It's spring training for all of us this month. After one of the coldest winters in history, things are just now heating up as the thoughts of men drift from blizzard and frost to sizzle, spark and irresistible lust. Speaking of such goodies, Joan Collins is the subject of Lawrence Grobel'sPlayboy Interview in this issue. As the scheming Alexis, she puts the nasty into ABC's Dynasty. As an Interviewee, she puts nerve and verve into one of the chattiest, cattiest Playboy Interviews ever. We feel certain this is the only major interview this month that will address the timeless question "Do most directors suck?"
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), April, 1984, Volume 31, Number 4. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $54 for 36 issues, $38 for 24 issues, $22 for 12 issues, Canada, $27 for 12 issues. Elsewhere, $35 for 12 issues. Allow 45 days for new subscriptions and renewals. Change of address: Send both old and new addresses to Playboy, Post Office box 2420, Boulder, Colorado 80302, and allow 45 days for change. Marketing: Walter Joyce, Divisional Promotion Director: Ed Condon, Director/Direct Marketing; Jack Bernstein. Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: Charles M. Stentiford. Advertising Director: Michael Druckman, Jeffrey Kleinman, Craig Vander Ploeg. Senior Associate Managers: Jay Remer. National Alcoholic Beverages Manager, 747 third avenue, New York, New York 10017: Russ Weller, Midwest Advertising Manager, 919 North Michigan avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611: 3001 W. Big Beaver Road, Troy, Michigan 48084; Los Angeles 90010. Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 4311 Wilshire Boulevard: San Francisco 94104. Tom Jones, Manager, 417 Montgomery Street.
With the success of MTV, even politicians have seen the potential of video music. Videot savant (and Associate Editor) Kevin Cook collected these award-winning videos that, last November, kicked off the Presidential campaign.
Looking great and pushing 60 (well, he's 59), Paul Newman co-authored, coproduced, directed and stars in Harry & Son (Orion). If good intentions were enough, he'd rate high marks for his efforts. But Newman's instincts were right when he initially resisted taking the title role as a demolition-crane operator, widowed, depressed, in poor health. He's also making life difficult for his son (Robby Benson), who works at a car wash but hankers to be a writer. Benson is a talented young actor who overdoes the ingratiatingly boyish bit, particularly when he's given a role presoaked with sentimentality. Besides being misunderstood by Dad, he falls for a girl who's about to become an unmarried mother--played with appealing directness by Ellen Barkin. Joanne Woodward plays her mother, and there's just a hint of budding romance between the two single parents--kinda cute but not helpful to credibility, since the entire civilized world knows Paul and Joanne as Mr. and Mrs. Harry offers some affectingly tender moments and obviously aspires to tug our heartstrings, like a father-son reprise of Terms of Endearment. The difference is that Newman never pulls the audience along, because his family conflicts seem flimsily motivated, right up to the final lump-in-your-throat fade-out. [rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
Whose idea was it to invent the rock-'n'-roll novel, anyway? Just the thing to breathe life into an English-department syllabus when enrollments dip, but it hasn't done much to convince any of us that rock 'n' roll was the Spanish Civil War of the Sixties and Seventies. And that's what's wrong with Jane Smiley's Duplicate Keys (Knopf), a mystery concerned with fingering the murderer of two musicians. Smiley, not an altogether insensitive writer, witnesses death, mourning and police inquisition in compelling ways. However, every time she adjusts the color for rock 'n' roll, up pops drivel. How about this passage, right after a glass of water has been spilled onstage: "His guitar was on and he had one hand around the neck and he reached for one of the dials and lifted his foot. I opened my mouth to call out to him and shit if he didn't step to one side of the water.... I thought to myself, There's a lucky guy, there's the classic example of a lucky guy." So much for the rigors of rock.
Pecks and hugs and rock 'n' roll: "I've thrown a couple of chairs around once or twice," Kelly (no last name), lead guitarist for Girlschool, was telling us. But, she insisted, she's never trashed a hotel room. Such restrained dues paying comes unexpectedly from a member of the band that looks like a Frazetta painting come to life: four females in assorted black-leather and denim pants and jackets, silver studs and shagbark hairdos.
Imagine the Go-Go's with evilly savvy, bitchy lyrics and you've got Sleep It Off (PolyGram), by Cristina. Except that there are no hooks. The words are worth the price of admission, but somebody forgot to bring the music. Don't Mutilate My Mink, though, merits a listen. It's the best double-entendre title of the year.
Havin' Fun in the Warm California Sun: Delegates to this summer's Democratic Convention in San Francisco may be greeted with indoor fireworks and a laser light show. Or colorful concrete rainbows. Techniques to give the hall a contemporary look have been submitted by FM Productions, which designed special effects for both the Stones' and David Bowie's concerts. Rock 'n' roll is here to stay.
Idol Gossip: Katharine Hepburn and Nick Nolte co-star in MGM/UA's dark comedy The Ultimate Solution of Grace Quigley, the story of a lonely old lady (Hepburn) who, having had her fill of life, hires a reluctant hit man (Nolte) to do her in painlessly. Problems arise when Quigley's elderly cronies decide they'd like to participate in the last rites. Directed by Anthony (The Lion in Winter) Harvey, the film has been a pet project of Hepburn's for the past ten years.... Roy Scheider, John (The World According to Garp) Lithgow and Bob (Absence of Malice) Balaban will play the three astronauts in search of HAL's vanished spacecraft in 2010: Odyssey Two, sequel to the 1968 classic 2001: A Space Odyssey.Peter (Outland) Hyams directs from his own script; special effects will be overseen by Star Wars alumnus Richard Edlund.... Costa-Gavras' next project will be War Day, a tale involving survivors of a nuclear holocaust.... On the drawing board for Mel Brooks is an s-f spoof tentatively called Planet Moron....Clint Eastwood and Burt Reynolds will team up for the first time ever (along with Marsha Mason) in Blake Edwards'Kansas City Jazz, a mystery set in the Forties.... William Katt and Sean (Blade Runner) Young play a young couple who chance upon a family of living dinosaurs while on a routine archaeological trek in Africa in Walt Disney Pictures' Baby. Special effects will include a state-of-the-art Audio Animatronics--you guessed it--dinosaur.... Michael Cimino will direct Dustin Hoffman in Columbia's The Yellow Jersey, a story that revolves around the famous 3000-mile bicycle race the Tour de France. (The yellow jersey is awarded to the leading cyclist with the best over-all time.) The film will mark Cimino's first feature since the ill-fated Heaven's Gate.
"The Colonel wants the shields off, Lieutenant," Gunny Door yelled to me from the fire-direction center. It was almost dusk. I was standing in a ravine, trying to line up eight 105 howitzers in the proper firing direction. "We've got to strip 'em. The colonel wants them ready for chopper transport." The gunny looked at me with his chiseled face and crooked grin. His eyes glinted the way they always did when he heard an order that he thought was crazy.
You know how these things happen: You've been dating the most wonderful girl in the world for several weeks, even several months, when something untoward happens. Maybe something small, like her starting to wear a particularly rancid brand of perfume, or maybe something major, like her informing you that she was only kidding when she said she adored football. Whatever. All you know is that the thrill has ebbed. Your dreams of this girl are no longer feverish. Your finger seems loath to dial her number; you become re-enamored of airline stewardesses. The love affair is, in fact, history.
I've been dating a woman for about a month and a half now, and our sex life is very strong, except that she will not allow herself to have an orgasm, at least not with a man. I gave her a vibrator and she reaches orgasm very quickly with it (in the privacy of her home), and she has had orgasms with men before. So the problem is apparently not physiological.
The readers of this column aren't fools. They want the real skinny from our Playmates on even the most sensitive subjects. On their behalf, we're always willing to rush in where angels fear to tread. Our readers want to know about sexual performance and how important it is in the total picture.
Reading various legal journals, I note that our enlightened lawmakers continue to plead for the adoption of the "guilty but insane" verdict. That's so they can send an insane defendant to a mental institution until he can appreciate what's happening when they electrocute him. I know a lawyer who is suggesting similar pleadings in other areas of the criminal law. He recommends such pleas as "guilty but has a broken leg" (for the clumsy second-story burglar), "guilty but has herpes" (for the unfortunate John), "guilty but greedy, gullible and stupid" (for legislators on the take).
The ballad below (according to the letter that came with it) tells the story of a fellow who once visited his uncle's farm in Iowa, discovered a field of wild Cannabis and was arrested after harvesting 80 pounds of it. He got off with three months in jail, during which time some songwriting friends came to visit and, with the sheriff's amused permission, entertained the inmates. The performance was taped by a deputy, who played it over the police radio at night to antagonize the unpopular state narc who had made the bust. It may not merit a national award, but at least it demonstrates that cops, too, have a sense of humor.
When the Emmy nominations for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series were announced last August, Joan Collins was not among the nominees. Linda Evans, who plays the other leading female role in their hit nighttime soap, "Dynasty," was nominated. So was John Forsythe, her ex- and Linda's current husband on the show. Joan was more than a little disappointed. Downright angry would be more like it. Everyone had been telling her for months that not only would she be nominated but she was practically a shoo-in for the Emmy. After all, her friends reasoned, wasn't it she, as bitchy Alexis Carrington, who had turned "Dynasty" around, taking it from so-so ratings to the very top?
Jean-François Jonvelle was born in the south of France, and he has come to be known as one of the foremost advertising photographers and TV-commercial directors there. He started off shooting fashion for Elle, Marie-Claire, French Cosmopolitan and German Vogue, and his commercial clients include Levi-France and Charles of the Ritz. Mistress (Melrose, distributed by Grove Press) is a collection of black-and-white photographs of several women who have found their way into his life. Frenchmen take such excursions very seriously. Note Jonvelle's adoration of women: "The most beautiful thing imaginable is to live with somebody you love, to share the little things." Happily, his pictures are more specific.
A house is not a home, it's been said, unless it boasts a superlative array of liquor that both reflects and anticipates fashions in drinking. That's what most of us strive for, and largely achieve, when we take on potable cargo prior to Christmas and New Year's. But you know what happens. Holiday hospitality puts a hell of a dent in your inventory; incursions from random entertaining and your own indulgence further deplete your spirituous supplies. If you have the courage, check the current state of your bar. Chances are you'll find a few holiday leftovers, one or two glittering gift packages and a mixed bag of bottles that nobody drinks. That, (continued on page 172)Bar Smarts(continued from page 89) chums, is not what's meant by the term liquor cabinet. It won't help you win friends and impress people or be much of an asset--whether you're contriving an intimate soiree or hosting an epic lift-off. Time to restock! But don't rush out and grab every bottle you can lay your hands on. This is not a numbers game but a matter of common sense and sophistication, based on three principles. The first is quality--not simply palatable liquors but instantly recognizable, deluxe national brands. They're smooth, consistent and reassuring--a signal to guests that they're important. Balance is the second prerequisite. It may seem to be the ultimate generosity to have everyone's favorite spirits on hand, but that's cumbersome--and can become a game of stump the host. What you want is a manageable assortment to handle classic cocktails, trendy favorites and maybe a house specialty. The third, and easily the most crucial, consideration is people--specifically, the tastes and the style preferences of yourself and friends. If you all loathe Chartreuse, for example, why give it cabinet space? Contrarily, if aquavit is big in your circle, why not have two kinds? Regional leanings also come into play when you're planning a home bar. Go heavier on bourbon and Tennessee whiskey in the South; tequila in the Southwest; blended whiskey, rum and Scotch in the East; California brandy in the West and the Midwest; and vodka just about everywhere. Seasonal considerations are also factors. When Christmas comes, you just have to add dark rum and perhaps a bottle of advocaat.
Break-Dance Fever: Sure, Jane Fonda's Workout is still on the charts, but how can you call that an exercise program after you've witnessed the Rock Steady Crew, the Dynamic Breakers or the New York City Breakers? Those are the hottest break-dance crews in New York, headquarters for this athletic boogie in which teams of dancers perform splits, dives and spins on their shoulders, necks and heads to the rhythm of rap and scratch tracks. It's likely you've seen breakers, though, without even going to New York. The Rock Steady Crew cameoed in Flashdance, and some of the other crews appear in music videos by Gladys Knight and the Pips, Billy Joel, the Gap Band and others. Be prepared for more, because the music industry is having a rap attack as major labels sign more rap groups. Also, keep an eye out for the break-dance films Wild Style; Beat Street, produced by Harry Belafonte; and Shootout, produced and directed by Sidney Poitier. Gee, we'll probably see the new Richard Simmons break-dance video, too.
John Candy has impersonated countless public figures, from Tip O'Neill to Divine. But why Boy George, and why now? "He is unique. Chicks dig a guy in weird clothes and kabuki face. If you can pick up a chick dressed like that, I say give it a shot." If Boy George is passé tomorrow, will Candy still dress like him? "Not a chance. You wouldn't catch me dead in that garb. It took me four hours to get that look. I don't have that kind of time." Why dress up in the first place? "I'm trying to find out who I am. Last week, I was George Bush. Next week, I intend to be Eddie Arcaro."
Actually, somebody's lying a little bit here. This is not easy. If you saw Michael Jackson on the 25th-anniversary Motown special, you know he is a dancer the likes of whom we haven't seen in a long time. Fred Astaire said he was "a hell of a mover." Choreographer Michael Peters said he was "a dancer in his soul." Well, I'm a dancer in my soul, too. It doesn't always get all the way down to my feet, but it's in there somewhere, and it's probably in you, too. So get up. Slap Billie Jean on the machine and let's kick out some slats. You'll need the clothes to get the feeling, you may want to grease your hair till it shines and it won't hurt to watch a tape of M.J.'s performance about 1000 times in very slow motion. And when you get to the crux move, the floating-backward moon walk, don't despair. It's an illusion and it can be learned. Of course, when Michael Jackson does it, it's a miracle, and nobody can teach you that. But if you get even close, you'll never have to put a lamp shade on your head again. Think about that.
In the September 1976 Playboy Interview, David Bowie told us, "I haven't a clue where I'm gonna be in a year. A raving nut, a flower child or a dictator, some kind of reverend--I don't know. That's what keeps me from getting bored." Since then, he's been a lot of things--and that's what keeps us from getting bored. In his splashy success story, Bowie has been a folkie, a glam rocker, a soul singer, a masterful entertainer, an actor and now, as he becomes our 1984 Hall of Famer, a sort of elder statesman. (Don't worry, David; you still get to bleach your hair.)
In 1958, I was on the Going to the Sun highway in Montana, headed toward Canada on a 650-c.c. Triumph motorcycle. It was after dark, and despite the fact that it was August, it was cold. Consequently, when I saw a little place with a restaurant sign out front, I stopped. The dirt parking lot was filled with pickup trucks and old cars. I went inside and had to stand for a minute or two before I found an empty table, because the place was pretty much filled. A few people were eating, but everybody was drinking. The air was heavy with loud talk and laughter and smoke. The smell of burned grease could not quite beat down the unmistakable odor of sweat and male musk. There was a whole bunch of folks packed in there who had not seen a bathtub in a long, long time. A battered jukebox in a far corner wailed about love gone wrong and lost. I felt completely and wonderfully at home for the first time since I'd started this trip some months back.
It's a sunny afternoon in Los Angeles, and Lesa Ann Pedriana is restless. This is not a day to be inside. While strolling through Ocean Park, she comes upon an exercise area with rings suspended from a swing frame; Lesa Ann suddenly grabs the rings, kips up and does a neat back flip. Then, without a word about it, she continues the conversation. It occurs to you that the last girl you were with never did that.
A sailor is marooned on a desert island with a female sheep and a male Doberman for companionship. The animals soon get it on sexually, and all goes well until the man becomes unbearably horny and makes his move for the ewe, at which point the dog interposes himself, snarling, fangs bared.
It's a well-known fact that the angels of God wage an eternal war with the minions of Satan for the souls of men. Less well known is the means by which that war is conducted. The literature of ancient mythology generally depicts the battle as bombastic, if not bloody (angels and demons don't bleed when defeated, as we know, but tend to disappear in clouds of light and puffs of smoke, respectively): The heavenly host hurls down thunderbolts and the denizens of hell fling fireballs up into the firmament. These tales are entertaining but terribly outdated.
The Romans had communal baths, the Victorians performed their daily ablutions in the most commodious of surroundings and the Japanese submerge themselves in chin-deep tubs filled with water that's almost hot enough to poach a fish. But in some people's minds, the bath still takes a back seat to other rooms when it comes to splashy, imaginative styling and innovative design. Flush that notion, gentlemen--fast. Bathroom fixtures and accessories, from a simple shower clock that doesn't fog up to a whirlpool tub for two, are whetting everyone's interest. (If a two-for-tub doesn't rub you the right way, we'd say your social life is definitely going down the drain.) The Italians have slipped into the bath-fixture picture with a slick circular shower that incorporates a stainless-steel heated towel rack and a separate hand spray. And for high-tech types, there's even the infrared Optima No Hands System, which automatically turns itself on whenever someone's hands get near. We know a girl like that. No, her name isn't Farrah Fawcett.
Onstage or oncamera, Martin Mull perhaps best epitomizes that smug, smarmy, self-righteous know-it-all you'd most like to punch in the mouth. Unless he's on your side. Mull's current incarnation of Mr. Sincerity can be seen in the CBS midseason-replacement sitcom "Domestic Life." When Contributing Editor David Rensin knocked on the front door of Mull's Hollywood Hills home, the suave actor/comedian/painter was surprised that he had made it that far despite the attack dog. The pair talked in Mull's Metropolitan Home living room. The dog lurked outside.
A group of university scientists spent years working on the ultimate computer, a machine with so much knowledge and so much calculating power that it could answer the questions that had vexed mankind for centuries. Finally, the day came when they were ready to plug in their creation. One of them pushed the ON button and, standing nervously at a terminal, typed in the first question.
We have a saying at Playboy: "Once a Playmate, always a Playmate." It means we don't refer to our gatefold girls as "former Playmates." Each is more than just this month's model; all capture a certain style and beauty that is long-lasting. Face it, you've fantasized about settling down with a Playmate. What would it be like to wake up next to her five, ten or even 20 years later? Here, updated for Playboy readers by veteran Staff Photographer Pompeo Posar, are a dozen answers.
It's a strange business, fashion. If you ever bought a Nehru jacket or a pair of Beatles boots, you know about the strange part. And either you've learned some hard lessons from it or you're about to go out and buy an expensive shirt that has Japanese writing on the front. OK, then, let's get down to business.
You should know right off that you don't have to give up old favorites to stay in style. If you're comfortable with trusted summer fabrics, such as seersucker, or if you have the need to dress a bit more conservatively than a game-show host, we have good news for you: Sticking with staples is not only perfectly acceptable but highly fashionable. What we offer here are some suggestions for elegant updating. The two keys are color and accessories. Adding color, whether it's a bright knit or a subtle overplaid, will liven up your look. But the use of color can be tricky. The secret to choosing the right accessories, such as shirts and ties, is to complement the accent colors in the suit or sports jacket. Beyond that, there's some simple styling magic. French cuffs add class. Six buttons on a double-breasted jacket look dressier than four. There are lots of options. You see four outfits here. Variations on these themes follow.
You no doubt already have jeans. And we'd never think of telling you not to wear them for active or casual occasions--especially when it's taken you ages to wear them in just right. But now weekendwear is going well beyond jeans and polo shirts to a dressier feeling. There's a double dose of good news in that. First, you don't have to sacrifice comfort. While the new looks are a bit more tailored than in the recent past, they're roomy and amply cut. And second, they offer a crisper feel--a touch of elegance for your casual wardrobe.
When the shooting was over, Frank Furillo took off his three-piece gray suit and white shirt and black tie and once again, for a few short hours, became Dan Travanti. It was 9:30 P.M. on a workday that had begun 14 hours earlier. He put on a tan T-shirt and khaki running shorts and zipped out to his silver-blue Mercedes two-seater to leave the stars of Hollywood Boulevard for his home in Santa Monica.
Ever since big, bad IBM huffed and puffed and shook little Apple's house down, the question among people who own or lust for a computer has been "Who can compete with those guys?" Here are three answers that are personal, portable, IBM compatible and less costly than the mother ship. Each unit comes complete and ready to run. Nine-inch monitors are standard, as are disk drives. The software that has been created for the PC will run on these--without adjustments--the way God and IBM intended it to. Among these machines, the Columbia has a slight edge in finish and feel and software package, but each will do the job. If you're living in the fast lane, these are good company.
"Young Kennedys: The New Lost Generation"--It's been said that after the deaths of Jack and Bobby, the country lost its moorings. That's nothing compared with what happened inside the Kennedy Family--By Peter Collier and David Horowitz