Happy you-know-what. We have much to look forward to in 1988. Soon, the earth will cease to tremble with the shrill crash of falling Democrats. There are midseason network replacements, bowl games, elections, an entire new year of Playmates. Ah, but before we leap too precipitately ahead, let's take a look back. Remember the Sixties? Just about everyone has an opinion about that stormy blip on the time line that actually ended sometime in the Seventies. To keep the debate afire, we've recruited some celebrated writers for The Sixties: A Reappraisal (illustrated by Peter Max and Marshall Arisman). While screen- and short-story writer Harlan Ellison, who has been called the Lewis Carroll of the 20th Century, hails the era as one of enlightenment, former Ramparts editors Peter Collier and David Horowitz think that it was all a big mistake. They even blame the Sixties for the spread of AIDS. Maybe yes, maybe no; we do know that AIDS is a central fact of the present decade, and this month, in Panic in the Sheets,Michael (The Andromeda Strain) Crichton views the affliction both as a doctor and as a bachelor. He thinks the crisis is twofold—the horrors of the disease are coupled with the problems of a society that has trouble with intimacy.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), January 1968. Volume 35, Number 1. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: $24 for 12 Issues. U.S. Canada, $35 for 12 Issues, All other foreign $35 U.S. Currency only. For new and renewal orders and change of address. Send to Playboy Subscriptions, P.O. Box 2007. Harlan. Iowa 51593-0222. Please allow 6-8 weeks for processing for Change of address. Send new and old addresses. Post master send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51593-0222, and Allow 45 days for Change. Circulation: Jack Bernstein, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: New York: 747 Third Avenue. New York 10017; Chicago: 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago 60611; West Coast: Perkins, Fox & Perkins, 3205 Ocean Park Boulevard, Suite 100, Santa Monica, California 90405.
The problem in any fair appraisal of Gaby—A True Story (Tri-Star) is describing this unique and unforgettable film experience without making moviegoers run the other way. While director Luis Mandoki's subject is Gabriela Brimmer, a successful author and lifelong victim of cerebral palsy, now 40ish and living in Mexico, Gaby is no disease-of-the-week TV tearjerker. Liv Ullmann and Robert Loggia, both excellent as the heroine's Jewish-immigrant parents, are ultimately overshadowed by Argentine actress Norma Aleandro, as the loyal and perceptive family maid, Florencia. It is her devotion that saves the speechless, uncontrollable child from institutionalized oblivion. Aleandro is great; ditto Rachel Levin, infusing the grown-up Gaby with astonishing force and feeling. She is a fierce young woman who will not give up her fight to be as well educated, self-sufficient and whole as any "normal" person. In one wrenching scene, Gaby and her best friend from a school for the handicapped, a sensitive boy named Fernando (Lawrence Monoson), struggle out of their clothes and out of their wheelchairs to make love on the floor—a moment of need so poignant that Gaby's mother (Ullmann), discovering them, simply sucks in her breath and steals away. It's almost a shock to learn after the lights come up that both Levin and Monoson are actors simulating the physical and emotional anguish of palsy. They, like all their colleagues, perform at a level of conviction that lifts Gaby above bathos into orbit with such inspirational movie classics as The Miracle Worker. [rating]3-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
JOHN WAITE, the kinetic voice behind such hits as "Change," "Missing You" and "Active Love," recently released his fourth solo LP, "Rover's Return." Since British musicians seem to know more about American black music than Americans do, we asked Waite to evaluate Michael Jackson's soul monster "Bad."
Reeling and Rocking: Poison contributed to the sound track of Less than Zero.... Chris Isaak will appear in Jonathan Demme's film Married to the Mob, starring Michelle Pfeiffer.... Although Ron Howard has been mentioned as a possible director for the movie about the Doors, Ray Manzarek wants Stanley Kubrick. As to the burning question Who can play Jim Morrison? Manzarek says, "I think the important thing is not so much a Jim Morrison look-alike as the sense of danger in the eyes." ... We hear that Diane Keaton is interested in producing a remake of The Blue Angel, with Madonna playing the Marlene Dietrich role.... Roy Orbison teamed up with K. D. Lang to record songs for a Dino De Laurentiis film starring Jon Cryer. Lang makes terrific music.... Kris Kristofferson is shooting an HBO movie called Dead or Alive.... Director Penelope Spheeris is working on The Decline of Western Civilization: The Metal Years.
There are certain restaurants to which you go only if you're taking someone or being taken: The fiction of charity redeems the extravagance. There are books, similarly, that you'd never buy for yourself but which for that very reason make perfect Christmas presents. Georgia O'Keeffe: One Hundred Flowers (Knopf/Callaway) is a classic example, the supreme coffee-table book, 100 gorgeous color plates of O'Keeffe's formula for pretty pictures: blossoms exploded to mural size (the book's largest two-page plates measure 26"x 16") to become metaphors for all that is organic and pleasureful. No one has ever said it with flowers so eloquently. Paul Grushkin's The Art of Rock: Posters from Presley to Punk (Abbeville) is more of a catalog and collector's guide, since most of its 1500 posters are reproduced in playing-card dimensions. A must for diehard Deadheads and investors in this latest hot collectible but a "gift book" only in size and price.
The question of which sport is the most dangerous has been argued for years. You hear votes for skiing, mountain climbing, powerboating, car racing, boxing, eating fried food, smoking. The answer comes easily for me. The most dangerous sport in the world is riding in a New York City taxi.
People don't much like the press even in the best of times, and in times like these, after a monsoon of scandal, a general disgust with journalists erupts. "Unfair!" cried about two thirds of the people Gallup polled concerning the reports on where Gary Hart was probably planting his stem. And 70 percent of that group said they didn't appreciate the bushwhacker tactics the reporters had used to get the story, either. "The sharks are in a feeding frenzy," complained Pat Robertson, referring to reporters after the revelation that his eldest son was conceived before marriage.
All the safe-sex books recommend mutual masturbation as an effective alternative to intercourse. Unfortunately, my girlfriend finds touching me with her hands to be rather boring. Any hints on how to make it more interesting?—W. F., San Diego, California.
Irangate was a result of President Reagan's ostensible concern for the U.S. citizens held captive in Lebanon. The invasion of Grenada, too, apparently stemmed from Presidential sympathy for a group of medical students who had stumbled into trouble on the Caribbean isle. But can tourists like you and me count on the same kind of national rescue effort? Let me tell you what happened on my recent vacation in South America.
Score one for Canadian freedom. Glad Day Bookshop in Toronto has successfully appealed Canadian customs' confiscation of the bookstore's shipment of The Joy of Gay Sex. In March 1986, Glad Day's shipment was detained at the border—despite the fact that the book had been in circulation in Canada for almost ten years. The court ruling could force customs officials to rethink their present practice of prohibiting all materials depicting anal sex from entering the country. Judge D. C. J. Hawkins, who handed down the decision, offered an analogy worth noting:
The price of prudery is eternal vigilance. For years, we've marveled at the lengths to which television censors will go to protect viewers from what the censors consider disturbing images. For example, you will never hear the sound of a toilet flushing on TV or see sweat in a deodorant commercial or see toilet paper next to the toilet.
How many times have you sat through an antiporn diatribe or listened to a fundamentalist rail against erotica and wondered, Who will stand up for pornography? We asked Canadian philosopher Dr. F. M. Christensen to respond to some of the clicheed antiporn arguments.
My favorite buzz word of the porn flap is objectification. It is used to describe everything: the 62 cents females earn to the male dollar, catcalls and whistles on the street, pictures of Degas ballerinas and Miss January. It is what the Meese commission says is wrong with representations of sex, why libraries are taking books off shelves and paintings with sexual themes have been removed from art galleries.
<p>The legend is well known: how an Austrian-born muscleman, having singlehandedly transformed the sport of bodybuilding into a national pastime, went on to conquer Hollywood. There, portraying a series of entertaining comic-book superheroes—from gargantuan cavemen to monster robots—he created a new kind of strong man. His characters were invincible, often brutal, yet betrayed, if one squinted, a certain vulnerability.</p>
Playboy predicted Kim Basinger's big-screen potential in a 1983 cover story, a photo essay Kim herself has often hailed as "a stupendous success... you can't imagine what happened to my career because of Playboy." Back then, judging the merits of this Georgia-bred honey seemed such a daunting task that we recruited a panel of experts to appraise her prospects. They judged them hot. Federico Fellini called her "the prototype of a galactic New Woman," while the late Bob Fosse cited "a mouth that would turn a leader of the Moral Majority into a heavy breather."
It was the summer of 1969, a moment when the auguries all seemed to point toward revolution. Tom Hayden, a leading movement figure facing conspiracy charges in Chicago, was calling for the creation of "liberated zones" in American cities. The Weathermen, the faction that had seized control of Students for a Democratic Society, were planning to begin guerrilla warfare before the year was out. But most radicals had fixed their attention on the Black Panther Party, which Hayden had called America's Viet Cong.
Seven-League strides have been made driving the words nigger, kike, spick, wop and broad back to the darkness from which they shambled. (Which is not to say there is any less bigotry and racism in the chopped liver; it's just that even the most slope-browed trog knows it ain't cool to use such catchy appellations in nouvelle society.)
Fifty-four years ago, Cole Porter gave us his list: the Colosseum ... the Louvre Museum ... a Bendel bonnet ... a Shakespeare sonnet ... a melody from a symphony by Strauss ... Mickey Mouse ... the Nile ... the Tower of Pisa ... the smile on the Mona Lisa ... Mahatma Gandhi ... Napoleon brandy ... the purple light of a summer night in Spain ... the National Gallery ... Garbo's salary ... cellophane ... a turkey dinner ... the time of the derby winner ... a Waldorf salad ... a Berlin ballad ... the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire ... an O'Neill drama ... Whistler's momma ... camembert ... a rose ... Inferno's Dante ... the nose on the great Durante. ... According to him, they were all the top. The very best. It's still a pretty good list—and a great song, the top all on its own. Nevertheless, it's time for an update. There's a sea of junk out there, whether it be counterfeit Hong Kong watches, TV evangelists or mud wrestling. But there is still gold to be discovered in them thar hills. And luckily, you have us—the Playboy mining team, whose job it is to bring back The Best, whether it be a revolutionary new pair of binoculars or a customized Mercedes-Benz. For the third straight year, we've unearthed a selection of prizes for you, things done right for a change. Read on. Enjoy. And, most important, accept no substitutes!
It was going to be a very long time, Krazy decided, before she played with that Ignatz Mouse again. His games were just too strange! In fact, the last one he'd invented—called psychoanalysis—had so throwmetized her that she had spent two whole weeks lying on her back, in the middle of her rug, arms and legs rigid in the air. Supposedly, Ignatz' psychobusiness was going to fix Krazy's terrible stage fright. Now look! She still couldn't go back to her comic strip, to her adoring and bereft fans! Heck, she could hardly move her legs!
Matt Frewer, dual star of ABC's hit series Max Headroom, sums up Max as "Edison Carter after several cocktails." Although Max's character is m-m-much looser than Edison's, his approach to fashion is not. Carter affects a sleek style that happens to be the h-h-hippest right now. Seasoned at London's Old Vic for his 20-minutes-into-the-future stardom, Frewer is a here-and-now guy whose fashion statement is a hot one.
When she got off the plane from Vancouver, Canadian Kimberley Conrad had a little trouble at LAX. The problem wasn't that she was carrying contraband—it was her outfit. That day, Kim had on leopard pants, bare-midriff blouse and silver pumps, and it took inspectors the better part of an hour to clear her through U.S. Customs. "I wouldn't have minded, but I was on my way to a huge party," she says. "I couldn't wait." When Customs asked the reason for her trip to America, Kim said, "Pleasure."
As the truck driver came flying over the top of a steep hill, he spotted two figures in his path rolling around in the middle of the road. The driver blew his horn and braked frantically, but the couple continued their lovemaking, oblivious to his warnings. The truck finally slid to a halt barely three inches from the pair. "Are you crazy?" the driver shouted at them. "You could have been killed."
Mitchell Hayes was 49 years old, but when the cops left him in the bar with Bob, the manager, he felt much older. He did not know what it was like to be very old, a shrunken and wrinkled man, but he assumed it was like this: fatigue beyond relieving by rest, by sleep. He also was not a small man. His weight moved up and down in the 170s, and he was 5'10" tall. But now his body seemed short and thin. Bob stood at one end of the bar; he was a large, black-haired man, and there was nothing in front of him but an ashtray he was using. He looked at Mitchell at the cash register and said, "Forget it. You heard what Smitty said."
Is there a more democratic game in America than basketball? All you need is a piece of flat ground, an iron hoop, a roundball and kids with energy to burn. Alone, one on one, full court, half court, day or night, in a gym or at a basket hanging on the side of a barn, free throws are made and missed, jump shots hang agonizingly on the rim and imaginary national championships are decided.
Miniskirts. The ultimate treat for men. No need to devise clever strategies for peeking at panties and possibly throwing out your back. Miniskirts make that unnecessary. And women are trotting around in them, proving that they do like men after all and are interested in more than just their fair share of the market place.
The Engagement breaks up, the ring is returned, the relationship of three years comes to a close: tears, slamming doors, packing clothes. And then, unexpectedly, I'm on my own again; and unbidden comes the thought It's not a good time to be playing the field. I see my friend David at the gym. We ride the stationary bikes side by side.
Playboy invites you to yet another exclusive showing of the antique-erotica collection of Boston dealer Charles Martignette. This is the fifth time since 1980 that we've sifted through this eclectic collection to highlight rare, titillating artworks that span centuries of arched eyebrows. As before, we've culled a significant sampling of delightfully whimsical and provocative relics. To date, Martignette has excavated more than 3500 artifacts—arguably the world's largest assemblage of materials that celebrate human sexuality, as expressed in the most giddy forms of craftsmanship imaginable. Many of these treasures were recovered from the now-defunct International Museum of Erotic Art in San Francisco, while others turned up in flea markets and musty antique shops. They include three-dimensional art-deco and -nouveau objets and everyday items, such as those displayed here, along with a full complement of French postcards, vintage nude photographs and the notorious eight-page cartoon booklets once known as Tijuana Bibles. Martignette's collection also includes original pinup and popular-magazine art (he has recently procured 101 original Alberto Vargas canvases), and conservative estimates would fix the total value of his acquisitions at more than $25,000,000. (For an extended viewing of the Martignette trove, watch for an upcoming feature on the Playboy Channel's Sexcetera ... the News According to Playboy.)
At 17, Susan Dey began her acting career as Laurie, the older daughter in "The Partridge Family." Now, half her life later, divorced, the mother of an eight-year-old daughter, the actress has traded in that wholesome-girl-next-door image for something a little more down to earth in the NBC-TV hit "L.A. Law." She plays deputy D.A. Grace Van Owen, prosecuting criminals in the courtroom and cavorting with co-star Harry Hamlin in the bedroom. Free-lance writer Dick Lochte caught up with Dey at a Hollywood restaurant. "There'd been a couple of recent magazine articles depicting her as a depressed, melancholy neurotic," Lochte says. "They didn't jibe with the upbeat, energetic, tanned blonde who strode purposefully across the floor and flopped onto a chair. Introductions over, she lighted an unfiltered cigarette, causing some guy at the next table to complain loudly to the waiter. The waiter explained that this was, after all, the smoking area. And as the guy huffed away in search of rarer air, Susan called after him cheerily, 'Try 'em. You'll like 'em. Really.'"
Twenty-five years ago, when I was arrested by the Soviet secret police, I got a firsthand look at whatever you'd call the opposite of glasnost. Maybe that's why, to me, the Gorbachev regime is an enormously exciting, hopeful thing. (Sure, I was guilty—but of what, really?)
Food And Football go together like burgers and fries. Like strikes and negotiation. Think tail-gate picnics at the stadium, pretzels and beer at the sports bar. And come Super Bowl Sunday, the symbiosis is manifest in what is rapidly becoming an international secular festival. Brits stay up past midnight to cheer the likes of Eric Dickerson and John Elway while downing bitter and bangers (those are beer and sausages, mate). Amateur linebackers in Munich tune in to pick up pointers from Lawrence Taylor and Mike Singletary, all the while snaffling up indigenous munchies and brews with umlauts in their names.
Success has put James Spader squarely in the fast lane—literally. The 27-year-old actor, who scored an impressive triple play with sizable roles in three recent big films—Wall Street, Baby Boom and Less than Zero—has adopted the ultimate transcontinental life. He spends a third of each year in New York, a third in L.A. and a third behind the wheel of his 1969 Porsche 911 convertible, tooling around the U.S. It's a habit he picked up from his parents, college teachers who would take the kids to Europe on sabbaticals and drive around the Continent. Now Spader is seeing America second. "The reason I got into acting is that I like to visit different environments," he says. "Traveling tends to clear my head out and remind me that show business isn't really what life is all about."
The Vietnam war is everywhere: in theaters, on TV and now—thanks to The 'Nam, where it probably belonged in the first place—in a comic book. Marvel Comics and author Doug Murray have created a no-hero, grunt's-eye view of the war—told, boasts Murray, as "accurately as the comics code will allow." That means that there are first sergeants who are on the take, officers who get shot by their own men and "people who bleed and die and have trouble getting to sleep at night." Murray, 40, a Viet vet himself, doesn't want kids to get a Ramboized view of the war. "There were guys who thought they were Rambo, but they usually didn't come back in one piece," he says. In one of The 'Nam's first issues, a group of recruits watch John Wayne in The Green Berets on an outdoor screen while another section of the base is under rocket attack—an experience Murray lived through. "You were sitting there watching a movie about a war while a couple of hundred yards away there was a real war going on, and it was just like another part of the show," he recalls. Although sales are brisk, with The 'Nam closing in on Uncanny X-Men, Marvel's current number-one seller, Murray is reluctant to drop his day job as vice-president of the Long Island branch at Chase Manhattan Bank. "I'm waiting to see my first royalty check."
"I'd love to have lunch with Tipper Gore," laughs Carolyne Heldman, 25, one of the new breed of video jocks on MTV. "I can't believe her husband is running for President." Of course, you'd expect an MTV v. j. to take issue with the infamous Tipper, the wife of Senator Albert Gore, who has helped launch a crusade to protect America's youth from what she sees as the corrupting influence of rock 'n' roll and music videos. "I don't think they're harmful to kids," says Heldman. "The videos are no worse than what they're getting on regular television. And if the women in videos care to exploit themselves in that way, then they should be able to. There's reverse exploitation, since the men are taking off their shirts and posing. What's good for the goose is good for the gander." After working for a year and a half as a disc jockey at a small radio station in Aspen, Colorado, Heldman sent an audition tape to MTV, which was looking for younger talent to suit the music channel's target audience. "The first five v. j. s stuck with it too long," she explains. But Heldman apparently isn't burdened with the same superloyalty to MTV as her predecessors. "Gosh, if someone offered me a movie role, I certainly wouldn't turn it down."
It may be the least-heralded job in comedy, but when David letterman flips a card through the fake window behind his desk or fires his dart gun at the camera lens, the man who gets the yoks is Howard Vinitsky. Vinitsky, the show's 36-year-old audio engineer, supplies the now-trademark sound effects, such as the breaking glass, the boing of the dart hitting glass or any of 3000 other sounds he has available. "I try to find a sound that Dave can play off into a joke," he says. "I can usually sense his mood and what he'll react to. The only rule is, Don't interrupt a guest." Letterman once immortalized Vinitsky's all-time favorite sounds in a Late Night top-ten list. They included Telly Savalas crooning "Who loves ya?," Penny Through the Head ("a squeaky kind of sound," Vinitsky explains), Pigs in Fear, Electronic Jive Talk and The Cries of the Peacock. Vinitsky, who had impressed the Late Night team with his calm handling of The Great Space Coaster, a now-defunct kids' show, operates out of a tiny room stuffed with 800 audio cartridges. Sometimes, he receives an on-air critique from Letterman. "Give yourself a raise, Howard," he said when one of Vinitsky's sound effects got a big laugh. Once however, the sound was followed by mock fury—after one too many audio interruptions, Letterman snapped, "Oh, it's The Howard Vinitsky Show now."
Rachel McLish, 30, the most celebrated female bodybuilder in the world, likes the smell of sweat. "Sweat is a cleansing mechanism," she says. "If you have a clean body, sweat has a clean smell. If your body is full of junk and smoke and you have bad habits, such as not bathing, you'd better leave." And if McLish tells you to leave, you may want to listen—she's the holder of two Ms. Olympia titles, the author of two best-selling books (Flex Appeal and Perfect Parts) and has been known to start her day with a five-mile run and an hour of weight training. She's now channeling her discipline into her embryonic movie career, which already includes The Man Who Loved Women. "The roles offered to me are Conanlike, where I decapitate people," she complains, insisting that when she does make a movie, it will be on her own terms. Who's going to argue?
For 34 years, the Playboy Playmate of the Month has been the world's most popular pinup. Now we're ringing in the new year with an exciting new celebration of the centerfold: The Playboy Portfolio, Playmates 1987, a limited-edition (only 500) set of 12 gatefold-size custom prints, individually signed by our 12 1987 Playmates and presented in a tied case. The portfolio prints are without folds, and each set contains a notarized letter of authenticity and the individual set number. A pair of white gloves is included, and each print is further protected by a vellum overlay on which is inscribed the Playmate's name and her month of publication. The portfolio is a beauty—like our Playmates.
"Why Spy?"—It has been said that Covert Operations often get us into more trouble than they get us out of. But the author, an Ex-Spy himself, says that without our spies, we'd really have problems—by William F. Buckley, JR. Plus: "Company Boys"—A Woman who trained with her CIA husband for Moscow duty gives a behind-the-scenes look at the Coarsities and courtesies of spying—by Karen Wynn