In June, the world cuts loose. We've cut loose, too. There's something in this June Playboy for everyone; don't let it make the rounds until you've seen your fill. Start with the Reverend Jesse Jackson--candidate for President, electrifying speaker, leader of the Rainbow Coalition. In this month's Playboy Interview, Jackson speaks with Robert Scheer about fighting racism, Reaganism and charges of anti-Semitism, his bouts of foot-in-mouth disease--even the ways Playboy personifies America. At the very least, both stand for the pursuit of happiness.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), June, 1984, Volume 31, Number 6. 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, 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.
When we heard that the makers of America's most popular new board game, Trivial Pursuit, were looking for a topic on which to base a set of brand-new question cards, how could we resist? After all, sex is a pretty broad subject. Here is a sample of some of the trickier questions put together by Contributing Editor John Blumenthal.
Now that the Rocky Horror craze has at last gone the way of the Hula-Hoop, here comes The Rocky Horror Picture Show Audience Par-Tic-I-Pation Album (Ode). The good news is that the songs, good old rock 'n' roll sassily performed by a grand band of protopunks, are all intact. The bad news is that they've been padded into a two-record set that includes dialog from the movie, most of the classic audience responses ("Where's your fucking neck?" to Charles Gray, etc.) and even, on one of the record sleeves, such pious gems of Rocky Horror etiquette as Never make fun of someone for dressing up.... The point is that their heart is in it and this might discourage them or others from ever returning in costume. And that's what this cult's all about, isn't it? The audience response to this album will probably be "Where's your fucking cult? Everybody's down the street at Liquid Sky!"
Brit Wit: Twenty years to the day after the Beatles invaded America, a quieter landing was made by Tracey Ullman, perhaps Britain's funniest export since Monty Python. Why are we talking about her in the Music section? Because this diverse actress and comedienne has released her first album, You Broke My Heart in 17 Places (MCA). While the record itself is a straight-ahead retread of late Fifties and early Sixties female white-bread pop styles, it does include some terrific songs (They Don't Know) and some forgettable ones (Life Is a Rock) But the Radio Rolled Me. Ullman herself is a one-off original. Her comic touch and ability to create characters have made her the Variety Club's television personality of the year in England for an SCTV like show called Three of a Kind, which someone ought to have the good sense to import. She has also won awards for her acting in London's West End, and if she ever brings the demand for freshness and originality to her music that she applies to her acting, she'll be a force to be reckoned with. If not, we'll have to content ourselves with the funniest female to come along since Joan Rivers and Lily Tomlin.
Strange Bedfellows Department: You probably didn't know this, but a 37-year-old man from Chesterfield, England, is running for a seat in Parliament on the Elvis Presley Party ticket. Sid Shaw says that if elected, he'll move to require I.Q. tests for all members, reinstate conscription (because Elvis was drafted) and replace property taxes with a tax on all Cliff Richard records. And oh, yes, don't step on his blue-suede shoes, either.
A few years ago, Michael Castleman wrote one of the best common-sense sex manuals we've come across. Now he has turned to our second-most-frequent topic of conversation. Crime Free (Simon & Schuster) is a no-nonsense guide to crime prevention. Castleman presents strategies that will reduce the risk of assault, robbery and rape. "It's tragic that in our collective horror at the crime problem we have lost faith in our ability to take care of ourselves and each other. Instead, we have relegated the problem to the police, the courts and the social-welfare agencies." This book should be required reading for the urban male and female. It demystifies crime and shows what needs to be done to make life safe.
The Roguish family of eccentrics depicted in John Irving's best seller The Hotel New Hampshire (Orion) suffers an identity crisis on film. As the brother and sister who finally have to express their incestuous love in a cathartic orgy, Jodie Foster and Rob Lowe are provocative screen personalities tripped up by writer-director Tony Richardson's fussy, overstated adaptation. Nastassja Kinski, often dressed up in a bearskin, is altogether miscast as a family friend who believes she's ugly. Long on whimsy but woefully short on credibility, Hotel falters as cinema, whereas Irving's The World According to Garp largely succeeded in bringing a complex, episodic book down to screen size. Although handsomely made throughout, this Richardson-Irving hybrid mixes pet bears, a farting dog, precocious kids, rape, homosexuality, Austrian terrorists, speeded-up slapstick and literary allusions into chunks of supposed-to-be-heart-warming human comedy much too large for me to swallow. [rating]2 bunnies[/rating]
Idol Gossip: Peter O'Toole and Mariel Hemingway have been signed for Universal's Creator, based on the best-selling novel by Jeremy Leven (who also penned the script). Directed by Ivan (Law and Disorder) Passer, the flick is a comedy about an eccentric Nobel-laureate biologist obsessed with his deceased wife; he learns a great deal about life from a sexy 19-year-old girl.... Melanie Griffith will play a porno-film queen who holds the key to a mysterious murder in Brian De Palma's erotic suspense thriller Body Double. Although De Palma's last film, Scarface, ran into some difficulty with the ratings board (it initially received an X, which was softened to an R), in Body Double he will attempt to avoid X territory.... Dudley Moore will play an elf in Santa Claus--The Movie, which will be brought to the big screen by the folks who gave us Supermen I, II and III. At press-time, the title role had not yet been cast.... Kris Kristofferson, Treat Williams, Tess Harper and Rip Torn headline the cast of Tri-Star's Flashpoint, an action-adventure about two border-patrol guards who unravel an old mystery after chancing upon a skeleton and a pile of money hidden in the Arizona desert.
We Had bad Super Bowl vibes in our house this winter. The kid was a big Redskins fan, whereas I have always been partial to the Raiders. Plus, I had this vague notion that I understood point spreads, so I bet the kid five bucks on the Raiders.
I am a 21-year-old male with some degree of sexual experience. However, I have been confronted with a problem and badly need some advice. Some people, especially Texans, say "The bigger the better!" But I have some reservations about that well-known saying. Personally, I believe that smaller breasts are more sensitive and sensuous than larger ones. Big breasts can sometimes be awkward. I have discussed this topic with close friends, and some say that if they're more than a handful, it's a waste, while others maintain that they would love to bury their faces in a vast mass of boobs. I realize that a woman's breasts have just as much right to be courted as the woman herself. My girlfriend has very large breasts, and I would love to provide her with all of the stimulation and satisfaction that she deserves. Other than the nipples, are there any erogenous zones of large breasts that I should know about? The ultimate question: As far as kissing, nibbling and sucking are concerned, how are large breasts best handled? Is it best to concentrate on tiny regions or cover as much surface area as possible? How are large breasts to be touched--do you grab them with a firm grip, as you would a video joy stick, or are they to be gently caressed? Your assistance will be greatly appreciated.--C. M. M., West Point, New York.
Most sex surveys, including our own, have noted that familiarity breeds a drop in adrenaline. The longer a couple stays together, the harder it is to keep the energy level high. We asked the Playmates for suggestions on how to combat this threat.
The late Professor James Smith of Boston College Law School used to instruct his budding lawyers (including this writer) in the Purple Theory of practicing law. According to the Purple Theory, a good trial lawyer should use every argument he can imagine, unless he comes up with one that would make him turn purple with embarrassment.
Viewpoint Why Reagan's "Star Wars" Plan Won't Work
In Star Wars, one laser shot destroyed the evil Empire's Death Star. President Reagan apparently has a similar vision for resolving conflicts with the Soviets. He has proposed that the United States build space-based defensive weapons that could shoot down Soviet intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying nuclear warheads. That, he said, would "free the world from the threat of nuclear war." An alluring script--but no script is further from reality.
No matter what eventually happens at the Democratic Convention this summer in San Francisco, Jesse Jackson has already won some big prizes. Since he announced for the Presidency last November, the panache, pace and ever-present controversy of his candidacy have transformed the sharp-dressing, eloquent 42-year-old Baptist minister and civil rights activist from a party irritant to a force at large.
It was April 27, 1982, and to tell you the truth, I didn't feel much like Mr. October. After five years with the New York Yankees, after all the home runs and the fighting with George and the fighting with Billy, after the whole crazy story with me right in the middle of it all the time, I was coming back to Yankee Stadium and number 44 was on the back of a California Angels uniform. The problem was, I needed a home run, and I didn't know if I could hit one. After all the nights when I had come to the stadium carrying my black bat like it was a .44 Magnum, it felt like a cap pistol now. All in all, I figured it was a hell of a situation for Reginald Martinez Jackson to be in.
The Inventive French are unleashing another in the series of Emmanuelle movies, again directed by top photographer Francis Giacobetti. The formula remains much the same: Young woman undergoes a convulsive initiation into the joys of love, sex and haute couture. This time, Mia Nygren--whom you see on this page--starts a sexual safari with requisite stops at all the capitals of love: Paris, Biarritz, Rio, an Amazonian forest and the stunning Château de Larraldia, in its first nonarchitectural role. Mia gets in and out of tight spots and in and out of her laundry. And yet, in French hands, it comes off more as a serious inquiry into the nature of desire than as an episode in Bateau d'Amour.
He Found Her by accident, the way it usually happens, after he had more or less given up searching. For years, he had been sending out impulses like messages in bottles; random waves of telepathic energy; hello, hello, hello, one forlorn S O S after another from the desert isle of the soul on which he was a castaway. Occasionally, messages came back; but all they amounted to was lunacy, strident nonsense, static, spiritual noise, gabble up and down the mind band. There were, he knew, a good many like him out there--a boy in Topeka, an old woman in Buenos Aires, another one in Fort Lauderdale, someone of indeterminate sex in Manitoba and plenty of others, each alone, each lonely. He fell into short-lived contact with them, because they were, after all, people of his special kind. But they tended to be cranky, warped, weird, often simply crazy, all of them deformed by their bizarre gift, and they could not give him what he wanted, which was communion, harmony, the marriage of true minds. Then one Thursday afternoon, when he was absent-mindedly broadcasting his identity wave--not in any way purposefully trolling the seas of perception but only humming, so to speak--he felt a sudden startling click as of perfectly machined parts locking into place. Out of the grayness in his mind an unmistakably warm, eager image blossomed, a dazzling giant yellow flower unfolding on the limb of a gnarled, spiny cactus, and the image translated itself instantly into Hi, there. Where've you been all my life?
Here's a Double Dip--the latest in trunks and tops and a look at four strong contenders for the U.S. Olympic swimming team: Steve Lundquist, Robin Leamy, Bill Barrett and Rowdy Gaines. (The names of our female models, just in case you've already peeked ahead, are Anna Bjorn and Melissa Lang. Sorry, we don't give out phone numbers.) So wet's new in men's swimwear? The bikini, for one thing, is staging a comeback, brief or otherwise, perhaps influenced by the 1984 Olympics and the fact that more and more guys of all ages are into body building, aerobics and other exercises that both tone the body and improve one's cardiovascular system. Boxer trunks continue to be runaway favorites in running shorts, and many guys wear a bikini under them so they can strip down for a plunge in the surf. (Nylon swim briefs also dry faster than cotton boxer trunks.) Bright stripes, both horizontal and vertical, are currently popular and, in case you wish to relive the Sixties, madras and seersucker have returned with solid beach-blanket endorsements. Jantzen has even introduced a "water magic" nylon suit that's a solid color when dry and a shark tone-on-tone print when wet. Frankie Avalon would love it. The rest of this summer's cover-up is easy: Tops will often coordinate with trunks; and beach robes, such as the athletic-gray sweat-cloth style shown here, are perfect for home or dorm wear. Now let's pool our interests and concentrate on getting more gold.
"We Want to break down the barrier between performer and audience," Michael Vraney calmly explains as a few hundred early-arriving teenaged boys chant, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" while pounding on the glass doors of The Beacon Theater on upper Broadway in New York City. "You'll notice the stage is as bare as we can make it. No floor monitors or cables. Just two amplifiers and two mike stands. We don't want anyone tripping on obstructions. You'll see. It does look like fighting. Sometimes we have more kids onstage than in the audience. But it's all under control."
Critics Choice the 25 Greatest Restaurants in America
In June 1980 Playboy ran the first national survey to determine, once and for all, the 25 greatest restaurants in America. By polling the country's most respected food critics, writers and gourmets, we avoided the usual route of reviewing restaurants solely on the basis of one critic's opinion. So our Critics' Choice became a classic, the list against which other best-restaurant lists are measured.
You know what I feel like? I feel like a race car right now that's revving up its engine and just waiting for the flag to drop. My rpms are way up." The sound coming from Tricia Lange's power plant is really more of a purr than a roar, but the analogy is apt, nonetheless. She has been at cruising speed ever since she left UCLA with a B.A. in English literature and began to pursue a career as a model and actress. With the confidence her sheepskin gave her, she was willing to invest everything in her pursuit. "I spent my last pennies on getting good pictures for my portfolio, because I knew that if I had enough to pay my rent, everything after that was going into my career. I especially want to do comedies. It's really harder, I think, to do comedy and slapstick than it is to do serious drama. You have to be smart to do it, because it's all in the timing." Tricia's long association with the world of letters hasn't gone to waste. "I keep a journal. I write songs. Sometimes, something funny happens and I think it would make a great scene for a movie, so I write it down." Career isn't everything for Tricia, though. For instance, she loves to decorate, and her apartment is done in a delicate, feminine, old-world style: lots of lace, oak furniture and airy paintings of fantasy scenes. You get the impression that a fairy princess lives there--or, at least, a good witch. In a kitchen cabinet are her potions: bottles and bottles of vitamins, minerals and who knows what else. Perhaps frog toes. This, after all, is a girl who has her own costume set aside just for attending the local Renaissance Faire. She is also a student of what she calls "esoterical knowledge, things like astrology, yoga, meditation, psychics, tarot cards and all that nonlogical, nonscientific knowledge." Her affinity for the ancient is an enigma, since she is thoroughly modern in every other way. While she wouldn't subscribe to the notion that she lived a previous life as a medieval maiden, her fantasies are clearly anachronistic and her pleasures unusual for someone born in Hollywood. "I don't spend much time in the sun. I love days that everyone else thinks are dreary. I belong in England, in a lighthouse or a castle overlooking the cliffs somewhere. I might have liked to live during the days of King Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere. I think armor could be a good turn-on. Really. There's a fantasy: a guy riding up on a white horse with armor on!" Perhaps it's the romance of the era that Tricia relates to. She is, after all, something of a romantic fantasy herself.
Grand Prix de Monaco: Gentlemen, Start Your Libidos
It probably wouldn't please its namesake to know that Monte Carlo's version of a strip--a long arc of lawn-lined, palm-planted street anchored at one end by the showgirl-filled lobby bar of the Loews Monte-Carlo Hotel and at the other by Jimmy'z, Régine's mirrored art-deco cellar disco in the Monte Carlo Sporting Club--just happens to be named Avenue Princess Grace. And although Grace Kelly's avenue is certainly not a street made gaudy with neon nor one suitable for open trolling (which in Monte Carlo is generally an indoor diversion), it is a strip nevertheless. For it is where the clubs are, and in Monte Carlo, where the clubs are is where the girls are, in season and out, though more so each spring, when the Grand Prix de Monaco gets in gear.
Gene Siskel is taller and balder than Roger Ebert, who is heavier and more nearsighted. Together, they host the popular movie-review program "At the Movies." Separately, Siskel criticizes films for the Chicago Tribune, while Ebert does the same for the Chicago Sun-Times. Bill Zehme spent several weeks trailing them and reports: "Gene likes to call Roger 'Big Boy.' Roger likes to call Gene 'Old Paralysis Tongue.' They bicker constantly and hate sharing popcorn. Nevertheless, they do have a secret handshake: They clasp each other's wrists and check their pulses. It's a beautiful kind of friendship rarely seen outside of Lite Beer commercials."
All Abooooard! Step lively; you don't want to miss this train. It's the Playboy Express. And the principal passenger: none other than the 1984 Playmate of the Year, Barbara Edwards. She's about to embark on the fantasy adventure of her life, and yours, aboard a vintage rail car bound for ... well, who cares where? Why not ride along? The railroad buffs among you will remember Barbara, an artist and model, as our Amtrakking September Playmate. Buff buffs will remember her as our coonskinned coed in her ivy-draped centerfold. In either case, she was clearly unforgettable. And when it came time to choose the choicest of the choice, the memory lingered on.
True punk fashion is determined by your attitude toward your apparel, not by the apparel per se. If you wear it to conform to other punks, you're an asshole. If you wear it to offend other people--even other punks--you're really an asshole, and that's cool.
About 15 years ago, Robert Morley wrote in Playboy that his idea of hell was a locker room "full of men changing from long pants to short, with rackets and clubs swinging around my ears." Times have changed, and if Morley gave rackets a shot today, he'd discover what you already know, that high-tech materials, such as titanium, and high-tech thinking, such as the science of ergonomics, which studies man and his relationship to tools, have served up an ace in everything from tennis and racquetball to squash and badminton. If you don't believe us, play a game with one of these rackets and then go back to your old equipment. Even Morley would find that boring.
"John Belushi: The Whole Story"--After 18 months of research, America's top investigative reporter recounts what really took place during the final days of a cultural hero. From his new book, Wired--by Bob Woodward