Red Shoe Diaries (1992)

REVIEWS - Movie Reviews

A few weeks ago a bunch of scientists went over to Iran and dug up some ugly yellow pottery and scraped the slime off a jar and held a press conference to announce that man was drinking beer as early as the year 3500 B.C.

It wasn't light beer, either. These jars they dug up have TWO handles on em. The ancient Iranians evidently ordered by the pitcher.

Since I have personally drunk many Mexican beers that TASTE like they're 5500 years old, this was NOT news to me. But what really ticked me off about it is that the archeologists seemed kind of disappointed. They always thought it was WINE that was the oldest drink. And they thought that the main purpose of barley was to make BREAD. Bread and wine, wine and bread--that's all these guys wanna talk about. It's like they spend all their time in Seattle or something.

But now they've got all this evidence that the Sumerians, also known as Chug Champions of the Tigris-Euphrates Valley, thought wine was for sissies like the Hittites, who were so lame they've excavated 5,000-year-old cappuccino bars on their property. But not the Sumerians. The Sumerians sometimes just dumped all the beer in a big vat, passed out long straws, and stood around sucking brew.

And why not?

Why shouldn't beer be the foundation of civilization?

Why does everybody act like, if you drink beer, you're a pot-bellied scumdog, but if you drink whiskey--which is 100 times more likely to pickle your brain--you're just Irish? And if you drink wine, why, I'll bet you're the same person who watches the Arts & Entertainment Network by CHOICE, aren't you?

When did the word "beer-drinking" become an insult anyhow?

I get these letters that start out, "Why don't you and your beer-guzzling buddies go and . . ."

It takes YEARS of practice to guzzle. What's so dang wrong with it?

Or how about this one: "Police said the suspects were seen earlier in the evening at a beer tavern on Highway 67."

If they catch the crooks leaving the Petroleum Club, they don't say, "The suspects were seen earlier in the evening at a gin, vodka, whiskey, Scotch, vermouth, Tequila-shooter tavern on Pearl Street."

No, it's BEER that caused the crime, isn't it? It's those BEER PEOPLE we don't like.

Beer drinkers like me are probly descended from the ancient Sumerians, so it's in our genes. We can't help it. They need to start teaching this stuff in school, raising the self-esteem of our young people. They need to be telling little Billy, "Your daddy's not trash. He's just CULTURALLY INCLINED to drink the healthiest, most natural drink ever invented by man. Every time he tips back a Meisterbrau, he's justifying another PBS Special on why we're the way we are."

You're not buying this, are you?

I didn't think so.

Speaking of stretching the truth, not to mention the ole Spandex, "Red Shoe Diaries" is out on video in one of those "unrated" eight-minutes-of-never-before-seen-SEX-footage whoopsy-daisy box covers with a gal in a slinky mini-dress and these red heels that are so high she could get kneebleed.

Okay okay okay okay, I took a look at it. Ever since this show first came out on Showtime--"More Erotic Obsession by Zalman King, Creator of '9 1/2 Weeks'"--I knew there was WAY too much hype going on here. It's sort of like some guy in a singles bar who's talking too loud and saying stuff like, "My problem is that I'm a sexual animal. I can't control my Weimeraner." And by the time he's had two beers, you know he's probly lived alone in a cinder-block apartment building for the last 12 years.

And that's pretty much the deal with "Red Shoe Diaries," starring pouty-lipped brunette Brigitte Bako as a girl who has a NICE boyfriend who wants to marry her, but she gets a chance to have wild animal sex with a construction worker and part-time ladies shoe salesman, and so, of course, who can resist that? But once you've aardvarked with the guy at Kinney, there's no going back. And then it's, like, this big DILEMMA, where she can't make up her iddy biddy mind about which boyfriend she really really likes, and it's, like, whacking her out. And so she has to kill herself in the bathtub, so that the two guys can play a vicious game of one-on-one basketball to decide who loved her more.

In other words, one of those things you'll watch on cable at 1 a.m. and then deny the next day that you've ever heard of it.

One dead body. Five breasts. Three drunk ex-cheerleaders. Elbow to the nose. Wrist-slitting. Multiple aardvarking. Gratuitous lovers cavorting through fields in slow-motion. Gratuitous saxophone on the sound track ALL THE DANG TIME. Fist Fu. Loft Fu. Black leather Fu. Basketball Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for David Duchovny, as the sensitive Jake, for saying "I want to see the outline of your body through your nightgown"; Billy Wirth, as the gritty Tom, for saying "Why don't you take off your clothes?"; and, of course, Brigitte Bako, the girl who just can't decide who to sleep with, for saying "He made love like he worked on the street--tender as a jackhammer."

As Freud would say, "Now just WHO was your mother?"

Three stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.