"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 12/25/92
cutline (3 photos): Dixie Carter, seen here communing with the spirits, has designed the only workout tape with absolutely no exercise in it . . . Marla Maples' "Journey to Fitness" will stir the Muzak-lover in you . . . but Cindy Crawford will wake you up again as she manipulates every muscle--and we mean EVERY muscle--in her mega-body.
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
This is the time of year when I always make my physical fitness resolutions. This year I plan to pull the cigarette-machine lever THREE times a day instead of my customary two. This creates additional firmness in the upper arm and wrist. Because, after all, we can't be too careful with our health.
And that's why I wanna share with you the Joe Bob Briggs Review of new workout tapes. After all, we live in the era of mixed physical-fitness signals. I mean, Clinton jogs every morning--but he jogs straight into McDonald's. He exercises his legs every day--but they still look like giant hamhocks on a corny-dog stick. He's supposed to be the youth president--and he wears a sweatshirt normally seen only on nursing-home attendants.
In other words, you need a workout tape you can trust in the nineties, a tape that will keep you fit and keep you fashionable at the same time, and who better to provide one than . . .
Marla Maples.
That's right. "Marla Maples Journey To Fitness" is on the video shelves now, and our girl has invested in a pair of hot-orange bicycle pants just for the occasion. "Don't think I've gone through my life without worrying about my figure!" she warns us in a humanely brief opening monologue. "At one point I was TWENTY POUNDS OVERWEIGHT!"
So I did the workout with Marla. First we did some "gentle limbering movements." I did my gentle limbering movements on the sofa. Marla did her gentle limbering movements in a condo with a lot of plants normally found only in Omaha bank lobbies. After a while, we were both ready to WORK THAT LOWER BODY.
We did squats, we did "demi-squats," we did lunges, and we got up on the balls of our feet and worked those calves. Then Marla got down on her knees and stuck her butt way up in the air, for leg-lifts, and then got on her side for scissor-kick lifts, and then she said, "Now let's work the inner thigh," and I decided I would just watch for a while.
Marla has the only fitness tape designed with music never previously heard outside the elevators of airport Ramada Inns. And, instead of the typical peppy get-your-hiney-kicking aerobics voice, she has this Valium Voice that sounds like a Ford Model asking for a better table at Lutece. So when she says something like, "Tuck your pelvis slightly so your back doesn't arch," it has the same effect as when Sharon Stone sits in that chair with her legs crossed and the camera at high-heel level.
The other strange thing is that she NEVER sweats. The tape goes on for 45 minutes, and she wears mascara, lipstick, and gold earrings without every disturbing a single cell on her complexion. Meanwhile, the Donald-Trump-approved camera is circling her like a bald eagle hunting for prey while she "feels those chest muscles getting firm" and works toward the climax of the video: "Lift the heels toward the ceiling."
Ahem.
At the end of the workout Marla shares with us her philosophy of life, which includes visualizing herself running down the beach in white lingerie to solve her weight problem. Fortunately, her complete philosophy of life only takes about 90 seconds.
"Marla Maples Journey To Fitness"--yes, indeedy, panty-hose ARE required.
Let's not dwell on it.
Are you 97 years old but still want a daily aerobics routine? Try "Dixie Carter's Unworkout," a tape that doesn't have a single moment of actual exercise anywhere in it. A tape so free of physical activity that you're given the option of sitting on the floor in the lotus position or, if you don't like that, just sitting in a chair. Dixie's opening monologue, delivered in ivory-white lounging pajamas, includes references to osteoporosis, "orthopedic problems," and what to do "if your feet are cold or subject to cramps."
Then Dixie gets down on the carpet and shows us "how I've managed to maintain myself." One thing she does is get in touch with the beam of light that runs up her spine and causes "little fairy elves" to dance on top of her ears. Another thing she does is breathe a lot, because "to breathe is truly a miracle."
For about an hour, Dixie rustles around on her pile carpet, stretching her arms and legs and folding herself into various balloon-animal shapes, in a room full of antique furniture and a painting of a cow behind her, while we listen to flute and piano music that reminds you of Sunday brunch on a cruise ship. Meanwhile, she tosses off equal parts New Age meditation lingo like "flow with the breath" and "lift your heart up to heaven" and "reconnect with your inner source," and down-home practical advice like "Let's stretch that ole spine!" and "This is really great for the tummy-tum-tum" and "My sacroiliac is saying, 'Thank you, Dixie, thank you.'" And then sometimes she stops talking and moving completely, and just sits there meditating.
After watching this tape, and being filled with non-stop talk of peace, love and meditation, I wanted to go out and order a steak, put on a bowling shirt, and buy a handgun, just to decompress.
That's why I'm happy to report that--last but not least--there is yet one more new workout tape on the market, and it will blot out all memory of any other workout tape you've every watched.
When I watched the Marla Maples tape, I thought, "Now there's a woman with a great bod."
Then I watched "Cindy Crawford Shape Your Body Workout."
No, Marla, you're a skag.
This Cindy Crawford tape is like a two-hour MTV video of aerobics as an Olympic sport. Cindy brings her personal trainer on the video with her--Radu, the mad Romanian, who looks like one of those sadists who coach girls gymnastics teams. Radu kind of circles around in the background, shouting out instructions like "Head rolls!" and "Udder way!" and "Sidevays!" and all this time Cindy is decked out in a black swimsuit working her tushie off, in the most amazingly complex series of exercises I've ever seen a single human being do. She swings her legs in every direction including "sidevays," highkicks from a squat, does leg lifts that Michael Jordan probably couldn't do, does push-ups, uses weights, does 17 kinds of sit-ups, crunches, twists, curls, tricep work, butt work, thigh work, abdominal work, and all the time she's GULPING water and sweating, breathing hard, and Radu keeps egging her on, deciding at one point that she should do FIFTY "butt squeezes." (Don't ask.)
And all this time she's got these great Steadicam shots of Cindy on Soho rooftops, Cindy in a grungy studio, Cindy on the beach, always doing three sets of these East European torture techniques, and she's backed up by great music by Primal Scream and The Smithereens and other eighties bands, and when she finished this thing, I was exhausted.
She does these things called "hip circles."
Let's dwell on it.
If you know what I mean and I think you do.
Marla: 2 stars.
Dixie: 3 stars.
Cindy: 4 stars.
Joe Bob says check it out. You'll never forget it.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Republican Alert! The Swap Shop Drive-In in Delray Beach, Fla., was dismantled with OUR TAX MONEY as part of a Federal Highway "beautification project." That leaves only one operating drive-in in Palm Beach County--the Trail Drive-In in Lake Worth. And people wonder why East Germany collapsed. Vicki Bowles of Boca Raton reminds us that, without eternal vigilance, it can happen here.
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 Briggs,
You are one of the few comforts of my senescence. I wish I weren't too arthritic to go to the drive-ins and see those great flicks you review, though sometimes I luck out and catch one on regular TV. I am one of the culturally deprived, since I don't have cable or Home Box Office or a VCR, and I wish the government would pay some attention to THAT!
I think you are pretty sharp, but I didn't take you for Phi Beta Kappa material until I read your Dr. Seuss dream column. Will your alma mater agree not to sue if you disclose the name of the fortunate institution from which you matriculated? I would gladly turn over my Social Security checks to my grandsons if they sought their higher education there.
Pay no attention to Senator Helms and keep Bobbing up. He is not interested in the spiritual needs of us old folks.
P.S. My psychic is in touch with Dr. Seuss, and the Doc forgives you.
Love you,
Tillsie Megerman
Berkeley, Calif.
Dear
Tillsie:
I would vote for a Senior Citizens Bill that sent a few Chippendales dancers over to the federally-supported Senior Citizens Centers every day--after all, 80 per cent of the people that go there are women. Don't you think the places would become a LOT more popular?
Joe Bob,
Here's the comely colossus from the wild frontiers of Kodiak, Alaska. And to think there are only ten of the over 300 eligible jetsam and flotsam wandering amiably around looking for his lost manliness, only he should be searching in the hills of San Francisco with a bongo drum under his arm and his face with paint on it. Right? Well, I can tell I'm being overly influenced by the Jack Kerovac tape I've been listening to so I'll stop while I'm, like, gone.
Toni Meads
Kodiak, Alaska
Dear
Toni:
Do you gals really have 50 men
bird-dogging you everywhere you go up there?
Do the gay guys have to wear grungy beards so nobody beats em up?
Dear Joe Bob,
Why do American women have big asses and no breasts? Is it, as a friend suggests, because of all the steroids in the food we eat? Is this condition really called "Colorado Hip Disease"?
This is an important issue.
Thomas McGarry
Alameda, Calif.
Dear
Tom:
Colorado Hip Disease is actually a misnomer. The state with the widest hips, according to USA Today, is Missouri. If you've ever been to the Ozarks, you know what they're talking about.
Dear J.B.B.,
After recently seeing "State Park" on cable, I felt I needed to sing the long-put-off praises of Canada's own Rafal Zielinski! From the seminal "Screwballs" to "Loose Screws," "Recruits," "Screwball Hotel" and probably some others I've missed, this is a man with a vision, heart and the ability to make 35-millimeter look like 16-millimeter. Whatever the comedic or music trend is in vogue, Rafal is at least two years behind it with one of his masterpieces. To me, "Loose Screws" is THE R.Z. flick. Filled with his usual funny fat guys, nerds, guys in drag, women who shouldn't be getting nekkid and the wimpiest "rock" score (un)imaginable, this one is like a bad polio weed-induced nightmare. The man deserves a retrospective!
As I'm sure you're aware, Vancouver has been home to many fine films. I work (or am trying to work) in town as a production assistant, and have watched many of these winners being shot. "Short Time," "Ski School" and "Xtro 2" are some of the more recent ones that are taking up valuable shelf space at vid stores. It's great to have these things shooting here, but most turn out so bad or, worse, dull! Right now I can't think of one in recent years that isn't average or worse. By far, the most embarrassing have to be the "Empire of Ash" films. Oh yeah, I almost forgot "Young Warriors" (1983). A complete list of films shot here since the late seventies is a pretty depressing sight.
Just a bit about myself: I'm 30, relatively sane and have raised myself on a steady stream of karate movies, Euro-horror, Italian westerns, Filipino actioners, Godzilla and pals, obscure seventies cheapies and Laura Gemser epics. To me, if a film is enjoyable in any form (for me, not usually in the way the makers intended) then it has served its purpose. The only "bad" films are ones that are dull/boring. Granted, the average person will never see anything as out there as "The Wild World of Batwoman" or "Blind Rage," but I hope you get my point.
Take care,
Michael McQuarrie
North Vancouver, B.C., Canada
Dear
Michael:
No, the ultimate Rafal Zielinski film is
"State Park"--no plot, no characters, and no reason to exist. The
man's a genius.
I LOVE "The Young Warriors."
Don't ever say that again. It may be the SICKEST action film ever made.
Take pride in your heritage, guy.
Dear Joe Bob Briggs,
Though I realize your recent column was intended only for comedic purposes, I felt it necessary to shed some light on the true world of us film students. Contrary to your (and, quite possibly, popular) beliefs, there are film students such as myself for whom the pursuit of money is of no concern. Also, not all film students hope to go kiss ass in Hollywood.
I do realize, however, that this misunderstanding is of very little cultural concern, and, perhaps, nobody could give a s--- about film students. I don't mean to criticize or raise hell, but I hate being thrown into a group of stereotypes and generalizations merely because I study film. No, I don't go on and on with mindless film-babble and try and impress people by using hip catch phrases like "mise-en-scene" and "non-diegetic temporal anti-textural causality." Rather, I strive for a no-nonsense understanding of the film medium.
My most recent project is a documentary on Eno River State Park here in Durham, not that I'm trying to legitimate myself because I'm doing some cool, eco-conscious, politically correct film. What I do is independent, and that's the way I'll stay. So, to hell with Hollywood and to hell with film blood-money. I don't even know why I wrote this, but I guess I just felt offended by your very general representation of film students.
Hope you can find it within yourself to forgive those of us that love film and not money.
Michael McIntyre
Durham, N.C.
Dear
Mike:
It might surprise you to know that many
of the filmmakers who work for Roger Corman started by doing documentaries on
state parks, or similar projects.
It's a pattern, Mike, a pattern. I just
thought I would point it out.
No offense intended.
© 1992 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved