"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 11/28/94
cutline: Cassandra Leigh can't understand why her body language would give men the wrong idea, in "Midnight Tease."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
I have a question for the Lesbos.
Now. Before we get our panties in a bunch again, lemme explain that I use the term "Lesbo" with all due respect to the ancient island of Lesbos, where modern-day lesbianism, better known as two women diddlin one another, was invented. The last time I got on this subject, I spent three days in Parkland Hospital after three ladies in plaid shirts beat in the back of my head with their Birkenstocks.
Like I was sayin, I respectfully would like to get an answer, from the Lesbos, to the following question:
Is it possible to turn Lesbo?
People talk about this all the time. They say, "Well, after that third divorce, she just went plumb lesbo on us."
Or they say, "She's a lesbian, but she has a boyfriend. She's just doing it till she gets out of college."
Or they say, "She didn't become a lesbo until she met Bambi. They just sort of hit it off."
Now, the only reason I ask is that, for the last 30 years, the whole gay-rights movement has been trying to drum it into everbody that being gay is NOT A CHOICE. It's somethin you ARE. Somethin you're BORN WITH. In fact, the debate on this subject is guaranteed to start riots in most parts of Greenwich Village and every block of Castro Street. Being gay is not somethin you do, or don't do, dependin on how you FEEL that day.
So what I'm askin, because I really don't know the answer, and please don't KILL ME for askin, is:
Which is it? Are you BORN a lesbo? Or do you BECOME a lesbo?
Are there two-year-old lesbos walkin around out there, hopin they can grow up and dress up like NFL linebackers? Or are they hetero until they get to be 15, then they get burned by a jerk boyfriend, THEN they start shoppin at the Timberland boot store?
Because, if they're born that way, then a lot of em are actin like they were NOT born that way.
And some of them that SAY they're lesbo are sendin some awfully weird sexual signals to perfectly normal heterosexual men who are gettin mighty confused--even BEFORE that third Meisterbrau. What are THESE ladies doin--toyin with our emotions? Playin sisterhood games that are so mysterious we'll never figure em out? Is this why--from the male point of view--most women in single bars spend the night sayin "Come here come here come here come here come here . . . go away"?
Cause I REALLY wanna know. I REALLY do. Somebody please tell me. I can't figure out everything.
Speaking of great trends in modern American culture, we have yet ANOTHER topless-bar flick this week--"Midnight Tease," starring the two enormous talents of Cassandra Leigh. Cassandra is a perfectly happy dancer in a Nekkid Garbonza Joint who decides that something might be wrong when she starts having dreams where she slits the throats of all her customers and all the other dancers. She tells her sad story to sympathetic psychiatrist Edmund Halley, and pretty soon the shrink is down at the club, sittin on the front row, doling out twenties for table dances. This makes Cassandra JUST a little upset, but she's got much bigger things to worry about, because all the dancers she DREAMED were dying, ARE dying.
Is it the jerk bartender J.J.?
Is it the drooling shrink?
Is it Cassandra herself? She just doesn't know it yet?
Is it Cassandra's new big-breasted roommate, the young, innocent Amy, who just hit town and hopes to make it big as a topless dancer?
Is it . . . well, whoever it is, all I got to say is that we got a WHOLE lot of G-strings here, and we got some SERIOUS flesh flounder.
My kinda flick.
Ten dead bodies. One hundred twenty-six breasts. (Best of '94.) Multiple throat-slitting. Obligatory incest subplot. Bloody fruit. Aardvarking. S&M Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Stephanie Sumers, a long-haired blonde who works in a cowgirl outfit and says "God, I hate men"; Rachel Reed, as the Goody Two-Shoes New Girl who says "You're the nicest person I've ever met" and "Do you really think I'll get to dance someday?"; Ashley Riley, the blonde dancer who works in a white bikini and says "God, I hate men--maybe I'll become a lesbian--on second thought, I hate women, too"; Todd Joseph, as the kinky sleazoid bartender with a switchblade who screams "I should call your truant officer!"; and Cassandra Leigh, as the troubled young dancer-with-a-heart-of-darkness who says "Is this what you came here for? You wanna see me naked?" and "You're just like the rest of em! You make me sick!" and "I take off my clothes for hundreds of men every night. Sometimes I even LIKE IT."
Three and a half stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over Time! Legendary Stan Kohlberg, who owned a huge chain of midwestern drive-ins in the fifties, slowly sold them off as the drive-in declined, and barely survived through the chilly eighties, is REBUILDING and REOPENING the Delavan Outdoor Theater in Delavan, Wis., because he's convinced the drive-in is making a comeback. We need more Americans like this. Walter Szewczyk of Lombard, Ill., 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 newsletter, "The Joe Bob Report," write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-985-7448. Joe Bob even hangs around on CompuServe: 76702,1435.
Dear Joe Bob:
The Drive-In Version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" by John Scoleri
12. Breasts A Bouncing
11. Heads A Rolling
10. Babes A Screaming
9. Chainsaws Buzzing
8. Dudes Kung Fu-ing
7. Cops A Chasing
6. Zombies Gnawing
5. Dead Bodies
4. Cars Exploding
3. Cases of Beer
2. Tubs of Popcorn
1. Drive-In Speaker
You know how the song goes -- sing it out loud!
John Scoleri
San Jose, Calif.
Dear
John:
They'll love it at the elementary-school multi-cultural non-denominational holiday pageants.
Dear Joe Bob,
A while back someone alerted you to the fact that you were on the same page in the Stars & Stripes newspaper with Linda Ellerbee and you commented on it in your column.
Let me now clue you in to the new haircut Linda Ellerbee has. The woman looks like she is ecstatically happy to be on the women's prison wrestling team, and her photo frightens me. The editors won't listen to me. Please petition Stars & Stripes to put you on a different page so your readers can easily avoid Linda's pictures.
Should you mention any of this in your column, call me Shack or don't call me at all. I don't ever want to meet Linda E. in some dark alley in Germany.
Regards and keep up the good work,
Shack
Landstuhl, Germany
Dear
Shack:
Somebody needs to tell Linda that, when guys in the SERVICE want to turn the page, time for a makeover, hon.
Mr. Joe Bob,
This past week I caught something on Showtime that made me laugh.
You, introducing the non-Sylvia Kristel Emanuelle flicks. I never really paid attention to spelling (one m versus two m's). I knew the one-m's were campier and basically made no sense. Bad editing, choppy dialogue and really bad acting. But like a train or car crash you find yourself watching to the very end. And I must admit I've seen them all and I'm in therapy for it. And I'll probably watch them again. Now that I've rambled, watching you introduce the Emanuelle's with Gemser and Monique was pure fun. I found myself counting to make sure your body parts and acts were on target. They were. One night I had to tape it. Had to go out. Wasn't my fault.
I hope Showtime uses you again, especially if they show the real Emmanuelle, the French ones.
Now onto Jean Claude. Maybe he doesn't speak English so well because he is trying to perfect his make-up skills. I've noticed in several recent photos that he prefers eyeliner on the lower lid. This could be a disturbing trend among men. But "Hard Target" is enjoyable if you tune out the dialogue or just keep your Walkman on.
Thank U,
Long time fan,
Robin Schultz
Oakland, Calif.
Dear
Robin:
Let's face it, Jean Claude is a weenie.
I'm surprised nobody else has noticed this.
Dear Joe Bob--
Just read your column on Sam Kinison and realized one thing . . . I want you to write MY obituary! Loved it!
Ann Marie Schmidt
KLIF Radio
Dallas
Dear
Ann Marie:
I'm convinced that, if we all let it hang out there like Sam did all our lives, we'd stop fightin so much.
Dear Mr. Briggs:
Like most people you are interested in solving the great, if not the greatest mystery in life: no, not middle age, life after death, infield fly rule, or the home office deduction. I am talking about whether Elvis, the king of rock 'n' roll and prescription medication, is alive.
He is! (Trust me.) Before I tell you who he is, let me tell you who he is not. Elvis is not a janitor in a Wendy's in Bergen County, N.J. (that's Jimmy Hoffa). Nor is Elvis Boris Yelstin. Elvis is the governor of North Carolina, Jim Martin, Ph.D.
You see, Elvis always wanted to get a college degree. The University (whose name I can't remember) he founded was willing to grant him life credits.
Since Elvis was a very good ameteur chemist all these years, it turned out that all he needed to do was complete his dissertation and get a Ph.D. in Chemistry (which Jim Martin has). The dissertation consisted of a department party that Raleigh vice still can't get over. Good taste prohibits me from describing how Elvis did on his orals.
Elvis had been a degenerate. However, he switched party affiliation (to Republican) after meeting Richard Nixon.
Now what about proof? During a speech at the University of No Consequence on a Hill of Crap (UNC--Chapel Hill), I noticed that Jim Martin had jet black hair a sneer and started his speeches with "Uh, thank you very much."
What do you think?
Warmest regards,
Neil Schier
Boston
Dear
Neil:
You ever think that we ALL have too much time on our hands?
© 1994 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved