teddy & George. The documentary is also outstanding when it comes to exploring Doda’s moxie, personal motivations and drive to survive. Some of the nuggets uncovered here about Doda’s later life — like the fact that she performed with a metal band at the DNA Lounge in the 1980s — are captivating. Any time interview footage of Doda is used, her charisma and complexity shine through.

Doda was a product of her time and circumstances and she paid dearly for both her boundary-pushing and endearing, devil-may-care attitude. The film works hard over its 100 minutes to pay Doda her dues and immortalize her life and legacy in a meaningful way. But, like so many who flocked to North Beach in the ’60s in search of a good time, viewers of Carol Doda: Topless at the Condor might be surprised to find out just how much grime was lurking underneath all of that glitz.

‘Carol Doda: Topless at the Condor’ opens at San Francisco’s Roxie Theater (3117 16th St.) and San Rafael’s Smith Rafael Film Center (1118 4th St.) on March 22, 2024. The documentary expands to screens nationwide on March 29.