"Joe Bob Goes to the
Drive-In" for 4/22/94
cutline: Robert Patrick (left) is a
glamor photographer who sometimes has to negotiate with his clients in the
amazingly complicated erotic thriller "Body Shot."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine,
Texas
There
are these county fairs in the South where country music stars perform, and then
after the performance they stay an extra two hours and sign autographs.
You
know why they do it?
They
do it because, if they DIDN'T DO IT, the people wouldn't buy their
records--EVEN THE PEOPLE THAT LIKE THEIR MUSIC. At least this is what a lot of
country stars believe. They're stars, but they're not supposed to ACT LIKE
stars.
I've
noticed this same thing with movie actors. People wanna see where they live,
how they live, how big their trailer is, how many people they have working for
em--but if they find out the actor CARES how big his trailer is, then they HATE
HIM for it.
Why
shouldn't he care how big it is? Everybody's staring at it, MARVELLING AT HOW
BIG IT IS! If it's not BIG ENOUGH, they won't think he's a star.
I've
seen gossip start on a movie star simply because he didn't PERSONALLY return a
phone call, but had his agent or manager do it. Supposedly this indicates that
he's SNOOTY, as my Grandpa would say. But it might just indicate that he
DOESN'T KNOW DIDDLY SQUAT ABOUT BUSINESS, and so he has the person call who
DOES KNOW ABOUT IT.
In
their heart of hearts, the public wants movie stars who make 50 million dollars
a year, but GIVE IT AWAY. They live in a 15-million-dollar house, but they're
EMBARRASSED by living in a 15-million-dollar house. They're so embarrassed by
it that they invite a few homeless people in to live WITH THEM every night. The
perfect movie star would be the most handsome man in the world, but he would be
the only person who doesn't KNOW he's the most handsome man in the world. He
would own a fleet of limousines, but he would always decide to drive his old
'57 Chevy instead.
In
other words, we have this idea that a star should BE RICH but ACT POOR, be
famous but act like nobody knows who he is, acquire power but never USE the
power, be busy all the time making movies but have unlimited time to do
unproductive things like signing autographs--even though making movies
satisfies the desires of millions at a time, and signing an autograph only
satisfies ONE person at a time.
So
which is it?
Do
we want em to be rich or not?
Do
we want em to have a big trailer or a trailer HOUSE?
And
do we really want em to be some kind of guru who goes around shaking hands and
signing stuff so that their lives start to resemble preachers instead of
actors?
Believe
me, I've met some of em. You do NOT want em being preachers.
How
bout we just sit back and watch em ACT? Ain't that enough?
Speaking
of people who DON'T get enough credit, Robert Patrick makes his leading-man
debut in "Body Shot." Remember him? The evil anti-Schwarzenegger
Terminator in the sequel? The Morpharama Champeen of the World? Well, we were
all waiting to see what he would do next, right?
And
he's done exactly what we would expect. He's a pervert tabloid photographer who
goes around stalking a female rock singer--and he's the HERO of this movie.
This is about the 989th "Blow-Up" ripoff of the past five years,
where the guy takes a picture and then blows it up until it's the size of the
World Trade Center and plasters it on his wall and figures out the mystery.
Unfortunately, I forgot what the mystery is.
I
know it has something to do with a sleazoid hiring Patrick to bring a bimbo up
to his groovy loft apartment and take dirty pictures of her, and then go over
to the guy's house where he has the same bimbo roped to the bed, but it turns
out that this gal is a lookalike for the rock star that Patrick has the hots
for, and then when the rock star turns up dead, the sleazoid uses the pictures
to frame Patrick for the murder, only he has this OTHER picture of the rock
star, and it turns out that's not her in the picture, and meanwhile this World
Wrestling Federation steroid monster is coming around twice a day to play
"Inna Gadda Divida" on his abdominal muscles, and he's aardvarking
all over town with Michelle "I Was in 'Blame It on Rio'" Johnson, and
the only person who believes in him is Japanese-American cop Kim Miyori and . .
.
MY
HEAD HURTS! Way way WAY too much plot getting in the way of the story. I never
DID figure out what happens in this baby, so I'll just give you those drive-in
totals:
Five
dead bodies. Four breasts. Multiple aardvarking. Two motor vehicle chases.
Flaming corpse. Finger-breaking. Character-actor electrocution. Character-actor
through a fifth story window, into a revolving spotlight. Gratuitous Charles
Napier. Gratuitous transvestite interpretive dancing. Kung Fu. Paparazzi Fu.
Human pinata Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Ray Wise, as the
sleazeball manager/promoter type, for saying "If you don't get the message
soon, you're gonna be taking pictures of weightlifters for the Big House
Gazette!"; Jonathan Banks, as sleazeball number two, who offers somebody a
drink by saying "What's your addiction?"; Michelle Johnson, as the
horny model who says, after a particularly sweaty session, "Did you just
get out of prison or what?" and, in her big emotional moment, "I'm
not a whore!"; and Robert Patrick, as the morose photographer who says he
got sick of his hectic life in New York and so "I came out here with a
couple of friends--Jack Daniels and Jim Beam."
Two
and a half stars.
Joe
Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE
HOPELESS
Victory Over Communism! The Pride's Corner
Drive-In, on Route 302 in Westbrook, Me., had a full house in the daytime at a
recent Barbecue and Music Festival, organized by owner Malcolm Tevanian to
remind people the place still exists. This is the kind of drive-in that still
has pony rides. Mark Hamilton of Cincinnati 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.
Dear Joe Bob,
I can't get this line out of my head.
Dona Speir in "Hard Hunted" is
suffering from amnesia and makes love on the beach with what she thinks is one
of the good guys. When she comes out from under the ether, she realizes he's
one of the bad guys and stabs him through the heart with a three-foot sword and
tells him as he dies, "We were never really lovers, I faked that orgasm."
Does this happen often?
Sincerely,
Robert Levine
Hayward, Calif.
Dear Robert:
It's only happened to me twice that I
can recall.
Usually they just say it without using
an actual sword.
Dear Joe Bob Briggs,
I just read your column for the first time
("Letters . . . He Gets Letters . . . Joe Bob's Reader's Respond to
AIDS"). I wish I could have read your first essay about AIDS.
Anyway, three weeks ago I participated in
the Boston "From All Walks of Life" Walkathon to raise money for AIDS
care. Over 100,000 people walked and raised over two and a half million dollars
for AIDS. This was good, but there is so much more to be done.
I was saddened by how many people who were
walking wearing t-shirts or holding signs which said "In memory of
----" or "I miss you, ----." Often they had the dates of birth
and death underneath a person's picture--they were all so young!
Even more saddening were the stupid people
who didn't want to walk or donate money because they think AIDS is just a gay
person's disease. Only faggots get AIDS, they say. How depressing.
So, I just wanted to write and say THANK
YOU for a reasonable, sane, compassionate viewpoint. And thanks for telling
others how you feel. Maybe you've opened a few minds in America. One can only
hope.
Sincerely,
Michele Liguori
Randolph, Mass.
Dear Michele:
I don't know what's worse about
AIDS--watching people who die, or watching the people who live.
Joe Bob,
Regarding "Lesbos of the World,
Unite!" Only a foul-mouthed, evil-minded, male show-vanist pig would have
dared slander "Today." Sally (what red light? . . . it was the flu)
Quinn was on/off in the blink of the "CBS Morning News" with Hughes
Rudd.
Regarding homophobe: "Homosexual? A
linguistic hybrid and monstrosity, as Edward Carpenter long ago pointed out.
And one, as we may point out today, that can only give rise to other linguistic
monstrosities, like homophobe." (Eric Bentley, "The Homosexual
Question," American Review 26, p. 288.) Or, "I laugh. He's
comfortable and he's human. Every man is afraid of being a queer. I get a
little tired of it. Maybe we should all become queers and just relax . . .
there are too many people afraid to speak against queers--intellectually. Just
as there are too many people afraid to speak against the left
wing--intellectually. I don't care which way it goes--I only know: there are
too many people afraid." (Charles Bukowski, "Notes of a Dirty Old
Man," p. 33.)
Richard Linoleum
Park Forest, Ill.
Dear Richard:
Is lesbophobe a sub-species of
homophobe?
I still say homophobe sounds like a
musical instrument, as in, "Miles Davis on trumpet, McCoy Tyner on piano,
and Lester Swenson on homophobe."
Dear Joe Bob,
I wanted to comment on your recent column
about Webb Wilder.
I had always heard that at least two of the
short films ("Webb Wilder, Private Eye" and "Aunt Hallie")
were creations of a filmmaker named Steve Mimms who used to be at U.T. Austin
and is possibly now at University of Mississippi, so I was surprised that you
didn't mention him. Or perhaps Webb Wilder had more to do with the films than I
thought. As I recall, he's not in "Aunt Hallie."
Yours sincerely,
Linda Lingle
Denton, Tex.
Dear Linda:
You win a cookie. You're absolutely
right about Steve Mimms being the director of ALL the Webb Wilder flicks. But
they're being released as a Webb Wilder project, not a Steve Mimms project, so
I have no idee what's going on.
What's going on Joe
Bob,
Get this--a truckstop dentist--I-80 at the
Sapp Brothers Truckstop in Omaha, Nebraska. This clown rents the second floor
of the truckstop--I've got to try this one out. Must be some really weird egg.
Maybe I can get a "Freightliner Root Canal Special-of-the-Month." I'll
let you know what gives.
I've been doing such a great job ramming
into docks and wrecking $300 tires during my six-week "career" as a
truck driver that they decided to give me a student. Unfortunately, all
I could show the lad was how to start the mother ("turn this key and push
this button"). Fortunately, the boy understands the riddles of the
universe (I can't imagine the powers he'd possess if he actually finished
the eleventh grade). After he explained the meaning of life ("Don't be
stupid, man--money"), I told him about you. You can imagine my dismay when
he said, "I saw that stupid f--- on cable TV once--he's an idiot." I
quickly responded, "Watch it, man, the dude drinks beer on TV." Well,
Junior thinks for a minute, kinda grins and says, "Oh yeah, well, so did
Little Joe on Bonanza." How do you deal with this sort of person?
Later dude,
Carl R. Leuschel
Bowerston, O.
Dear Carl:
But Little Joe on "Bonanza"
never interviewed Linda Blair.
© 1994 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved