Who can forget the great hostage crisis of 1979/80, when the mania of revolution convulsed Tehran and the U.S. embassy staff became the prisoners of His Repugnance, the ayatollah? Former President Jimmy Carter won't forget it; his Administration's failure to rescue fellow Americans cost him a second term and allowed Ronald Reagan to start his first term on a triumphant note when it was announced, minutes after he'd taken the oath of office, that the hostages were free at last. How conveenient, as our old friend the Church Lady likes to say. Now comes Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, in a startling Playboy Interview (conducted by Morgan Strong) in which his chief spokesman asserts that a Reagan campaign advisor pressed the PLO leader to use his influence to delay release of the hostages until after the 1980 election.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), september 1988. Volume 35, number 9. Published monthly by Playboy, Playboy building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: $26 for 12 issues, U.S. Canada, $39 for 12 issues. All other foreign, $39 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. Postmaster, send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51593-0222, and allow 45 days for change. 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.
Icehouse has been defrosting American audiences recently with its Britishly spelled album Man of colours and the John Oates--written single Electric Blue. Chief Iceman is a well-mannered Aussie named Iva Davies, who maintains balance between twin obsessions.
There's more than a touch of Monty Python madness in A Fish Called Wanda (MGM/UA), written by Python John Cleese. Drolly deadpan throughout, Cleese also stars as a pompous, perfectly corruptible London barrister called Archie Leach--Cary Grant's real name, an inside joke that has no relevance whatsoever. The movie is a brash, irreverent caper comedy featuring two Wandas--one a pet fish, the other a cheeky femme fatale played by Jamie Lee Curtis as a minxwith a passion for men who speak foreign languages. Cleese gives her good Russian, while Kevin Kline gives good Italian, playing a dim-witted accomplice named Otto who hates to be called stupid. Kline has rarely had a chance to cut loose in front of a movie camera as he does here, doing--and occasionally overdoing--some of the flashy physical comedy that made him a Broadway star. In a company flush with seasoned pros, the major scene stealer is Michael Palin, whose talent triumphs over rude taste as a miscreant with a terrible stutter and a soft spot for animals--he doesn't mind bumping off a dowager (she's a prosecution witness) but detests doing in her little dogs. Charles Crichton's competent direction never quite keeps pace with performers or screenplay. Still, much ado about stolen jewels, sex and skulduggery helps Wanda make waves despite some flotsam in the think tank. [rating]3-1/2bunnies[/rating]
The L.A. Times' hip "Calendar" section, noting that he'd been cast in five films in a year, dubbed him "the ubiquitous Keanu Reeves." But who can even pronounce his name? The 24-year-old actor, en route to Europe to start filming a sixth, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, paused to explain it all. His mom, who's English, is now married to director Paul Aaron; his dad is Chinese-Hawaiian, which is where the name Keanu (kee-ah-noo) comes from. He was actually born in Beirut ("Guess my parents had been doing their thing in the Middle East") and raised in Toronto, where he admits to having failed high school classes in French and acting ("I've always been sort of rambunctious"). Last year's River's Edge launched his Hollywood career; Permanent Record, The Night Before, the current Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and forthcoming The Prince of Pennsylvania followed. Now he's in Paris--"Whoo! It's like my ElDorado!"--and studying French again for his role opposite Glenn Close in Liaisons (also starring John Malkovich and Michelle Pfeiffer), the movie version of the stage hit about depravity among the rich and infamous in 18th Century France. Winning the part surprised Reeves: "When I auditioned for these English dudes, I'd been out biking and had on holey pants and these big boots. I was coming on like Stanley Kowalski." The bad news about Reeves's "dream role": His big love scene with Close was cut out of the script before shooting started. "C'est dommage," says Reeves, his français obviously improving fast.
In The Death of Rhythm and Blues (Pantheon), Nelson George argues that black popular music has been far too willing to sell its soul for white acceptance. "Black is beautiful" has given way to "White is better," as too many black artists aim their music at white audiences, trust their management to white businessmen, alter their images to look as white as possible. While crossover has enriched the likes of Michael Jackson, Prince and Lionel Richie, it has decimated a black musical community that was once more self-sufficient.
The Video Page asked Sam Donaldson, this nation's hardest-hitting TV journalist, for favorites from his collection. Among the list were these sobering titles: My Fair Lady, South Pacific, The Music Man, High Society, Gigi. Pressed to name a home favorite that was not a musical, the pugnacious reporter replied, "Star Wars." (We believe he meant Lucas', not Reagan's.) By the way, Sam will not be renting Broadcast News when it's released on tape. Why? "Didn't really like the film. Gored my ox."
Stupidest Title: [dvdTitle]Kennedys Don't Cry[/dvdTitle] [releaseInfo](MPI Home Video);[/releaseInfo] Most Promising Title: [dvdTitle]Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-a-rama[/dvdTitle] [releaseInfo](Urban Classics);[/releaseInfo] Best Learn-to-Sleep Video: [dvdTitle]Queen Elizabeth II: 60 Glorious Years[/dvdTitle] [releaseInfo](MPI Home Video);[/releaseInfo] Best it's-a-living Video: [dvdTitle]Headhunters of Borneo[/dvdTitle] [releaseInfo](Regency);[/releaseInfo] Best Video Quote: [dvdTitle]Johnny Carson: "It's amazing.[/dvdTitle] They can put a man on the moon, but I can't get my VCR to stop flashing 12:00."
Sandra Bernhard first earned notice as a comedian who could make David Letterman squirm as well as laugh; she did the same to audiences in her first major film, "The King of Comedy." Currently, Bernhard stars on screen in Nicolas Roeg's "Track 29," on bookshelves with "Confessions of a Pretty Lady" and on stage with her one-woman show, "Without you I'm Nothing." She volunteered to review Prince's new LP, "Lovesexy," even though, she protests, "I'm the only fabulous woman for whom he's never written a song."
Even if You Can't Sing, You Can Still Play Department: Billy Goodman, a guitarist who used to be in a band before he signed on as a Starship roadie, has written a book, So You Want to Be a Roadie. Some of the chapters: "Getting Laid," "Getting Paid" and "Bus Survival."
Read the catalog of any self-respecting university these days and you'll find a women's-studies program in full flower--lots of courses, lots of teachers, heavy enrollments. Clearly, the college students of today can find out all they ever wanted to know about the history of women and feminism, and they can do so for credit. That is all well and good, but read the same catalogs in search of equivalent programs in men's studies and you will be sharply disappointed. Men's studies simply do not exist in any meaningful fashion in the academic environment of this country.
The most I've ever gotten into," said Cleo, 35, "was some tying up and, um, spanking. But this is not something that can be sprung on me. I have to be in just the right mood, though I admit I've always been partial to having my hands held above my head."
A while ago, The Playboy Advisor ran a description of something called inhibited sexual desire. I'm curious: What types of women are most likely to suffer from low sex drive? Are there any studies that suggest who has the most problems?--J.O., New Orleans, Louisiana.
"Child pornography has become a highly organized multimillion-dollar industry preying on the youth of our country who either are unable to protect themselves or are induced into participating by those they trust." --Senator Dennis De Concini, Congressional Record, February 4, 1988
Robert Brase was a 34-year-old farmer from Shelby, Nebraska. He had been married ten years and was the father of two sons. He had no criminal record and no history of child abuse. The U.S. Postal Service apparently got his name from a list postal inspectors had found when they raided a California distributor of nudity-oriented video tapes. Although there was no evidence that Brase had ever ordered from this firm or any explanation of how his name got on the list, it was enough for the Feds. The Postal Service sent Brase a catalog that it had produced. He ordered a video--in Beta. It arrived in VHS, and without watching it, he tossed it into a drawer. Less than an hour later, a team of postal inspectors arrived and searched his home, photographing centerfolds from several adult magazines and confiscating a few video tapes. The only child pornography in Brase's possession was the tape he had just received from the U.S. Postal Service. One day before his arraignment, Brase drove to a deserted country road and shot himself.
Pornography is addictive and progressive. First you have people looking at Playboy, but when that's not good enough, they sometimes move on to mutilation and animal sex, then it's making love to a corpse, and pretty soon people are sticking pins and needles into their penises.
For the past quarter century, through three Arab-Israeli wars and a parade of kings, sheiks, prime ministers, presidents and war lords, the Middle East leader who is perhaps best known, most widely reviled and, by some, most esteemed is a man without a home or a country. Indeed, it sometimes seems as if Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, is perceived by Israelis as a greater threat, and a bigger villain, than the combined armed forces of the neighboring Arab states.
As 1961 began, my good friend John F. Kennedy became President of the United States. His personal charm and eloquence lifted the spirits of millions of Americans. We conservatives were not, however, happy with what we saw and heard.
An Elite Model is to the beauty business what a bottle of Mouton Rothschild is to oenology: full-bodied and rare; expensive but worth it; and arguably the best. Barreling into its second decade under the keen eye of founder John Casablancas, the Elite Model agency has nosed ahead of the pack, now representing more than 400 of the world's most popular--not to mention most beautiful--cover girls. So two years ago, a California-based company called Day Dream Publishing decided to live up to its name and create a series of Calendars featuring the elite of Elite. Collaborating with the agency's president/den mother Monique Pillard and Italian photographer Marco Glaviano, Day Dream came up with the Paulina Porizkova calendar (which, before you could flip from January to June, sold out its 250,000 copies nationwide), followed by the equally hot 1988 Elite Superstars Swimsuit Calendar. And now, here's an exclusive preview of Glaviano's shoot for the 1989 calendar, which again features Elite's finest. "We're giving the hot-blooded American everything he's ever dreamed of," says Day Dream's 26-year-old president, Chip Conk. "Beauty, class, quality, and let's not forget incredible sexiness!"
From the mid-Seventies through the Eighties, I kept hearing talk that today's college students resemble those of the Eisenhower era. It never rang true of the students I knew. Yes, many of them have given up protest marches and philosophy majors to grind away in libraries, preparing themselves for business school entrance exams. Yes, today's students have rejected the ideas that we stood for in the Sixties. But they've also kept the hot sexual climate that we created. The social revolution died, but the sexual revolution lives on. My students aren't about to throw the baby out with the bath water.
Ok, men, it's time for renewal of those grand academic traditions--beer blasts, touch football and the replenishing of your wardrobe. The last, unfortunately, may prove the toughest of the three in which to stand out. Nothing defeats style faster than seeing your choice of clothes on other men's backs--all from the same varsity shop. A limited budget and limited access to urban hubs can pose a definite challenge to the man who wants to look sharp on campus. Not to worry--there's a creative solution just steps away: your phone. Catalog companies are the, well, tailor-made answer to your needs--and they can provide some of the very best fashions. So this year, our back-to-campus roundup focuses on mail-order styles--13 top catalog companies that give great phone (all have 800 numbers and they're listed on page 156), along with savvy tips on colors, fabrics, etc. Furthermore, prices in many of the catalogs are often comparable to--and sometimes lower than--retail outlets. Our own mini-catalog, on these pages, is a male-order collection of mail-order styles sure to send the bank card of even the biggest B.M.O.C. into meltdown.
Rembrandt painting Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer was himself contemplating the bust of Homer where it stood on the red cloth covering the square table in the left foreground and wondering how much money it might fetch at the public auction of his belongings that he was already contemplating would sooner or later be more or less inevitable.
Dear Playboy--I'm a Texan who found her way to L.A.'s Occidental College, where I study English and talk "bunny." A couple of years ago, my best friend and I started using bunny to describe everyone--"dumb bunny," "fashion bunny," etc. Then my boyfriend and I started calling each other bunny in that cutesy way couples have. When we broke up, I told everyone I was no longer a love bunny but a Playboy bunny. Friends gave me Rabbit Head pins, clothes, cigarette lighters--everything. Which led me to wonder what it would be like to pose for Playboy....
It's No Secret that some of Europe's most desirable automobiles never made it to our shores. Manufacturers blamed this on strangulating EPA/DOT regulations, the dipping dollar and the double nickel (the old 55-mile-per-hour speed limit). The list of no-shows includes Britain's Panther roadster, Porsche's super-high-tech and high-buck 959, Lancia's Ferrari-engined Thema and the elegant turbocharged Renault Alpine Berlinetta. Citroën's futuristic front-wheel-drive machines remained in France, as did Peugeot's nippy 205 GTI--a classy little Golf beater. Ferrari's handsome 412 tourer, the last of the company's front-engined classic V12s, stayed in the European fast lane. The automotive missing-in-action roster is a long one.
Like Jackie Gleason before her, Tracey Ullman stomps out at the close of her comedy show each week, swaddled in a bathrobe. Unlike Gleason, she has fabulous gams, a British accent and a brain by Xerox. An incorrigible mimic, she reproduces voices and characters as fast as the neurons permit and demonstrates this remarkable feat on "The Tracey Ullman Show," a thoroughly quirky half hour that gives the Fox Broadcasting Company glimmer. She is Lily Tomlin without the fuss, Whoopi Goldberg without the funk, Sybil with a good agent. Not long ago, she took Contributing Editor Bill Zehme to afternoon tea at Trumps in West Hollywood, where she cheerfully wreaked havoc upon the pristine English custom. Zehme recalls, "We pulled up in Tracey's howitzerlike Range Rover and squared off in a cozy corner table. She wore a large black hat, ate cucumber sandwiches, pointed out every toupee and face lift in the room and suggested several methods of torturing the harpist."
It was the worst of seasons. Early last year, a pro football strike seemed unthinkable. As each week of the exhibition season passed, it became inevitable. The wrong cast of characters took center stage. There was the sullen and seemingly inept Gene Upshaw, the rep for the players' union, whose own council so woefully misread the cunning of the owners; in the opposing camp was the oily-tongued Jack Donlan, who represented the owners, that vengeful lot that, after it had broken the strike with scab games, exacted the final measure of punishment by locking the players out an extra week on a technicality just to show them who the boss really had been.
AWoman I never met said I used to be a prostitute." Sitting poolside at Playboy Mansion West, Jessica Hahn shakes her head. "A woman who used to be my friend called me the Antichrist. Can you believe that? It sounds almost funny, but it hurts, too. It hurts to be an outcast," she says. "My life has been threatened more times than I can count. I've seen a letter written in blood that said, 'The wrath of my fury is on Jessica Hahn.' My mother thinks I have gone astray because I live at the Playboy Mansion, but it's beautiful here. There are birds, trees, flowers--beauty everywhere you look. And it's safe." Safe at last--walled in by the landscaped beauty and the security staff of Playboy Mansion West--she works on her autobiography and prays for strength. Today, relaxing in the Southern California sun after an arduous but exhilarating Playboy photo shoot, she is in a reflective mood. Until now, she has had little time to ponder the twists and turns her life has taken since the last time she appeared on these pages. Hugh Hefner's ladylove Kimberley Conrad ("We're like sisters," says Jessica) shouts a warning as Leilynd, Kim's golden Labrador, bounds into Jessica's lap. "You love your aunt Jess, don't you?" she coos to the dog. Leilynd licks Jessica's new, cosmetically slimmed nose. The dog has just returned from the vet with instructions to lose some weight. Jessica sympathizes, offering Leilynd a packet of Sweet 'n Low. "I love it here," she says, "and I know Hef would let me stay here forever. But soon, it's going to be time to move on. As soon as I get myself (text continued on page 158)Jessica(continued from page 121) together. I don't know what the future holds for me. I know I'll always be controversial, whether I wear a choir gown or nothing at all, because I can't be a phony like Jim Bakker or Jimmy Swaggart or Jerry Falwell. I've spent a lot of time praying in the past year, wondering about God's plan for me, and finally decided just to trust in Him. I have a plaque in my room here at the Playboy Mansion that reads Jessica, Trust me. I have everything under Control, Signed, Jesus. Whatever the future is, I know it will be part of His plan."
Why do the women go wild over that woodsy Alvin? He doesn't have a great body. He doesn't look like a lover. How does he get them to make hot, passionate love to him? Hah?Annie F: Oh, Woodsy, make hot, passionate love to me!
She's a rarity--a high-ranked female exec in the male-dominated music biz--but Christine Reed claims she doesn't feel any particular pressure. "I'm not a women's libber," says Reed, 42, president of megastar Sting's new company, Pangaea Records. "I've never felt like I was fighting battles for women. I resent particular attitudes about women in this industry, but I'm undaunted by them." She spent seven years at the illustrious classical label CBS Masterworks--where she secured prestigious artists such as Phillip Glass, Wynton and Branford Marsalis and Placido Domingo--before joining forces last fall with Sting, whom she met backstage at Radio City Music Hall. "Branford introduced me as his 'classical-music producer,' and Sting put his arm around me and said, 'I sympathize with you.' We all laughed, and from that moment, we were friends." Pangaea's current roster includes Pakistani-Chilean guitarist Fareed Haque, Argentinean-bordello music man Astor Piazzolla and composer Michael Convertino. It's a motley but mesmerizing crew, echoing Reed's penchant for the offbeat personal statement. "I have a passion for fashion," she enthuses, "but I'm not a traditional person. If the fashion world says short skirts are in and you can't wear pants, I'll wear pants. That's the way I am."
Unless you've spent the summer in solitary confinement, chances are good that you've heard about Roger Rabbit. But you still may not know about Gary Wolf. The former is a cartoon character, the star of a $40,000,000 Walt Disney/Steven Spielberg production. The latter is a real person, the man who created Roger Rabbit. In 1981, Wolf, then a Massachusetts advertising copy writer, wrote a fantasy-mystery novel--Who Censored Roger Rabbit?--about what life would be like if cartoon characters were real. Disney bought the rights and the project eventually turned into Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Disney is hoping that his creation will be "the Mickey Mouse of the Eighties," says Wolf, 37, who is now a full-time writer and novelist. "He is a character of the Eighties, in that he suffers a lot more emotional stress than most cartoon characters. I mean, Bugs Bunny really doesn't have a whole lot of angst."
As host of MTV's unconventional trivia show, Remote Control,Ken Ober gets to smash bowls, fling cocktail wienies, sneer and generally rough up the contestants. "On our show, we can do whatever we want," says Ober, a 31-year-old stand-up comedian. "You're not going to see Alex Trebek go over and get a contestant in a headlock, are you?" During one Remote Control, a retro-Jeopardy! for the generation weaned on Star Trek reruns, three college-student contestants--usually boisterous frat types--failed to remember a single band Eric Clapton played with. Fed up, Ober yanked all three off the air, sending them crashing through the back wall in their vinyl recliner chairs. Another time, the set's power went out unexpectedly. Ober, ad-libbing in the dark, began yelling at his mother for having pulled the plug out while vacuuming. Moments such as those have made the show, which began airing on MTV last December, so popular that Ober has become an overnight campus celebrity. "I'm a little stunned by the whole thing," he says. "I mean, really, I'm a little freaked." Ober had appeared in commercials, comedy clubs and one episode of Miami Vice before Remote Control. "I went on an audition," he says, "and one thing led to another. Boom! I was a game-show host. My dreams were answered."
You have to be pretty smart to play daffy, and actress Jennifer Tilly is rapidly cornering the market on delightfully wacky film roles. "I like playing uncomplicated people," she admits, "because you look back to when you were a youngster and everything got you excited and you were filled with a sense of wonder." Tilly, 27, who appeared in Rented Lips, High Spirits and He's My Girl, grew up in rural British Columbia. After graduating from college, she drove as fast as she could to Los Angeles, where her offbeat good looks and peculiar Voice soon caught Hollywood's attention. "I don't really have a funny voice in real life," she maintains. "I only do characters who have funny Voice's," Although Tilly is not blonde, an increasing number of film makers regard her as the heir apparent to Judy Holliday and Goldie Hawn. "I think men perceive me as sexy and kookie and vulnerable," she says, smiling. "I have a lot of energy that shoots out in every direction and knocks people over. If I don't have anything to say, I talk anyway, and at the top of my voice. In fact, I always wanted to do films, because you're always looking for ways to make sure You're around annoying people even after you're dead."
Singer Rick Astley, 22, doesn't immediately impress. His bland round face makes you think of the sort of neighborhood kid who delivers the papers--that is, until he opens his mouth. Where, you have to ask, is that big boomer of a voice coming from? "I don't really know," says Astley. "I've never taken a voice lesson in my life. I just listened to a lot of American black singers, and I guess their styles rubbed off on me." Guess so. Astley's first hit, Never Gonna Give You Up, topped the British charts, making him a star in England nearly a year before he hit in America. His unlikely appearance is matched by an unlikely attitude toward stardom. "I'm surprised to find myself being recognized when I walk down the street," he says. "I don't want to turn into Michael Jackson. He may be a nice enough bloke, but I find the whole thing that surrounds him very off-putting. That's just not me."
N.F.L. owners offer this advice to those looking to make a small fortune: Start with a large fortune and buy an N.F.L. team. Then you'll have a small fortune. Here is a team-by-team look at what those intriguing N.F.L. owners have been up to during the past year.
"The Olympic Training Table"--What's the breakfast of champions? whatever corporate backers put into the feed bag. A report on the seoul foods that fuel our athletes during the xxiv games and how sponsorships are brokered--By Paul Engleman