In the introduction to this month's Playboy Interview with superstar Barbra Streisand, free-lance writer Lawrence Grobel describes the six months of work above and beyond the call of normal duty he put into the project, partly because Streisand was so caught up in it herself. But when it came to the provocative notion of having Streisand pose for the magazine's cover, Executive Editor G. Barry Golson, who edits the interview and had a hand in setting up the shooting, describes it as "a piece of cake." Photography Editor Gary Cole and Senior Art Director Tom Staebler, who directed the photo session at the Los Angeles studio of photographer Mario Casilli, agree. When the clicking stopped, all five of them gathered for a souvenir photograph that made four of the participants feel like leading men.
Playboy, October, 1977, Volume 24, Number 10. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and Its Possessions. $30 for Three Years, $22 for Two Years, $12 for one year. Canada, $15 per year, elsewhere, $25 per year. Allow 30 days for new subscriptions and renewals. Change of address: send both old and new addresses to Playboy, P.O. Box 2420. Boulder, Colorado 80302, and allow 30 days for change. Marketing: Lee Gottlieb, Director of public relations; Michael J. Murphy, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: Henry W. Marks. Advertising Director; Harold Duchin, National Sales Manager; Mark Evens, Associate Advertising Manager, 747 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10017; Sherman Keats, Associate Advertising Manager; John Thompson, Central Regional Manager. 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611; Detroit, William F. Moore, Manager, 818 Fisher Building; Los Angeles, Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 8721 Beverly Boulevard; San Francisco, Robert E. Stephens, Manager, 417 Montgomery Street.
Yes, and they're calling it Dr. Pecker. China has purchased 1000 deer penises from New Zealand to be used along with the sexual organs of male dogs and seals in the brewing of "most precious three-penis wine," a rejuvenating elixir. Produced by the China Native Produce and Animal By-Products Corporation, the inspiring beverage is touted as "nutritious and roborant [sic], promoting the brain and recovering memory, strengthening the organs." Cheers.
Previews: Here's a fall book list that we've been waiting for, because finally we'll see some things that have been in the rumor stage for entirely too long. Harold Brodkey's novel A Party of Animals (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), which has been published piecemeal in magazines over the past six years, will be out this winter. It takes the main character from childhood through college, and Brodkey writes brilliantly and lyrically about sexual awakening. We'll see Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff (Farrar, Straus & Giroux). It's his opus on the astronauts. And then there's Michael Herr. Esquire sent him to cover the Vietnam war in 1967. He wrote some extraordinary pieces for the magazine and now Knopf has Dispatches, his completed vision of those terrible years. Pete Hamill has a new novel, Flesh and Blood (Random House), about a young Irish heavyweight from the streets of Brooklyn. Random House is also publishing a collection of pieces by Hunter Thompson, the master of Gonzo Journalism, called The Great Shark Hunt (the title piece was published in Playboy in December 1974). Carl Sagan, popular and accessible, unlike most scientists, has a new book coming called The Murmurs of Earth: Science in the Age of Space (Random House), a perfect companion to the Tom Wolfe. For the movie buffs, there's Big Bad Wolves: Male Sexuality in American films (Pantheon), by Joan Mellen. It's a highly entertaining account of "how Hollywood's mythmaking factory has created the image of the indomitable male and, in the process, shaped and distorted our understanding of male sexuality." The Second Ring of Power (Simon & Schuster), by Carlos Castaneda, continues Castaneda's journey into the world of sorcery by introducing Doña Soledad, a woman whose powers are turned against the author in a struggle that almost consumes him. Doña Soledad has been taught all her supernatural tricks by Castaneda's famous teacher, Don Juan. Political buffs should be heartened by the news that Houghton Mifilin's coming out with Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.'s Robert Kennedy and His Times. Schlesinger was close at hand for all of them.
Previews: Watching a new fall TV season unfold is a bit like squeezing the fruit at a busy open-air market. The producers of this annual entertainment harvest are hooked on hope, forever telling themselves that a few bad apples won't spoil a barrel and that no one will notice if the corn is green. The 1977--1978 season shows dim promise of becoming a vintage one. A sampling of what's new or what's due on the tube as we go to press doesn't suggest many miracles of innovation, either.
Previews: The more movies change, it seems, the more they remain the same. Even a casual perusal of the lists of upcoming major releases is apt to trigger that old feeling known as déjà vu. Amid a slew of predictable sequels and remakes, there are some apparent trends--more love and romance, more films about women, more down-with-the-war dramas, more musicals. Omen Part II and Jaws II (with Roy Scheider still on deck), plus a looming trifle titled Beyond the Poseidon Adventure, are the most obvious examples of Hollywood sequelmania, inspired by the simple proposition that if at first you succeed (and get roaring rich), try, try again. Other remakes and rip-offs of various kinds include such promising oddities as High Anxiety (due early next year, with Mel Brooks & Co. in Mel's spoof of a Hitchcock thriller); Which Way Is Up? (Richard Pryor starring in an Americanized black comedy borrowed from Lina Wertmuller's The Seduction of Mimi); International Velvet (revisiting National Velvet, the cinematic turf where Liz Taylor became a child superstar way back when); and Franco Zeffirelli's new version of The Champ (in 1931, Wallace Beery and Jackie Cooper played the punchy prize fighter and his nine-year-old son). We're not sure how we feel about David Lean's projected epic, Captain Bligh and Mr. Christian. Dubious, maybe. Who needs another Mutiny on the Bounty) It's more tantalizing to anticipate Genevieve Bujold and James Caan in Claude Lelouch's Another Man, Another Woman, a wild Western romance due late this year and not precisely a sequel--just a new twist on a fondly remembered title.
Some catchy tunes, combined with sumptuous sets and period costumes, give a veneer of tasteful titillation to Cinderella, a soft-X musical comedy (not to be confused with the futuristic Cinderella 2000, below). Scratch the veneer, however, and you find a flat, vulgarized version of the classic fairy tale, featuring a prince (Brett Smiley) who has problems about sex. "I can't raise a bulge in my tunic . . . perhaps I'm becoming a eunuch" is roughly the way he sings out his dilemma. Of course, the answer to his prayers is Cinderella (Cheryl Smith)--aided and abetted, this time around, by a black faggot godperson who furnishes the usual diaphanous gown, a coach-and-four and that glass slipper, plus a "snapping pussy" to snap His Royal Highness out of his sexual lethargy. Once snapped, the prince, searching for his true love, finds the shoe fits a lot of ladies--so he runs himself haggard in the process of finding out whether the pussy snaps. The gag works now and then at the broad level of barnyard humor, and Cheryl is a wide-eyed, outwardly innocent Cinderella who floats through the film's raunchiest scenes as if her rags and flimsy petticoats were impervious to smut. Most of Cinderella is performed in a stagy, simple-minded burlesque style, with production values far superior to its low-brow script. Director Michael Pataki has his heroine, her Ugly Sisters and assorted company handsomely dressed up to play the palace. But after they've finished balling, there's really no place to go.
I'm a great believer in following your destiny. People say, 'Well, now that you've pulled off this Rocky thing, what do you have scheduled? What are your hopes and aims for the next two years?' And I go into my Krishnamurti bag, slightly, and say, 'Well, I'll just sit down and watch what happens to me.'"
Earlier this year, we learned that the American Atheist Association was to have its annual convention over the Easter weekend at the Hyatt Regency O'Hare hotel in Rosemont, Illinois. Curious to learn what is going on these days with the unbelievers, we dispatched sportswriter Anson Mount, who conducted the October 1965 "Playboy Interview" with Madalyn Murray O'Hair to monitor the event. Herewith his report:
Los Angeles, it seems, has taken to the Rangoon Racquet Club at 9474 Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills with a late-night fervor, since it is one of the few places that aren't membership clubs where one can rub elbows over sturdy drinks with Lotus-land's suntanned denizens and catch up on the latest gossip. Like the MGM lion, the bar roars lustily--from sundown to long past midnight--with a racy mix of celebrities (regulars include Mary Tyler Moore, Peter Ustinov, Lee Grant, James Baldwin and Brock Peters) and swells who lap up the last drop. And the smallish dining room dishes up tantalizing tastes, either for luncheon or for dinner, including a famed peanut soup, which has become a signature item, now that President Jimmy Carter has acclaimed his favorite protein to the world. (European visitors love it.)
I don't know if I should brag or complain. My boyfriend, who is very sexy and well hung, enjoys making love in the oddest places. If you have ever been to St. Louis, you are probably familiar with the Gateway Arch. You can take a seven-minute ride up and down the side in a small five-seat capsule. I know it sounds strange, but last summer we made love during one such ride. (There were hardly any tourists.) We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Can you suggest any other sexy sites?--Miss N. M., St. Louis, Missouri.
Oh, for the days when men were men and women were glad of it. We have heard with increasing frequency the complaint that sex isn't what it used to be, that the changing roles of men and women in our society have left us so confused most of us don't know our ass from our elbow or what to do with either in bed. Then again, there are those who exult. You're damned right sex isn't what it used to be. Thank God. We've gone from the Model T "any color as long as it's black" version of sex to a world spiced by variety. Whatever turns you on.
She is one of our few living legends: among the top female box-office attractions in the U. S. and one of the highestpaid and most sought-after singers in the world. At 27, Barbra Streisand became the only person to have won every major entertainment award: the Tony for stage, the Grammy for records, the Emmy for television and the Oscar for film. Her obsessive and independent behavior has also made her a continual target for detractors.
Synopsis:Living in Brussels as sergeant in charge of the NATO motor pool, playing a good game of tennis and sleeping with a beautiful NATO translator named Monika was Billy Abbott's idea of the good life. But a few ominous things began to surface into that life.
On a late Sunday afternoon in October 1974, special agent Robert Powis, in charge of the Los Angeles office of the United States Secret Service, announced on the local Eyewitness News that, "just a few hours ago," his agents, "acting on a tip," had arrested four men with $8,300,000 worth of counterfeit $100 bills that had just been printed. It was then, as Powis accurately stated, "the largest seizure of counterfeit money in American history." And, he went on, "It looks as if the intent was for widespread distribution. We're fairly confident, however, that none of the bills got out into circulation." The quality of the fake money was fair, in his opinion. "The printing is good, but they had to simulate the red and blue fibers on the face of the notes. The bills contain flaws, but they're definitely passable." The following day, the Los Angeles Times, presumably with further guidance from the Secret Service, reported that the men in custody were "believed to be the leaders of a major Southland conspiracy."
These are not the mystery guests from some bizarre version of What's My Line? They're all Playmates from our recent past costumed to conceal their identities and pique your imagination. Your job is to unmask these lovelies via the clues provided in the picture captions on the following pages. Failing to do that, you can just enjoy the pictures. The rules of this masked ball were simple: Come as a fantasy. No, not the ghost and goblin fantasies people scare children with; these are the kind that scare (or score with) adults. Some are sexy, some are weird. Which is which depends entirely on your point of view. Look at it as a kind of human Rorschach test you can take in the privacy of your own home. Nobody is going to know which fantasy turns you on, so no one will make a judgment about your reason or proclivities. However, if you find yourself getting off on all of them, perhaps you should bring it up at your next session. Now you're ready to begin. It's midnight and the guests have assembled.
Months ago, when President Carter asked the American people for advice on how to save energy, we sent him a letter outlining our own energy plan. The President didn't get back to us, so we assumed he'd put it on the back burner, until we found out all the back burners in the White House had been turned off to save energy. Then again, maybe we forgot to mail it. In any case, we think our energy proposals are far more realistic than Jimmy's, anticipating the day when there just isn't any more fuel left anywhere.
The nice thing about all this was that there was no way it could fail. I was sitting in the guest chair beside the sales manager's desk, looking straight at him with my faded-blue-denim-colored eyes. I was wearing dun-colored slacks, shoes with laces, a sports coat, a shirt and a real tie. No necklaces, no beads, and I had left all my charm bracelets on the dresser back at the Saharan Motor Hotel in Hollywood. It was the ultimate Los Angeles disguise.
Bud breasts were just beginning to take shape, so the woman sat her daughter down one day. "Sally, dear," she began, "it's time we had a talk about some things--about, for example, how a tiny baby comes to grow under its mother's heart."
Opposite: Just for the L of it, treat yourself to this sumptuous stereo rig. From top to bottom: a stereo graphic equalizer that helps compensate for aural tone-quality discrepancies resulting from poor room acoustics, etc., by MXR, $200; Model CT-F1000 cassette deck featuring Dolby circuitry, by Pioneer, $600; Sansui's 6060 receiver that puts out 40 watts per channel, $420; Model 981 multiple-play manual turntable, which operates on a belt-drive system that provides damping between motor and platter to help eliminate wow and flutter, by B.I.C., $210; and twin Bose 601 Direct/Reflecting speakers with six drivers (four tweeters and two woofers) in each enclosure, $558 the pair.
Relax. This isn't a scene from The Godfather, Part III. It's just autumn in New York and two of the boys, Jim and Phil, are scouting the Garment District for their fall wardrobes. We've a hunch they're being followed.
The difference between our enemies list and theirs is that the people we name aren't so much our enemies as yours. These are the people on the other side, the guys in black hats who would like to drag all of us out of the 20th Century and back into the 19th. Come to think of it, if the Nixon White House had had a Friends List, many of the following people would have been on it.
She is discreet. On this balmy evening in Las Vegas, she wears a simple, but quite expensive, white dress with a minimal sliver of cleavage showing. You might take her for a vacationing secretary from someplace like Atlanta. If you met her, you might at first believe that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. You would be wrong.
The casting at first seems unlikely--Rudolf Nureyev, arguably the world's greatest male ballet dancer, playing the legendary screen lover Rudolph Valentino, he of the flaring nostrils and endearing cruelty. But Valentino is a Ken (The Devils, Tommy, Lisztomania) Russell film and, therefore, not subject to the usual rules. On the other hand, given his similar name, his foreign mystique, his seemingly effortless grace and, of course, his fanatical female following, Nureyev may give the Sheik a run for his money. In any event, for Nureyev, it's a Great Leap Forward.
In 16th century italy, ladies of gentle birth were expected to be well-spoken and modest in all things--at least in company. But there was one license permitted them when, after dinner, the guests gathered for one of the most popular oral games of the time--the telling of riddles or enigmas. Here follow some of those feminine inventions:
The United States Surgeon General notwithstanding, smoking is not dangerous to your health-- unless you're on a regimen that restricts your intake of calories. Because food prepared in one of the smoke cookers introduced on the market recently is irresistibly tender, with a savory woodsy tang and an inviting burnished hue.
If you're peeking at the answers without having tried to figure out the clues in Having a Masked Ball (pages 116--123), shame on you! If you're back here legitimately and have given it a reasonable try, welcome to the unveiling. Here's how to score: First, turn the lights way down and uncork a good Beaujolais. . . . But seriously, folks, if you missed more than two of the seven, turn in your back issues of Playboy. If you had all the ladies pegged, you are obviously a gentleman of discernment. And if you got off on any of the fantasies, remember to take a long, cold shower.
The peripatetic lifestyle of today's urban nomads has given rise to a whole new concept in contemporary furniture: knockdown, easy-to-tote tables, chairs and other pieces that can be assembled and disassembled by the most fumble-fingered Mr. Malaprop for schlepping across town to a new pad or even across country, packed in the trunk of your car. Best of all, the knockdown furniture we've seen--most of which is surprisingly good-looking and sturdy--isn't going to knock all the green stuffing out of your wallet, prices being about $100 or less for many items. And should you move to digs where an item isn't needed, just stash it away instead of selling it, you clever pack rat, you.
We Americans have always been a trifle puzzled about French cars. As our appetite for imported machinery from Japan, Germany, Italy and Great Britain increased over the years, French automobiles remained small-volume items. Which is odd, because France is an industrial giant, with a large automobile industry formed primarily by the triumvirate of Renault, Citroën and Peugeot--all of which are much-respected marques. Moreover, French cars have always been in the vanguard of technology--engineering advances such as front-wheel drive, diesels, rear-engine placement, hydropneumatic suspension systems, aerodynamic body shapes appeared on French cars long before other national brands dared incorporate such avant-garde components.
In usurious circles, the word juice has a decidedly negative connotation. But when it comes to applying the big squeeze in your kitchen, nothing can beat one of the half-dozen machines shown below. They all have different names--Citrus Juicer, Multipress, Juice Extractor, etc.--and some of their functions vary; when the pressure's on, however, you can be assured that the vitamin-rich final concoction made from whatever vegetables or fruits you've fed the machine is going to be a pip of a drink. Suppose, for example, your taste buds have a hankering for something wet and fresh you sipped this past summer on the beach at Puerto Vallarta. Maybe an orange, lemon and pineapple punch. No problem. And, best of all, if your preference calls for a generous splash of the hard stuff, the results are fantastic! Fresh fruit juice, of course, just gets better when it's mixed with an alcoholic beverage. In fact, some say that getting juiced with a little help from your very own juicer is the only way to fly.