There was a Time, not too long ago, when the only ladies we knew who wore men's underpants were those who, after making love, couldn't find theirs and had to borrow ours. The same ladies, in the spirit of spontaneity, often forgot to bring their 'jammies when spending the night, requiring us to lend them our PJ tops to sleep in. There's something rather comforting about waking up beside a woman who's wearing your underwear.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), November, 1984, Volume 31, Number 11. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $54 for 36 issues, $36 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 80322, and allow 45 days for change. Marketing: 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 West 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.
Director Milos Forman's triumphant and courageous film adapted from Peter Shaffer's Amadeus (Orion) is unequivocally the grandest epic ever made about the life of a great composer. Admirers of the Shaffer play, which electrified Broadway and London theatergoers a couple of seasons ago, should brace themselves for an entirely irreverent, re-created homage to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791), the profane and vulgar but peerless musical genius. Shaffer's stage drama was a work of blazing intelligence and virtuosity, a verbal duel between mediocrity and magnificence--filtered through the sensibility of Antonio Salieri, Mozart's chief rival, a court composer to Austro-Hungarian emperor Joseph II.
Idol Gossip: Sissy Spacek and Kevin Kline have been set to co-star in Columbia's Violets Are Blue, a contemporary love story about an award-winning photojournalist who returns to her New England home town after a 15-year absence and has an affair with her married former boyfriend.... Tom Selleck will top-line Tri-Star's Runaway, an action adventure about a dedicated police sergeant in pursuit of a killer who uses electronic gadgetry to murder his victims. Michael Crichton, who wrote the screenplay, will direct.... Robin Williams has been cast in the lead of Embassy Pictures' Perfect Partners, the story of a San Francisco street performer who dons a number of disguises in an attempt to gain custody of his young daughter.... CBS has ordered a sequel to its popular miniseries George Washington. The follow-up will focus on Washington's Presidency. Also on the agenda at CBS is an eight-to-12-hour miniseries on Napoleon. No casting information was available at presstime.
In the Best of all possible worlds, travel is supposed to provide an escape from a pressure-filled, overpopulated world. But reality all too often decrees that those crowds are headed for the same tropical climes you're headed for, so the dream of peace and solitude is frequently elusive.
Old New Country: It's always risky to predict good trends in the schizophrenic country-music field, but we seem to be witnessing a revival of the good ol' drinkin'-and-cheatin' songs that derive from Fifties hillbilly. George Jones and a few others had picked up the torch after Hank Williams fell and carried it steadfastly through the chaos of the crossover period. Now it can be handed on to the likes of Ricky Skaggs, John Anderson, George Strait and Reba McEntire. Moe Bandy's heartbreaker, Motel Matches (CBS), remains true to this new/old form, as does Mel McDaniel's With Oklahoma Wind (Capitol), both celebrating good old-fashioned depravity in the tradition of the truck-stop and roadside-tavern jukebox. This stuff is rich and rural and not the sort of music that goes well with low-calorie beer. --William Helmer
Where do they find them, the girls with the high, clear, country voices? It's been a few years since someone with cords the caliber of Emmylou's has shown up--and now we have two. The first time we heard sisters Debi and Megan Smith, we became fans. We are in good company. Their debut album, Bluebird (Flying Fish, 1304 W. Schubert, Chicago, Illinois 60614), was produced by Merle Watson, with Doc sitting in on backup. The album is a mix of traditional songs and originals by Debi. We look forward to an encore.
In the early Seventies, Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir began a bimonthly paperback series, The Destroyer, in which a lunkheaded ex-cop named Remo was transformed into the world's most perfect specimen by a peevish ancient Korean assassin named Chiun. Most of the other vigilante crime busters then in vogue are sleeping the Big Sleep today. But Murphy and Sapir were shrewd enough to arm their heroes with a secret weapon--humor. It has seen them well through 58 hilarious adventures selling more than 23,000,000 copies, and a major feature film is in preproduction at Orion Pictures.
You Could Get a lot of laughs and maybe a few tears if you got a group of men together to discuss the subject of haircuts, good and bad. In the course of his life, the average male has been scalped, shorn, plumed, teased, cut, nicked, complimented, insulted, twisted, turned, prodded and poked in the barber's chair. Once in a while, he's gotten a good haircut, too.
I Am Not at all sure I approve of couples. Back when I was a professional loner, I held couples in contempt. Couples, I felt, were unspeakably smug--they were people who always said "we" and who never found themselves in the degrading position of prowling bad parties for possible sexual pickings. They operated with an emotional safety net and could, therefore, never be on the cutting edge (the only place to be).
Almost Every Place has a slang of its own, but I've never been anywhere that coins and spends local argot faster than Southern California. Maybe it's something about their image of themselves as artists of everything racy and new, but the kids who live in and around the smoggy umbra known as Los Angeles seem to have special muscles for chopping, sanding, glazing and buffing the language into something quite their own. Valley talk was the latest Southern California slang to become famous; but in the Fifties and Sixties, surf slang, or beach talk, was a very hip thing to know even if you lived in Cleveland or, maybe, especially if you lived in Cleveland.
For several years, I have had a compulsion to attract female attention to my penis. I started by wearing regular shorts without underwear and progressed to wearing semitransparent jogging shorts. To further enhance the show, I have devised a crude way of maintaining an erection by wrapping a large rubber band several times around the base of my penis. That keeps the blood inside the penis, maintaining its size. Initially, it was painful after a while, but I can now maintain the erection for periods up to an hour and a half without suffering much pain. I could write a book about various reactions--90 percent of which are favorable--from females who notice the bulge in my shorts. I have concluded that teenagers and women over 40 are most interested in seeing more, and I have had numerous physical encounters with females who wanted more than a look. I couldn't have met them had it not been for my large penis bulging in my shorts. Could I suffer harmful physical effects from this practice, and what are the odds of their happening? Thank you for your attention to this matter; it is very important to me (and, possibly, to others like me).--T. G. E., Lake Park, Florida.
We can think of lots of reasons to go to bed with someone for the first time: lust, curiosity, romance, even staving off loneliness. But to go to bed with that someone again is another matter. It means that you are starting something. We wanted to know how our Playmate advisors viewed this subject. So we asked them.
The rebellion in El Salvador, according to Ronald Reagan, is the pivotal conflict in what his Administration perceives as a life-and-death battle against the Soviets' "evil empire." With a population of only 4,500,000, a land mass the size of Massachusetts and an economy that has barely entered the 20th Century, the war-swept Central American nation is where the United States must, in the words of the White House, draw the line against revolution in the Western Hemisphere.
It Is With our hair that we make those statements about ourselves that we want the world to understand. The decision to part it on one side or on the other--or down the middle--is one that is reached after agonizing self-examination. Hence, seeing a young lady whose head looks as if it had undergone electroshock raises more questions than it resolves. Whatever happened to pretty? Well, it just doesn't live here anymore. Instead, we've got rowdy new tenants walking around on our streets. And they couldn't give two hoots what we think of their tress dressing, so it's not as though they were making a statement with their hair. But after we recover from the shock of the new, we can see the fun of it. Why not, after all, shave half your head, bolt on a few jewels and let aquamarine explode where once there was blonde? Why not pull down your pants and refashion your most intimate coiffure into a remake of How Green Was My Valley? After a while, it makes perfect sense. Linoleum green and puce and magenta and fake-fur fuchsia are kind of cute. Besides, what else is eating up your time after you've made the decision not to go to business school?
Getting Dressed with Christie Brinkley in the morning would certainly turn our head, and that's why we put her in a look that's going to be turning heads in the months--and maybe years--to come: British tailoring. Suits will take their fashion cue from the slim but slightly flared cut of an English country gentleman's hacking jacket. Trousers should be pleated and cuffed and should extend to the tops of sensible shoes--either oxfords or brogues. A colored shirt with a white collar echoes the age when an English shirt often had a detachable collar and cuffs. And to top it all off, we've added a homburg and a cashmere double-breasted overcoat. We'll take a foggy day in London town with Christie Brinkley any time.
At 18, Roberta Vasquez was Bored. She was in her second year of college, still living at home, and her life lacked--well--adventure. So she dropped out of college, rented her own apartment and went looking for a job. Her first stop was the May Company department store in Los Angeles. On the job application, she noticed the classification Security. She was intrigued.
While Other Spirits languish or mark time, cordials appear to be unstoppable. Consumption of cordials (or liqueurs; they're synonymous) has more than doubled in the past 15 years, for obvious reasons. Cordials are seductive, opulent--pick any superlative you want that translates as delicious. Just splash a cordial into a brandy snifter. Sniff and sip. Then you'll know what cordials are all about.
Like Rodney Dangerfield, the lowly station wagon just don't get no respect. It's thought of as boxy, clumsy, as slow as premium catsup and too damned practical to be any fun. If it makes a statement at all, it's one of advancing middle age, family responsibility and orthodontist's bills. But suddenly, there's a new crop of wagons that are both fun and fashionable. They are modern, stylish, fuel-and space-efficient, neither too big on the outside nor too small on the inside. They drive like sports cars but haul like trucks. Whether they're loaded or unloaded, their tough yet smoothly sophisticated suspensions eat up decaying freeways and moon-cratered city streets with equal aplomb. Some, like the Jeeps and the minivans, seat you high enough to see over traffic, watch situations develop and plan well ahead to maneuver around (continued, on page 134)Estates' Rights(continued from page 122) them. Combined with orthopedically designed seats, state-of-the-art sound systems and other niceties, they bring a new perspective to the daily commute.
Because you've Popped, she-bopped and break-danced in the dark all year, we think it's a pretty good moment to get off your feet, sit down and uphold an old tradition. Take a few minutes now to register your opinion of the tunes that have moved your mind and soul, as well as your body, this year by voting in the annual Playboy Music Poll. Readers, sharpen your pencils. You'll find our suggestions listed at right; if we've missed your favorite, a write-in is fine. But if you're voting for someone whose name appears on the list, please help our ballot counters and use the number given beside the name. When you've finished side one, flip the ballot over and make your choices for Hall of Fame and Best LP categories. Only official ballots count, and they must be postmarked before midnight, November 1, 1984. For the beat on how you voted, look at our April 1985 issue.
Leigh Steinberg, former student-body president at the University of California at Berkeley and outspoken activist in protests against the draft and the Vietnam war in the Sixties, is the country's hottest sports agent, having negotiated more than $100,000,000 in contracts for his clients, mostly professional football players. At the same time, he has revolutionized the concept of being an agent for athletes. While he negotiated the largest contract in sports history--$40,000,000 for four years for Steve Young from the Los Angeles Express--he has also offered to take less money for clients if team owners would lower ticket prices. How does a former Berkeley radical reconcile his leftist politics with the cynical world of pro sports? Playboy sent Victoria and David Sheff to find out.
Looking back at 1984 from Hollywood's perspective, one is tempted to label this the Year of Recycled Cinema. Never before have so many major releases been based upon, or adapted from, pictures of the past. Even the independents, who used to produce a wide variety of B movies, from Westerns to motorcycle sagas to prison dramas, have turned to churning out endless variations on the same mindless plot, each aimed at an audience of lubricious teenaged boys. All of this would seem to provide a sure sign that the movie industry has become uncertain of its future. Of one thing it is certain, (text continued on page 201)Sex in Cinema(continued from page 136) however: If you're doing a sequel, prequel or remake, you don't just shoot a duplicate of the original; you punch it up with plenty of sex and/or violence.
The smoke detectors of the past were birds that hung around mine shafts--if they squawked and keeled over, the miners knew it was time for a breath of fresh air. Today, warning devices are much more sophisticated. Few of us need to worry about getting the shaft oxygenwise, but what about the other hazards in our environment? Have no fear. High tech saved the canaries; now it's here to save us from state troopers, hurricanes, lost keys and car thieves. Want to smoke out Smokey before he smokes you, find those damn car keys or get the drop--from eight miles away--on somebody getting into your car without keys? Get a load of these things that go beep in the night.