"Joe Bob's Drive-In" for 7/17/95
cutline: Dylan Walsh goes over the script, reviewing the terrifying killer-gorillas-in-Kabuki-makeup massacre scene, with overacting Method gorilla Amy, star of "Congo."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
If you're gonna make a gorilla flick, the gorilla's got to party down. The gorilla's got to DO SOMETHING. It's either got to eat people, or else run around solving their problems. It's got to be either a capitalist gorilla or a communist gorilla. There's no such thing, in the movies, as a gorilla-next-door.
Or at least there wasn't such a thing before "Congo," which stars a cutesy-pie little talking gorilla that smokes cigars, drinks martinis, and generally does things you would expect to see in the lounge of the Mirage Hotel in Vegas. Come to think of it, the WHOLE MOVIE looks like the lounge of the Mirage Hotel in Vegas, complete with an African jungle that looks like it was built for a Wayne Newton music video.
Fortunately, the jungle is inhabited by vicious flesh-eating apes in kabuki makeup who occasionally go berserk and eat a character actor. These are not to be confused with the FRIENDLY gorilla clan down the road who refuse to participate in the mauling of humans.
You see, back in King Solomon's time, there were these apes who were bred like pit bulldogs, to guard the diamond mines, only they turned on their breeders and smashed them to bits, then stood guard for centuries, waiting on an expedition from an evil Houston telecommunications company to show up in 1995 so they could rip out their guts and toss the expedition leader onto the bone pile. But the apes meet their match in the form of a sensitive feminist ex-fiancee-of-the-dead leader who teams up with a University of California gorilla research scientist and a sleazy Romanian conman posing as a philanthropist who talks exactly like Yakov Smirnov. You see, the scientist is taking Amy back to the woods where she belongs, while the con man wants to find the lost city of Solomon, and they're all led by this hip African guide who can lead them through various African revolutionary armies and explain when the local volcano is likely to erupt and . . . er . . . uh . . . I don't really know WHAT happens in this movie.
Way too much plot getting in the way of the story.
Anyhow, Amy the gorilla is pretty obviously some guy in a gorilla suit, and the little strap-on machine they use to make her talk looks like an electronic room deodorizer from Radio Shack. The orangutan that starred with Clint Eastwood in "Every Which Way But Loose" had a whole lot more personality. Heck, come to think of it, Marlene Dietrich put on a gorilla suit to sing "Hot Voodoo" in "Blonde Venus," and SHE had a lot more personality.
So that leaves us with the Killer Kabuki Apes in the nine-billion-dollar special-effects climax, full of volcanic eruptions, various acts of closeup ape terrorism, and Day-Glo lava fields pouring through the lobby of the Mirage Hotel.
Please. These apes look like they've been doing too much coke. You can SMELL these apes. It's like being attacked by a shag rug with a lot of puke on it.
These are not Stanley Kubrick "2001" Symbolic Apes.
These are not Roddy McDowall "Planet of the Apes" smarter-than-we-are apes.
These are not even as convincing as when Bela Lugosi turned himself into "The Ape Man."
These are more like "Bedtime for Bonzo" apes on speed.
Once again, there are only two ways to make a gorilla movie.
The first, in the immortal words of Dino DeLaurentiis: "When monkey die, everybody cry."
This is the lovable ape, the misunderstood ape, the heroic ape.
The second is to make the apes pure-dee MEAN. "Link," "Project X," "Monkey Shines"--shoot the gorilla up with some kind of loosy-goosey genetic-DNA brain serum, and send him to Cleveland.
This movie doesn't do either one. The lead ape is just sappy, especially when you imagine him as midget in a Disney World costume. And the killer apes are just used to eat minor supporting players and shorten the running time.
I'll put it this way.
I'd rather watch "Goliathon."
Seventeen dead bodies. No breasts. Eyeball rolls. One exploding car. One truck hijacking. One revolution. One ground-to-air missile attack. One exploding plane. Monkey mating noises. Snake-hacking. Torrential rainstorm, with Cloudy Lens. Gorilla-Cam. Chanting tribe, with chest-pounding, but without "Umgawa." Whitewater rafting. Endless backpacking scenes, the kind where you say "Isn't the cinematography great?" Giant hippo attack. Forty-seven thousand rounds of automatic weapons fire. Diamonds that look like cheap quartz crystals from roadside tourist stands in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Gratuitous hot-air balloon. Kung Fu. Molten Lava Fu. Ape Fu. Laser-gun Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Joe Don Baker, as the evil Houston tycoon who bashes in TV screens when he's not sending people on death missions, for saying "I need those diamonds, Dr. Ross!"; Tim Curry, as the fake Romanian philanthropist who says "That gorilla knows where it is!" and deciphers hieroglyphics in his spare time; Dylan Walsh, as the gorilla-loving scientist who quotes William Butler Yeats to explain his motivations and gets leeches on his private parts; Laura Linney, as the ex-CIA operative who wields a mean laser rifle; and Ernie Hudson, as the wise-guy wise-guide.
Two stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over Real Estate! The Tri-City Drive-In, on Redlands Boulevard east of Mountain View in San Bernardino, Calif., is still hanging on--weekends only--in spite of going through 15 years of runaway development in the area. Now that the development has fizzled out, the Tri-City could hang in there a LONG time. Sam Graham of Des Moines, Ia., 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, or Fax him at 214-985-7448, or e-mail him via CompuServe: 76702,1435.
Dear Joe Bob,
Well, goldang it, I'm so glad that you send me your newsletter here in federal prison. All the prisoners always rush to my cell whenever they see me get it at mail call. They all start to chant "Joe Bob, Joe Bob, Joe Bob." It's real loud. Anyway, we have a question for you, Joe Bob. Do you think it is right for us federal prisoners to have to go for years without sex? Is it normal? We don't think so, but want to know what you think. Also, can you send me Ugly-on-a-Stick's address?
P.S. Give my address to all your women friends. I'll write to anybody!
A real big fan and fellow Texan,
Richard Carter
#02656-063
Federal Correctional Institution
Oakdale, La.
Dear
Richard:
From what I've heard, you federal
prisoners do NOT go years without sex.
But let's not dwell on it.
Joe Bobbaji,
I need a favor. In an early scene in Scorsese's "Cape Fear," De Niro is exercising in his cell. Behind him on his shelf is a book entitled "The Cell Within" by Jake Manning.
I've searched at Powell's in Portland--it's neither in or out of print or in stock.
Can you contact someone in Scorsese's organization or studio to get me a source for this book? I gotta curiosity that won't quit.
Much obliged,
Michael Casey
Tahoe Vista, Calif.
Dear
Mike:
Screenwriters sometimes make stuff up.
I'm surprised I have to explain this to you, bud.
Dear Joe Bob,
I am a loyal and faithful Texan who has been economically expatriated to the distant, primitive and developing region known as Atlanta, Georgia. I am forced to live out an existential existence where the term "white trash" is actually considered an insult and nothing of cultural importance has happened since "the war of northern aggression." Worst of all, I cannot locate a source for your insightful reviews of the cinematic overstatements that I enjoy nor the words of wisdom from a master of the obvious such as yourself. The people I have met in this state have no appreciation for the value of the modest-budgeted renderings that fill the void left by over-produced, over-budgeted extravaganzas that appeal to the lowest common denominator, filling the theaters with mindless tripe at unbelievable prices. To make matters worse, the megalithic studios responsible for this glorious waste are supported by equally mindless, suck-up reviewers who expound the virtue of these productions with self-indulgent articles using pretentious language, much like this letter, in order to promote the film, promote their own careers, get more freebies and hand-shakes with their favorite stars. When will people realize that the drive-in variety of movies can just as easily address us in the lowest common denominator as big-budgeted efforts, and do it with much less pretense and cost? They also provide a place where lesser known people can exhibit their skills as opposed to burnt-out hackers who call themselves artists and remain fixated on their own success throughout their further works.
I digress.
The purpose of this letter is to find a source for your articles and reviews available in the Georgian cultural outback or to acquire these articles directly. I figure that if Rush Limbaugh can publish a newsletter and promote it with annoying, unceasing zeal, the likes of a true genius, such as yourself, should have a platform for delivery of your words of wisdom through direct mail, maximizing personal profit. I would greatly appreciate becoming enrolled in your fan club, receiving any of your work, a subscription to anything you may publish and any information that would help me become closer to your work. I only hope the cost will match the movies you review in frugalness. I apologize for the reference to existentialism, but you don't need a reason to refer to existentialism. You just DO IT!
P.S. I would like to congratulate you on the correctness of your early observation that Traci Lords would find a place in big-budget films. She brings a drive-in flavor to these films and made-for-TV productions that I hope no amount of acting classes can remove.
Best regards,
William "Buck" Cashon
Atlanta
Dear
Buck:
By now, you've received your complimentary copy of "The Joe Bob Report," and, as you no doubt understand by now, the price of genius is not cheap.
Dear Joe Bob:
I was just reading about casual sex in your column--no, make that: I was just reading, in your column, about casual sex and teenagers and stuff and was struck (stricken) (strack) by the question: "What is rumpus?" And why is there a separate room for it anyway? Is it a thing, and if so, is it animal, vegetable or mineral? Is it a state of mind? A form of punishment? A life's goal kind of thing? A type of furniture, a game, a hobby, a pursuit? I had a friend when I was nine or ten in Big D--his name was Dickie Majors (bet they don't call him Dickie anymore) and HE didn't have rumpus either. We lived over by Llano Park and my next door neighbor was a cheerleader for the Dallas Texans football team, and SHE didn't have any rumpus to my knowledge either. My friend Jimmy lived way offa Mockingbird Lane somewhere in one of those goldang modern homes, and we always suspected him of rumpus, but he wouldn't talk about it. Anyway, casual teenage sex and rumpus rooms and stuff--I was just wondering.
Your friend,
D.C. Chaffin
Bainbridge Island, Wash.
Dear
D.C.:
If you don't have any rumpus in your life by now, it's too late to explain.
Dear Joe Bob,
I have a few questions for you:
1. Did you at one time host a video series about lost, or no-longer-shown, drive-in movies? The reason why I ask is because I was once forced to watch most of a movie called "Dangerous Weapons" starring an Israeli stripper with a 72-inch bust line, and I seem to remember you doing the introduction. That's about all I remember of that movie, other than a feeling of nausea at seeing that woman's breasts floating in a bathtub while she bathed.
Another question: 2. Are you affiliated in any way with the Church of the Subgenius? Just wondering.
3. Do you still published the "We Are the Weird" newsletter? If so, could you please send me information on how to get a copy?
4. Are you familiar with the Dallas band "Bedhead," formerly "Orange Schubert"? Just wondering about that one, too--they're pen pals of mine. If you haven't seen them you should go check them out.
Sincerely,
Lesley A. Cayton
Lexington, Ky.
Dear
Lesley:
1. I had a video series called "Joe
Bob Briggs Presents the Sleaziest Movies in the History of the World,"
and, yes, one of our best-selling titles was "Deadly Weapons" (NOT
"Dangerous Weapons"), starring Chesty Morgan, who has a 73-inch (NOT
72-inch) bust line. And, yes, it DOES make you nauseous. The tape is available
from Strand VCI in Santa Monica, California.
2. No affiliation with the Church of the
Subgenius, except the Reverend Bob and I use the same post office.
3. "We Are the Weird" is now
called "The Joe Bob Report." (It's a long story.)
4. Never heard of "Bedhead." Does this mean I'm unhip?
© 1995 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved