"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 7/31/92
cutline: Lana Clarkson--the one, the only, the original Barbarian Queen--displays her two enormous talents in the thrilling sequel, "Barbarian Queen II: The Empress Strikes Back."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
A couple weeks ago I tooled out to El Lay to be in a commercial, and the producer leered at me over the phone and said, "You'll be working with two Playmates."
So he got my attention.
And, sure enough, when I got there, he introduced me to these two Playboy Playmates, including one beautiful blonde girl who had . . . excuse me, but this is tough for me . . . who had a GIANT TATTOO IN THE SHAPE OF A HEART ON HER SHOULDER.
Whoa! Yow! Ouch! I'm talking about a big ole purple tattoo that Popeye would have rejected as too ostentatious. A humongous mother of a statement, even by the standards of the Sixth Fleet.
Okay, what is this thing with tattoos?
I mean, it was one thing when guys named "Otis" were getting em. Remember the "Tattooed Lady," who worked out of Slidell, Louisiana, and played every state fair freak show in America? The one who had tattoos on top of tattoos, so many tattoos that she turned black? How about the movie "Tattoo," where Bruce Dern chains that woman up and tattoos every inch of her body? At least he had to RESTRAIN the bimbo. At least he was a PSYCHO. Today that would just be called a casual relationship among artists.
You ever been at a topless bar and thought, "This is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?"--until you noticed the giant multi-colored piece of lasagna stitched on her ankle? How about the ones who put zoo animals on their gazongas? How about the ones who have entire NOVELS sewed right directly square on their . . . I can't say it. My whole body is shaking. And doesn't that HURT?
I know I know I know, it's trendy, it's hip, it's Yuppie post-punk pseudo-biker body art invented by some transvestite in a Miami Beach performance-art disco, right? I know how these things get started.
But what I don't understand is, what happens when you go through some major life change, and now you decide you don't wanna hang around the storefront leather bar anymore where barefoot women wearing gunny sacks do squat-dancing, and you look down at your stomach and you have the equivalent of a "Kiss Me, Stupid" T-shirt sewn on there? I mean, it happened to Jane Fonda, right? One minute she's leading protests against Pakistani military dictatorships through the teeming streets of Santa Monica, the next minute she's sipping mint juleps in Atlanta, discussing bond portfolios? What if she had a full body tattoo that said "U.S. Out of Central America"? It might put a damper on Ted's sex drive.
I've heard several theories about it. Christian dimwits says it's "worship of the flesh." (It actually looks like mutilation of the flesh to me, but then that would be too similar to going to church, wouldn't it?) Punk rockers talk about it like it's a way to identify Us and gross out Them. Bikers talk about it the same way, like it's a badge of honor. Lovers talk about it like something that bonds them together. Pimps talk about it like it's a brand, like labeling your property. Sailors--the ones that still do it--act like it's something you go through to prove how macho you are.
What's the bottom line here?
The bottom line is "I'm different."
Of course, there's another possible theory.
Yall all got drunk, right?
You were wasted.
I knew it.
Speaking of the bodies of wild wild women, "Barbarian Queen II" is finally here. (Have you noticed lately how they'll sometimes wait eight or nine years to make the sequel? It has something to do with taking movies that nobody wanted to see, showing em 9,000 times on cable TV, and making them commercial again.) Anyhow, Lana Clarkson is back as the BQ, but she's ENHANCED HERSELF, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
As our story opens, Lana, the only blonde barbarian Amazon leader with a Valley Girl accent in history, is still refusing to bathe and frolicking in the forest with her cardboard sword. It doesn't matter, though, because her big poufy hair-do would stay fluffy in a hurricane-force wind. Threatening to fall out of her flowing chiffon nightgown at any moment, she screams "Nobody is going to make a lady out of me!" at the evil king Ankaris, who keeps her in the dungeon and threatens her with death unless she reveals the secret of the scepter, which she won't reveal as long as her father, the real king, is alive, because if you reveal it while he's alive, he dies, but then none of this matters anyway because she escapes and joins a band of warrior Amazon women with enormous hooters and cute little leather fighting bikinis and pretty soon they're leading a peasant revolt against the corrupt castle-dwelling rulers, but then Lana is recaptured and chained up and gets her blouse ripped off several times, and the only hope is that about a hundred Mexican extras can overrun the castle and . . . but I don't wanna give away the whole thing, so let's look at those drive-in totals:
Sixty-one dead bodies. Thirteen breasts. Nude Amazon mud-wrestling. Wild-pig hunting. Peasant orgy. Aardvarking in the grass. Multiple cardboard sword-fighting. Nekkid wriggling Amazon suspended over a bed of spikes. Great crowd scenes, in which 10 guys make for an "army" of knights, and 30 people count for all the peasants in the land. Kung Fu. Scepter Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Lana Clarkson, as the Barbarian Queen, for saying "Men don't understand power--they think all it's good for is getting more"; Cecilia Tijerina, as the spoiled little brat daughter of the king, for saying "Don't make me upset, or I'll never marry you"; Greg Wrangler, as the king's evil minister, for saying "She honestly believes that peasants are as good as we are" and--after ripping her blouse off--"What an awesomely disgusting sight!"
Two stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over Communism! The Cascade Drive-In, just east of Route 59 on North Avenue in West Chicago, Ill., has refurbished its concession stand, sand-blasted its screen, repainted, replaced the speaker posts, cleaned up its playground, installed radio sound, and now offers free candy for children. The Cascade has one of the biggest screens in America, and owners Jeff and Poppy Kohlberg are doing a thriving business. Kurt T. Schluter of Hoffman Estates reminds us that, with eternal vigilance, the drive-in will never die. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and Joe Bob's world-famous "We Are the Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
Dear Joe Bob:
What I want to know is: What is it about a hairy chest on a male that turns females on to the point of becoming weak in the knees? Why do they find a hairy chest sexually arousing?
I myself am single and 42 and have a very hairy chest and want to know how other males and females feel about hairy chests.
I'll be looking forward to reading your article on "Hairy Chests" soon and awaiting your reply. When can I expect to be reading an article on "Hairy Chests?" Soon, I hope.
A loyal fan,
Robert H. Eagle
Eudora, Kan.
Dear
Bob:
I guess the obvious anthropological
Charles Darwin observation would be that a hairy chest brings out the monkey in
a woman.
Personally, I've never gotten a BIT of mileage out of it. Wanda Bodine is more likely to say something like, "Please start combing that RAT'S NEST on the front of your body."
Dear Joe Bob,
I really enjoy some of the complaints that come from your San Francisco audience (or people in San Francisco who have heard of your stuff third-hand). It is interesting to see how quickly people who are targets in much of the country due to their lifestyle will demand someone else be shut down.
Perhaps Ms. Grigolia can better identify with racists, sexists and homophobes after joining them in taking disagreement to the next step of censorship.
Chris Donahue
Garland, Tex.
Dear
Chris:
For about a thousand years now, people
in San Francisco have been calling for my banishment.
And for about a thousand years now,
people in San Francisco have been calling for the banishment of the people
calling for my banishment.
That's what I love about San Francisco.
Dear Joe Bob,
Has there ever been an all-midget horror movie? The idea of an all-midget horror movie has to have been talked about sometime in movie history. Maybe they can get Leatherface to star as the killer, have Billy Barty trying to stop Leatherface, and have yourself direct the whole thing to make sure it gets done in true drive-in fashion. I don't know, it's just an idea.
Travis Echols
San Antonio, Tex.
Dear
Travis:
Sorry, no all-midget horror film,
although Billy Barty DOES play a prominent role in "Lobster Man From
Mars."
There's an all-midget western called "Terror of Tiny Town," but so far no suitable horror vehicle for Herve Villechaize.
Dear Joe Bob:
In your recent letters column you list most of Sybil Danning's movies. I hope it's not true, but you make it sound that after her accident she may be down for the count and out of the acting bidness. I therefore nominate her for a Lifetime Achievement Hubbie for this substantial body of work. I hope it's not too late to include her in this year's awards.
Cordially,
Neal M. Dorst
Miami, Fla.
Dear
Neal:
A little permanent spinal injury is not NEARLY enough to keep my gal Sybil out of action. She'll be up and climbing into that ripaway bra and aardvarking all over the screen again in no time.
Dear Joe Bob Briggs,
After reading your book the whole day, now whenever something happens that causes me to strain and agonize (i.e. real work), tearing me away from goofing off on the company time, I add a "fu" onto it. Like wrong-number-fu, fetching coffee-fu, restocking the bathroom-fu, and especially big butted bimbo from hell-fu. Anyway, your column is a wonderful antidote from all this fashion foo-foo-fu (I work for a fashion designer). You'd hate it here; apart from "men" who have this flair for accessorising, I actually work for people who sincerely mean it when they say "I really want to see 'The Addams Family.'" Obviously Communists at work here. Hating it as much as I do and running out of ideas for sabotage, I'll be leaving here to pursue a job as a go-go dancer. I'm part of this group of go-go dancers who are like cheerleaders at the drag races (one of my other favorite things, next to the drive-in, of course). Just imagine 20 girls in knee high boots, flinging around their hair and garbonzas--you get the idea.
As if things weren't bad enough these days, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to find quality entertainment. For example, there's a drive-in out in Westbury, Long Island. Three screens, a parking lot so dark and difficult to maneuver around at night one always leaves with a busted arm or leg or face, seriously bad (good) "food" at the snack bar (by the way, my four food groups are caffeine, sugar, grease and booze). So what's the beef? They show INDOOR BULLSTUFF MOVIES. Okay, no Bulgarian Lesbo Commie art flicks yet, but they show (without apology, shame or warning) films starring Bruce Willis, among others. We're talking serious lack of the three B's here. So once a year, me and my partner in slime, Ford Trojanowski, make our pilgrimage in his 1969 Rambler to the drive-in to see Ah-nold's latest. Never fails to disappoint. And if the film gets dull we try to figure how far the couples around us are into the sign of the Horn-Billed Three-Toed Chihuahua.
I know you don't watch these foreign films (and unfortunately the distributor probably won't dirty this movie with drive-in exposure), but you should try to catch a film called "The Killer." It's a Hong Kong action picture. This movie is not to be believed; we're talking serious carnage here. I think the body count is around 75 (from two guys doing most of the damage). No breasts, one beast (the evil mob guy), five gallons of blood, men who get shot 15 times and can still walk around okay and carry on meaningful conversations, male bonding fu, guns in both hands shooting, garbage can fu, Mercedes fu, ninja fu, plain ol' Kung Fu (what's a kung?--there should be a film called "Your Face, My Foot"), speedboat chase, someone saying (after covering up a guy shot in the head), "It's okay, the man's feeling a little sick, don't panic." Also contains one of the most pathetic scenes as a blind girl crawls in the dirt as her boyfriend, with his eyes shot out, crawls toward her and THEY BOTH MISS. I'd rate it a 9.5 on the pathos meter. And the last line of the movie, "Mickey Mouse! Oh, Mickey" sobbed by the renegade cop over his buddy. Oh lordy. Four stars says me. I just heard they're gonna fornicate it up by doing a remake with Sam Raimi (very GOOD), Richard Gere (#@$!) and some other clown unworthy of the role. The Raim-meister is fine, but have Richard go play with some small rodents or something. Whatever.
Love and pressing your head between my 38D garbonzos,
Megan Ann Dooley
New York
Dear
Megan Ann:
You really spend all your time watching
gory Hong Kong action flicks and putting on a cheerleader outfit and going to
the drag races?
When can we get married?
© 1992 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved