"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 4/2/93
cutline: A Midget Hulk Hogan battles his way out of Jane Cameron's womb, in the Drive-In Academy Award winner "The Unborn."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
For the first time in the history of the Drive-In Academy Awards, people actually CAMPAIGNED this year. On person even bought me a beer in an attempt to influence the voting. I refused, of course, then changed my mind when I realized it was a LIGHT beer.
Unfortunately, no one actually SHOWED UP to accept their awards. (We'll have the whole televised mess on The Movie Channel next month.)
Anyhow, let's get right to it--the final results of the 1992 Hubbies. No complaining. I don't wanna hear it.
Our first category, please:
BEST ACTRESS
The runners-up are:
Brinke Stevens, "Teenage Exorcist," as the kinky demon-possessed gal who rents a house from a brain-damaged street person, gets attacked by a haunted party dress, and ends up vamping around, wearing a dog collar and black lingerie, flogging a pizza boy with a riding crop and discussing the meaning of life with a mucus-faced goat monster who lives in her basement.
Jodie Foster, "Back Track," as an "environmental artist" who witnesses a mob murder and gets kidnapped by Dennis Hopper and forced to wear six different outfits from Victoria's Secret until she says "Men have no imagination" and teaches him how to REALLY get her attention.
And the winner is . . .
Candice Daly, "Liquid Dreams," as the blond from Kansas who shows up one day trying to find her sister, only to discover her dead body in a bathtub with giant "extraction marks" in her neck, so she gets a job as a "taxi dancer" (girls who dance with lonely guys for money) in the same building.
BREAST ACTRESS
The runners-up are:
Lana Clarkson, "Barbarian Queen II," the only blonde barbarian Amazon leader with a Southern California accent in history, refusing to bathe, frolicking in the forest with her cardboard sword, and threatening to fall out of her flowing chiffon nightgown as she screams "Nobody is going to make a lady out of me!" at the evil king who keeps her in the dungeon and threatens her with death unless she reveals the secret of the scepter.
Cameron, "Sunset Strip," as the experienced exotic-dancing star Crystal, who trains the shy new kid night and day, teaching her how to strip as though her life depended on it.
Sally Kirkland, "In the Heat of Passion," as a psychotherapist who falls out of her dress in every scene and chews celery in closeup, for saying "Don't you know that shrinks are the craziest people?" and "Show me what a BAD girl I've been."
Marla Maples, "Marla Maples Journey To Fitness," for investing in a pair of hot-orange bicycle pants and working that inner thigh, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
And the winner is . . .
Ava Cadell, "Hard Hunted," as the radio sex-show hostess who always wears a leopard-skin Spandex bikini over her Cadells in the broadcast booth.
BEST FOREIGN FLICK
The runners-up are:
"Prom Night IV: Deliver Us From Evil," Canadian version of "The Exorcist" about a demon-possessed mass-murdering priest chained up in the dungeon of a church for 34 years until he gets loose one day and starts ordering teenager-on-a-stick.
"Project A-ko," hooters-and-twisted-metal cartoon from Yokohama about a bubblehead 17-year-old at an all-girl high school who is so cute and giggly that two girls start fighting over her, and then all three of them put on leather hot pants and battle giant robots while the bubblehead sneaks into an alien space ship through a stinky laundry room, fights a she-male samurai, and makes her way to the bridge where an alcoholic enemy commander is screaming "Booze! I need booze!" Directed by Katuhiko Nishijima.
And the winner is . . .
"Heaven & Earth," one of the greatest samurai picture ever made, about these two samurai warriors in the 16th century who were so evenly matched that neither one of em could ever defeat the other one, and so they constantly fought this chess match, using the lives of warriors, priests, women and children as pieces. Featuring battle scenes that use as many as 10,000 extras.
BEST ACTOR
The runners-up are:
Andren Scott, "Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend," as Marcus Templeton, a guy so depressed that he sits in his bathtub for hours with the phone sitting on the commode, eats frozen dinners and Slim Jims, watches porno strippers on cable in his underwear, buys a jar of "Reduce-o-cream" ("as safe as any garden vegetable") to make himself more attractive to women, tries to talk to women who are repulsed by him, considers a "Wonder Corset," wonders if someday he'll become a serial killer or whether he's currently insane, goes to the library to research the subject, and calls girls up for dates with opening lines like "We could go to lunch. There's a Sinclair station near your house that has sandwiches on sale for $1.49."
Dennis Hopper, "Back Track," as a hitman who spends all his time staring at Polaroids of Jodie Foster in her underwear and making squeaky noises on a tenor saxophone until he can steal her lingerie, handcuff her, put a gun to her head, dress her up like a hooker, and convince her of what a wonderful life together they can have together.
And the winner is . . .
Richard Roundtree, "Forced To Fight," as the non-violent jailhouse lawyer in a daishiki who rules the prison with the pure force of his personality, who says "I never met a nigger, Clint--I don't know what a nigger looks like."
BEST BAD GUY
The runners-up are:
Wings Hauser, "Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time," as the evil overlord Arklon, for wearing a lame "Phantom of the Opera" mask throughout the whole movie and for saying stuff like "I don't like it--bring the witch!" and "I shall feed on your memories and know all that you know" and "Oh gods of war and thunder, show me the way to my kingdom!"
Mitchell Laurance, "The Runestone," as a giant Norse god that hangs around Soho killing pretentious Yuppies at art gallery openings and wearing a bear suit because Joan Severance broke up with him and moved to Maine.
And the winner is . . .
James Carver, "Prom Night IV: Deliver Us From Evil," as Father Jonas the psycho demon-possessed priest who sneaks up on high school couples who are IN FLAGRANTE AARDVARKUS, slashes their throats with a giant crucifix switchblade, burns them up, goes back to a secret cave in the bowels of the monastery and watches his hands and feet bleed while he prays "Help me, Holy Father, to save the sluts and whores."
BEST SEQUEL
The runners-up are:
"Basket Case III," latest in the handicapped-rights series starring the world's most famous gnarly-squashed-octopus-Siamese-twin-in-a-basket, in which Duane and Belial go down South and visit "Little Hal," a 3,000-pound six-armed Jello mold with acne. A combination of "Alien," "The Terminator II," and "The Chef Boyardee Pasta Jubilee Show."
"The Terror Within II," starring a couple of veiny lizard-legged monsters with bloody hair nets growing out of the sides of their skulls, trying to rape the remaining female population of planet Earth in order to produce even MORE Mucus Beasts, rampaging through the countryside and attempting to breed with Stella Stevens.
And the winner is . . .
"Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth," with the kinky sex demons from hell recruiting depraved disco owners and attacking entire dance floors full of leering singles, ripping their flesh off with steel hooks, and leaving them wailing in little clumps of black leather and ankle chains.
BEST KUNG FU
The runners-up are:
Pan Qingfu, "Iron & Silk," the kung fu master who can twirl one of those ten-foot lances like an LSU majorette and is about as close as they come to the Rudolf Nureyev of Chopsocky, who says stuff like "In martial arts you hit with the eyes."
Don "The Dragon" Wilson, "Forced To Fight," a half-Japanese, half-Anglo kung-fu champeen, who got thrown into prison because "They didn't like the color of my skin."
And the winner is . . .
Jeff Wincott, "Deadly Bet," as a gambling addict alcoholic kung-fu champion who spends about 80 per cent of the movie either getting drunk, getting the bejabbers beat out of him, beating the bejabbers out of somebody else, or begging Charlene Tilton to take him back.
BEST DIALOGUE
The runners-up are:
Marla Maples, "Marla Maples Journey To Fitness": "Lift the heels toward the ceiling."
Webb Wilder, "Corn Flicks," who sings a song about Elvis with the lyric: "If you don't think he was number one, then you're full of number two."
Brick Bronsky, "The Good, the Bad and the Subhumanoid: Class of Nuke 'Em High, Part 3": "I had this sex dream in which two extremely trendy well-dressed lesbian spirits exhorted me."
Stella Stevens, "The Terror Within II": "It's a mutant sperm of some sort, forcing its way into the embryo, fusing with it, battling for genetic dominance!"
Harrison Leduke, "Laser Moon": "Paper or plastic? I don't know anymore."
And the winner is . . .
Andren Scott, "Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend": "At least this is better than my last job, changing those aromatic urinal cakes."
BEST FLICK
The runners-up are:
"Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend," the low-budget made-in-Denver independent comedy in which a chubby Omaha security guard in a lumpy golf shirt spends his entire life savings on call girls in less than two weeks.
"Liquid Dreams," the weird sci-fi flick about a high-rise where they get women all erotically juiced up in topless bars and then siphon endorphins out of their brains so they can bottle em as "peak experience" sex drugs. Great special effects that make the whole movie like being inside a combination of Disneyland, Leavenworth, and Geno's Topless Bar.
And the winner is . . .
"The Unborn," killer-baby movie about a woman who gets juiced up with nuclear-strength baby-protein fertility steroids, and ends up with a miniature Hulk Hogan drawing geometic shapes on her stomach and ripping apart her intestines, until she runs off to a back-alley abortion specialist and says "Go ahead--tell me I'm glowing."
BEST DIRECTOR
The runners-up are:
Ronnie Cramer, "Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend."
Haruki Kadokawa, "Heaven & Earth."
Mark Manos, "Liquid Dreams."
Oley Sassone, "Forced To Fight."
And the winner is . . .
Rodman Flender, "The Unborn" and "In the Heat of Passion."
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Bureaucrat Alert! The Decatur Drive-In, on U.S. 33 at Salem Road, about a mile outside Decatur, Ind., never opened this year, ending 41 years of continuous operation. We reported that it might happen, and it did happen. The State of Indiana confiscated 2 1/4 acres of the drive-in to build a new highway cloverleaf. That land once housed the marquee, the ticket booth, the fence, 120 of the 400 speaker posts, the electrical system, and the septic system. Here's the worst of it--it would cost $100,000 to replace all that stuff and keep the drive-in running, but the state refuses to pay, says all it's good for is farmland. Owner Alan J. Kalver vows to fight, but he's not optimistic. John Briggs of Geneva, Ind., reminds us that, without eternal vigilance, it could 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,
I own some land in Harmony, W.V., that would be perfect for a new drive-in. Know of any venture capitalists interested in investing?
The Major
San Francisco
Dear
Major:
I can't BELIEVE you're having trouble
getting money to build the first brand-new drive-in in ten years, especially
since it would be located in one of the poorest parts of the Appalachian
Mountains during a recession.
Those people NEED that drive-in.
I'll do whatever I can.
Dear Joe Bob--
Hey, rethink your review of "Iron & Silk." That young man with the "very three-dimensional face" also had three-dimensional talent (autobiographer/scriptwriter/actor) AND--in case you didn't notice--INCREDIBLY three-dimensional thigh muscles. You've been counting breasts for so long that you don't know how to appreciate a highly NUANCED performance. Shape up. I mean it.
Kate Styrsky
Alameda, Calif.
Dear
Kate:
I don't care what you say. The guy was a nerd--more whiny than the Napa Valley.
Dear Joe Bob,
1990 was a year of Roman Numeral disaster for our household, much like it was for yourself. At the beginning of the year my fiancee speculated that 1990 would be MXM as you did, but I bet that it would be MCMXC. Of course, I had no rationale for my guess other than it was fun to disagree with "her." Anyway, after some months of high expectations on both our parts, we finally spotted a movie with the magic copyright notice at the bottom, thus proving me right. However, the frustration had just begun. Just like you, I had no idea why my guess was right and hers wrong. I checked all the math books I had, but to no avail. It wasn't until January of 1991, while visiting Hawaii, of all places, that I spotted a simple math-oriented paperback in a 25-cent thrift shop. Low and behold, the answer lay on pages 7 and 8, which I will divulge below (from "Essentials of Modern Mathematics," by Alfred Balmer and Sheila Slade, (C) 1964 Cambridge Book Company, Inc.). I put a box around the part that applies to our 1990 dilemma; this box was not in the original text of the quoted book:
"The Letters V, L, and D are never subtracted. The letters I, X, and C are subtracted from the next two larger numerals, but from no others."
Even after all the rules and regulations laid forth above, the question still comes to mind "Why is the above so?" Who made these rules, and who can prove they are really true? Is it just that the experts looked at enough old Roman numerals and decided the above rules must be, or is there an official Roman Numeral guide chiseled in stone somewhere?
Anyway, I hope the above helps. Keep up the good work.
Scott Taggart
Pine Grove, Calif.
Dear
Scott:
You were the only person that sent in an answer to the Roman Numeral dilemma that sounded halfway authentic. I guess that means that I'm wrong, my third-grade teacher is wrong, and, of course, "MXMII" is wrong. Now I have to change all the labels on my stereo equipment.
Dear Editor,
This afternoon I purchased for my kids the new Michael Jackson tape "Dangerous," and have found that it contains music the composition of which is credited to Michael Jackson, but was actually written by Ludwig Von Beethoven.
To see for yourself, listen to the first orchestral/choral part of the song "Will You Be There" ("written and composed by Michael Jackson"), and then to the fourth movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, about three-fourths of the way through.
(Further, I strongly suspect that, in the same song immediately after the Beethoven material, what is in fact a segment of a Renaissance-era "a cappella" motet is also miscredited as a Jackson creation.)
To put this all another way, Jackson has plagiarized a segment of what I seem to remember as having been adopted as the new German national anthem.
Frankly, as a long-time admirer of both Beethoven and his music, it is my attitude that this evident attempt by Jackson to present as his own creation a part of one of this great man's masterworks should not go unrevealed to an otherwise deceived public.
It is my hope that you will verify my claim and find it newsworthy, or that you will at least publish this letter.
Sincerely,
Martin A. Svensen
Aberdeen, S.D.
Dear
Martin:
I have compared the two pieces of music,
and in my opinion, royalties are owed to the Beethoven estate, and the Grammy
people should be notified immediately.
And we thought Milli Vanilli was bad.
Joe Bob,
I recently came across your article on Roman Numerals and the difficulty with the number 1999. Apparently you never were taught medieval Roman numerals. Very few folks seem to know about them--but some dictionaries mention them (my Random House does). Except for A, O, U, and W, all the letters have numbers associated with them--and you will be pleased to learn that Z=2,000. So IZ is a very simple expression for 1999.
And, B=300, E=250, F=40, G=400, H=200, J=1, K=250, N=90, P=400, Q=500, R=80, S=7 or 70, T=160, Y=150, Z=2,000.
By the way, the post office doesn't recognize the above--or at least it didn't back in 1967 when I sent a letter to zip code ZCIF that did not get delivered to Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Sunshine
Philadelphia, Penn.
Dear
Sunshine:
By all means let's use the medieval system. Then we can hire 10,000 MORE copyright attorneys.
© 1993 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved