Bikini Drive-In

"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 7/22/94

cutline: Star Ashley Rhey, on the right, and three other Southern California residents were forced to surrender their Screen Actors Guild cards at gunpoint at the conclusion of "Bikini Drive-In."

By Joe Bob Briggs

Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas

There's always some girl around who wants you to go to Shakespeare in the Park, right?

We fall for this every year, right, guys?

And then when we get there, it's always thirty guys from Juilliard and Yale slitherin around in green leotards and rattlin off iambic pentameter Snoot Music like they love the sound of their own voices, and if you're lucky, it's Kevin Kline in green leotards, but no matter what happens, it's always this great meeting place where women drag men to sit in the extreme heat and try to listen to THE MOST COMPLICATED POETRY EVER WRITTEN. Through a BEER HAZE!

Who thought this up anyhow?

It's like saying, "Let's put on a basketball game, but make the audience members hang upside down from the rafters if they wanna watch it."

Here's the complete audience reaction at a performance of Shakespeare in the Park:

"Wha'd he say?"

"I don't know."

"Wha'd he say?"

"Wha'd she say?"

"Which one is he?"

"Why'd he come back in a different costume?"

"Wha'd he say?"

"Do I have to walk across the stage to get to the bathroom?"

"Wha'd the second guy say?"

"THAT WAS GREAT! FABULOUS! Come on, let's give em a STANDING OVATION!"

And then everybody goes home and talks about what a great Cultural Experience they had and buys a bunch of Campho Phenique to put on all the chigger bites that turn up in the next week.

I think there's hope for the future, though. Last week I went to this Shakespeare in the Park put on by the Joseph Papp Public Theater, which some of you might know is THE MOST politically correct theater in America. They don't do ANYTHING unless it has at least one Filipino lesbian handicapped-rights activist in it. And here's what I thought was encouraging:

Half the play was FAT JOKES.

Good, old-fashioned fat jokes, from "The Merry Wives of Windsor," just the way Shakespeare wrote em. They didn't change em at all. There are stand-up comics who want even do fat jokes anymore. I've had fat jokes censored from my cable TV show. And here, in Shakespeare in the Park, you have, like, FIFTY fat jokes in one show, and nobody says a word. Nobody gets upset.

And they were DAMNED FUNNY.

Fat is still funny.

See, Shakespeare knew this. We can LEARN from the classics.

And speaking of timeless themes, there's nothing like topless bimbos being hosed down on a parking lot to illustrate Aristotle's theory of poetics. And that's what we have this week, in the form of "Bikini Drive-In," the latest effort from Z-movie genius Fred Olen Ray, the man who's motto is "If we leave the camera there long enough, something is bound to happen."

Newcomer Ashlie Rhey stars as a bikini beach girl who inherits her grandfather's drive-in and has to raise $25,000 in two nights to keep it from going bankrupt and falling into the hands of an evil mobster played by the legendary David F. Friedman, master producer of "nudie" films in the early sixties. Various B-movie regulars wander around through the drive-in--Ross Hagen, Richard Gabai, Conrad Brooks, Forrest J. Ackerman, Jim Wynorski--while Ashlie sits in the drive-in office counting money, having sex, foiling gangsters, having sex, hiring bikini girls to distract drivers on the highway, and having sex.

Meanwhile, ultimate scream queen Michelle Bauer shows up playing . . . an ultimate scream queen. And they think of an idea that JUST MIGHT WORK--a quadruple feature of "Sorority Sister Slaughterhouse," "I Was a Teenage Tree," "The Apeman Cometh," and "Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers."

In other words, absolutely no plot to get in the way of the story. My kinda movie. (Hey, it's July. Nobody gives a flip.)

Thirty-four breasts. Multiple aardvarking. Gratuitous hot-tubbing. Man in a cheesy lizard suit. Sorority hose-down. Gratuitous topless dancing at a radio station. Slapstick Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Sarah Bellomo, as the big-breasted best friend, for saying "How can you do this to me? I gave you the best three months of my life!"; David F. Friedman, as the cigar-smoking industrialist, for saying "Strong-arm her if you have to!"; Michelle Bauer, as the scream queen, for saying "James, I'm in the mood for a massage"; and Steve Barkett, as the sheriff, for saying "Hell has come to Copperfield County!"

Two stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.

JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS

Victory Over Acts of God! The Clinton Drive-In Theatre, on Route 54 East in Clinton, Ill., reopened after the screen was blown down in a storm about a year ago. The first night featured a double feature of "Housesitter" and "Straight Talk" at the bargain rate of $3.50. Mack Spencer of Dallas 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 his world-famous newsletter, "The Joe Bob Report," write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.

Hey Joe Bob,

Used the drive-thru Versateller at my bank yesterday. It has Braille buttons for the visually impaired.

Scary thought, eh?

Keeping an eye out,

Bill Mozley

Pollock Pines, Calif.

Dear Bill:

Do the tellers ever say, "No, really, it's a hundred-dollar bill"?

Dear Joe Bob,

I am sending a letter to the three men I consider the moral bulwark of western civilization. Billy Graham, the Pope and you.

I turned 40 and still haven't made the sign of the 11-fingered howling monkey. In other words, I'm a virgin.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Right now you've got the look of a beached bass. Eyes bugged out and gasping for breath. I'm not a homelysexual, in fact I'm not homely at all. Everything is in great working order, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I've been told to save it for marriage. Joe Bob, rather than saving should I be investing?

There's a lot of crazy diseases out there. You hear people saying "in Latex we trust." Others say to get married--no ring, no ring-a-ding-ding. What it comes down to is this: do I hit the streets and see what happens when the rubber meets the road or go for the gold and wait for a wedding band? My sex life--my whole life may rest in your answer.

Remember, I'm writing Big Baptist Billy and Pope John Paul (or is it Paul John?). I'm going for best two outta three. What do ya say?

Sincerely,

Les Moore

San Diego

Dear Les:

This is something I've never done before, but I think this is a special case. I'm sending you Ugly-on-a-Stick's phone number. You are in DIRE need of an extremely experienced woman who will make you feel totally superior.

You might not enjoy this at first, but, believe me, you'll thank me later.

Dear Joe Bob:

Back to the screaming bunny controversy--this is a silly question, but how much exposure have you had to mascara? I've gotten a good amount of it in my eyes on the occasional slightly fuzzy morning, and I can tell you it does sting and burn. Of course, you're probably one of those cursed men who have long, long eyelashes, so you'd never have to even think of dealing with mascara, but that's another tirade. Back to the soapbox: And have you ever heard a rabbit in pain? I have, and they do indeed scream. But hey--you have your opinion and I have mine. Peace?

It's refreshing to know that someone who writes a newspaper column and books and makes regular appearances on television (you) actually reads his own mail. Or at least has someone do it who sounds just like them when they reply.

Very truly yours,

Pam Mozier

Derby, Conn.

Dear Pam:

Are you telling me there are men who use mascara? Are you talking about drag queens?

Don't scare me like that.

Dear Joe Bob:

You asked for us to write you and tell you if you were right about Roman Numerals. Although you are right about your system, MCMLXXXVII stands for 1987, not 1988 (and you said it took you three hours?). Other than that, I agree with you, since I always look at the date of movies so that I can win arguments in Trivial Pursuit questions (or just irritate other people by knowing what year movies were released), and it bugs me to death to have to look at a long string of unnecessary letters in the 2.5 seconds that they show the movie date.

Maybe it is just a plot to make it impossible for anyone to know just how old actors really are. I know I am confused.

Sincerely,

Lirea G. Morrell

Lexington, Ky.

Dear Lirea:

Thanks for the support. I got XII letters agreeing with you, and only II disagreeing.

Dear Mr. Joe Bob:

I received a letter the other day from the "Pot of Gold at the End of the Rainbow Chapter of the National Organization for Women Who Are Perpetually Pissed Off." The letter said that it had been reported to them that my consciousness was too low. Recently revised standards of the Federal Consciousness Levelling Administration required a level of at least 74 inches for white males over 40 who drive four-wheelers and own handguns. It said I was to report immediately to have my consciousness raised or my head lowered.

I called my lawyer, and he said he was married and that constituted a conflict of interest and besides he had decided to specialize in defending his malpractice suits. He said to call you.

You're my last hope. Does consciousness raising hurt? What if I get in touch with my feminine side and I like it and can't stop touching it? Is it too late to join the Navy? Please call or write as soon as possible.

Your devoted fan,

Allister P. Mortmain

[David Bower

Irving, Tex.]

Dear Allister:

It's never too late to join the Navy.

Just don't even THINK about touching one of those lady sailors, though. That's a good way to lose a finger.

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