As you know, women have come a long way, er, baby. Many of them are powerful. Some even buy us dinner. In addition to their own cigarette, they now have careers and Filofaxes. They also have husbands, babies, babies with diaper rash, housework, mortgages and other exhausting reminders of their own mortality. Doing it all, it turns out, exacts its price. A new generation of females has been watching and is responding with some survival plans of its own. One such scheme resurrects an old standard: snagging a rich guy. How does the modern career-steeped woman do that? She creates an agenda, of course, says Marcia Froelke Coburn in The Return of the Designing Woman, an eye-opening article that makes us wonder which weighs in more heavily in feminine calculations—our hearts or our wallets? Read it.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), July 1989, volume 36, Number 7. 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 51537-4007. 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 51537-4007, 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.
Veteran Hollywood actor George Wendt is best known for his portrayal of Norm, the plump, beer-slurping house painter on NBC's Cheers. Speaking with Wendt, we quickly discovered that he shares Norm's affection for beer: "Nobody's that good an actor," confessed Wendt. We wondered whether maintaining Norm's chunky physique posed any problems.
An Advertising executive charged with promoting a dubious new pimple cream suddenly developsan unattractive boil on his neck. Worse yet, the boil turns out to have a mind of its own, as well as a voice, "like your very own Big Brother," eventually spouting hard-sell slogans ad nauseam. That comic conceit propels How to Get Ahead in Advertising (Warner) from rude hilarity to wretched excess, which makes it pretty much a hit-or-miss satire. Still, writer-director Bruce Robinson gets good mileage from an overworked subject. Richard E. Grant, star of Robinson's With-nail and I a year or so ago, exudes manic energy as the frenzied adman, with Rachel Ward as his gorgeous, dumfounded wife, driven to suspect that the creep she married has been reconstituted as a carbuncle.[rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
"Running hot," which means working a lot, actor/stand-up comedian Robert Wuhl (pronounced wall) has had his biggest hit to date in Bull Durham, playing the tobacco-juicy pitching coach who sidles up to the mound and suggests that, for a teammate's wedding, "candlesticks make a nice gift." Before that, he was Robin Williams' fellow deejay in Good Morning, Vietnam. Wuhl, 34, may soon be remembered more for his role in Batman as a journalist with a romantic streak. "He's a real Carl Bernstein character. And I get to kiss Kim Basinger, so my stock's going up. I didn't get it right the first time," he says with a chuckle. "My momma didn't raise no fool." Now Bull Durham writer-director Ron Shelton, currently filming Blaze—with Paul Newman starred as Governor Earl Long, who risked his kingdom for famed stripper Blaze Starr—has hired Wuhl to play a rascal named Red, who introduces Blaze to the tinsel world of burlesque. Wuhl's stock started climbing when he got his first job after college—writing jokes for Rodney Dangerfield. He landed the gig by knocking on Dangerfield's dressing-room door and delivering a monolog in his best Dangerfield voice. He broke into acting in the 1980 cult film Hollywood Knights, which pops up at regular intervals on cable TV. "Fans still approach me on the street and ask, 'Aren't you Newbomb Turk?'" Between films, Wuhl continues to do a stand-up act he describes as "urban Garrison Keillor," and he's booked for his own HBO special. That's his hedge against the uncertainties of stardom, a smart move for a guy whose improvised comedy scenes were once cut from the final version of a movie called Flashdance. "A shame," he recalls. "Had they used me, the picture might have become successful."
For Bronson Pinchot, video viewing is all in a day's work. The actor whose art-gallery cameo nearly stole Beverly Hills Cop has gone on to TV's Perfect Strangers and the big screen's upcoming Second Sight. "Mostly," he says, "I buy tapes for research. Like when Balki was hypnotized and woke up as Elvis, I bought a bunch of Elvis videos, mostly documentaries. Or when I did a performance piece about manhood in the Thirties, I bought Clark Gable's Red Dust, Robert Taylor's Waterloo Bridge and Douglas Fairbanks, Sr.'s, The Thief of Bagdad." Pretty impressive, but what about videos viewed strictly for pleasure? Replies Bronson: "Gone with the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Captains Courageous and Mary Poppins. Oh, yeah, and the entire Shirley Temple library; the packaging, the style, the tone, the pure fun—they're like art-deco ice-cream sundaes, you know what I mean?" You bet.
The Decline of Western Civilization, Part Part II (The Metal Years): You don't have to like heavy-metal music to relish these interludes, plus interviews with hard-rock stars, upstarts and worshipful groupies.
A Real-Time Saver: One of the best features we've seen in ages is on Yamaha's top-shelf Super VHS deck (YV-1110S): a real-time counter. With it, you can find something that happened, say, three minutes into a tape, rather than fussing with random counters that recycle at 9999.
Stupidest Video Title:Mustard: The Spice of Nations;Favorite Video Investigation:Behind the Veil: Nuns;Least Subtle Samantha Strong Porn-Video Title:Coming on Strong;Best Not-a-Bad-Way-to-Spend-the-Month Video:Four Weeks to Fuller, Firmer Breasts;Best Thrill-a-Minute Video:Dutch Foot Stools;Best Laugh-a-Minute Video:Nixon's Most Memorable Speeches;Best It's-a-Living Video:Construction of an Insulated Concrete Sandwich Wall.
From Rock and pop to second-line neoclassicism and cocktail funk, the Neville Brothers have made lots of commendable albums since 1977, when the four of them invested their collective 80-plus years of professional experience in a single group. But only Yellow Moon (A&M) has accomplished their cherished goal of taking New Orleans into the future. Although gumbo purists will claim that producer Daniel Lanois, longtime associate of new Nevilles sideman Brian Eno, isn't greasy enough, the old beats are there in all their sweet, swaying syncopation. And if Lanois downplays trap drums in favor of subtler percussive devices, getting a coolly sublime sound that's sophisticated without ever whispering lounge, the material thrives under the treatment. From black-history lessons such as My Blood and Sister Rosa to the New Orleans neoclassics Voo Doo and Wild Injuns, these are the group's most articulate songs ever. It's no surprise that brother Aaron sings the shit out of With God on Our Side—this man has sung the shit out of the Mickey Mouse Club theme. But wait till you hear what brother Art, aided by a cunning bottleneck guitar, does with The Ballad of Hollis Brown.
Scottish Singer/actress Sheena Easton is the first musician ever to have hit the top five on each of Billboard magazine's five singles charts. Again relishing crossover success with her latest LP, "The Lover in Me," Easton assayed "A New Flame," the second LP by Simply Red.
No one has written about the inner life of the American male lately with more comic, poignant candor than Paul Theroux in his new novel, My Secret History (Putnam). Like Hemingway, Theroux travels to exotic locales for adventure; like Updike, he has a wry and urbane self-consciousness; and like Henry Miller, he revels in the multifaceted joys of sex.
Darlene Stump, a housewife and mother, said she had no problem with the title of her tell-all book about the life and good times of an auto-racing groupie. All along, it was going to be called Me and Harley and Ralph and Shorty and Joe Ed and Cecil and Them Others.
I recently dated a girl who could lock her feet behind her head—she has spent years in yoga and stretching classes. Well, I asked her if she could do it in the nude; one thing led to another and we ended up having sex. The pressure was intense. Have you ever experienced anything like this?—H. S., Trenton, New Jersey.
When Dr. James Dobson, the most radical member of the Meese commission and an antiporn propagandist, interviewed convicted killer Theodore Bundy, he created the ultimate monster. He made the serial killer into Ted, the boy next door. There but for the curse of porn go your own children. The facts, however, say the opposite. Bundy was a deadly psychopath with the charm of Mark Harmon (who played the killer in the made-for-TV movie). He was telegenic (more than 40,000,000 people watched his trials, and probably that many have seen excerpts of the last confession) and twisted. He may have had as many as 100 victims, women he referred to as "cargo" and "damaged." He was a master manipulator. A psychiatrist who watched Bundy defend himself in Florida said: "In a certain sense, Bundy is a producer of a play that attempts to show that various authority figures can be manipulated, set against one another and placed in positions of internal conflict. Bundy does not have the capacity to recognize that the price for this thriller may be his own life." The Bundy video tape, "Fatal Addiction," produced by Dobson, is being used by the religious right to call for more sexual repression when it is evident that repression was part of the recipe that led to creating the real monster. We asked Nobile, co-author of "The United States of America vs. Sex," to look behind the smoke and mirrors to try to get at the real roots of Bundy's evil. This is his report.
Let's take Barry Diller, chairman and chief executive officer of Fox Inc.—which includes Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, Fox Television Stations Inc. and the Fox Broadcasting Company—out of his fraternally twin kingdoms of Los Angeles and New York. Let's put him in someone else's palace and principality—Caesars, in Las Vegas. Diller is with a friend. They stride through the casino and approach one of the craps tables. The friend is eager to gamble. "Not at this table," Diller growls with the ferociousness of a pit-bull terrier. "This table is pathetic! This table stinks! This table has no heat!" They approach another. "This table has possibilities," Diller decides. "This table has...." But before he can come up with the word, he puts down his money, grabs the dice and quickly quintuples his stake. "There," he announces to the friend and picks up his chips, once again knowing the precise moment to walk away a winner. "Heat."
I had this horrible dream—a real nightmare—that the magazine came out I was fired from Channel Ten and wound up autographing pizza boxes at a Pizza Hut opening. I thought, Hell, I don't want to lose credibility— I want to gain exposure.
The reason I do sloping shoulders," says Joseph Abboud, "is so it doesn't look like a guy left the coat hanger in his jacket." Abboud can afford to be blunt: The 39-year-old New York menswear designer is the toast of the fashion world. And his clothes—tailored yet unpretentious—have won him wide acclaim among fashion's trendsetters. From suits to shirts to trousers, Abboud's creations have an all-American athletic feel and fit. Add a measure of Italian style and color combinations that are earthy and masculine and you have a finished product that's truly international. "A man's clothes should enhance him, not overpower him," Abboud says. "What I'm trying to do is take the roots of traditional style and change them in sophisticated ways so that I end up with a look that's not Ivy-jivey and not all pink and blue but a much hipper approach to dressing." His fall 1989 collection is so hip that it has been snapped up by many of the top Italian retail stores. That's quite an international tribute to quite an international guy.
E.T.'S index finger lights in an orange glow as it lifts to touch Elliott's forehead. The extraterrestrial's right eye squints and his cheek rises in sadness. The spaceship's illumination casts a moonlike aura around his head, while his glowing red heart shines a light on Elliott that suggests another celestial body, the setting sun.
<p>Erika Eleniak is sitting in the living room of her mother's airy suburban home in the San Fernando Valley. Of course, in a manner of speaking, it's also her fiancé's house. And to cloud the issue further, the house technically belongs to a man who is both Erika's future father-in-law and her potential step-dad. Confused? "I know it's bizarre," confesses Erika with a shrug. "I have a very interesting life." That's true. Almost everything about Erika is interesting. Take, for example, her career. As she sits, wearing a floppy straw hat, pink T-shirt and shorts in the living room jointly claimed by her mom, boyfriend and future father-in-law, she talks animatedly about Bay Watch, a two-hour NBC-TV pilot about lifeguards that she recently finished filming. In it, she plays a rookie lifeguard, along with actors David Hasselhoff and Parker Stevenson, and if NBC likes the pilot, Erika will have a regular berth on a prime-time series. If not, as she points out with equanimity, it's just another job. Most fledgling actors would fret about their show's future, but not Erika. At 19, she's a pro—with nine years of modeling assignments and acting jobs on her résumé, including a role as Elliot's girlfriend in E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. Besides, Erika, after a rocky start in life, has learned to take her problems began when she was young and her parents divorced, leaving her on her own much of the tiem. "I chose to be the girl you didn't have a lot of direction in my life, so maybe I partied too hard." In the San Fernando Valley, as in many other places, if you party too hard, you pay the pirce with drug and alcohol problems. "I was going through so much pain," Erika recalls. "I had a boyfriend I had no business being with, and I felt not good enough, abandoned." But when she was 17, someone new entered her life. On wheels. His name was Steve Ferguson, and he'd been a quadriplegic since a diving accident seven years earlier. The two ran in the same social circles, and Erika had definitely noticed Ferguson, but not just because he was wheelchair bound. "I'm like most of us when it comes to people in wheelchairs," she says. "I didn't want to stare, but he's very good-looking." Two years ago, after breaking up with her other boyfriend, she ran into Ferguson on the Venice boardwalk. "I guess I was a brazen little brat," she recalls with a laugh, "because (text concluded on page 155)Erika(continued from page 104) I walked up to him and said, 'I think you're really cute and I just wanted to say hi.'" Ferguson, who is 23, made some big changes in Erika's life. First, he introduced her to A.A., and she has not been drinking for more than two years. Then, he and Erika plotted to introduce his father to her mother. "Why don't you have your dad drop you off at my house one day?" suggested Erika. "Boom!" she says now. "That's all it took." The two have been an item ever since, and Iris, Erika's mother, now rents a house owned by Robert, Steve's father. "It can get a little claustrophobic," admits Erika. When her first fling at living with Steve didn't go smoothly, she decided to take a breather and move out. However, her room at her mother's had been Steve's room while he was growing up, and just sitting among his memorabilia was painful. Besides, his father was a constant presence around the house, so Erika found other, though equally illogical, living arrangements; she moved in with Steve's mother. Needless to say, that didn't help her forget Steve, and it provoked not a little sarcasm in her own mother: "Sure," she cracked, "go and stay with my boyfriend's ex-wife." Eventually, Steve and Erika ironed out their differences and Erika moved back in with him, but she recalls that period with wide-eyed amazement. "It was so weird," she says, showing a flair for understatement. Now they're one big Eighties type of extended family. If Erika and Steve get married first, which is likely, her father-in-law will be dating her mother. If Iris and Robert tie the knot first, Erika will end up marrying her stepbrother. "I'm getting used to it," she says. Despite the wheelchair and the soap-opera family arrangements, Erika and Steve lead a rather typical life. "More than any other boyfriend I've been with, Steve takes me places and does active things. He has a boat and races it, and he drives a van. We're just like any other couple, except that Steve doesn't stand up when we talk, he sits down. And I get the common question, 'Can he have sex?' Yeah, absolutely. Steve has taught me so much," she says. "I've never laughed so much in my life. From the time I get up in the morning to the time I go to sleep at night, I'm laughing." She is also very busy. Her manager keeps sending her on auditions (just in case Bay Watch doesn't pan out), her fiancé keeps taking her on trips and she has scarcely enough time to hang out at her mother's, where she can do her laundry, visit with her 15-year-old sister and talk things over with Mom. "A.A. has really made me aware of my feelings. I don't want to hurt anymore and I don't want to be under anyone's thumb. I want to take charge of my own life and I want to be a good person. I've already started acting that way."</p>
World Travelers Know that when it comes to the little luxuries of life, you not only can but should take them with you. In other words, tote your own toiletries instead of gambling on what the hotel offers. Traveling with personal gear that's special brings style to even the most mundane journey. Packing and unpacking is a pleasure instead of a chore, because you've already pampered yourself shopping for the contents of your travel kit. And at day's end, a tot of your favorite malt Scotch, poured from an antique flask, makes the perfect sundowner. All aboard!
I walk onto a golf course ... and so many things go through my head—keep your eyes on the back of the ball and don't move your head until the ball is gone, and keep your grip real light, like you're holding a tube of tooth paste with the cap off. Make a full shoulder turn, but don't forget to turn your hips and get that left knee behind the ball and that left heel off the ground.... Make a good swing, inside out, full extension of the arms, a big arc; don't try to bash the ball, just swing and the club will do the work. And don't forget to fucking relax! —From Willie, an Autobiography, by Willie Nelson with Bud Shrake
The Average Sunday golfer may feel that if he just had the talent of that jerk playing golf on television, he could show the world. The hacker knows all too well the dangers of his own game. But he cannot hope to guess the dangers felt by the very best of the very best—the professional golfer in the final stages of trying to win a major tournament. Several times has Australian Greg Norman contended in that sweet torture garden of golf's maximum expression, the major championship. He managed to win the 1986 British Open. In several other close calls, he was left with only that familiar baggage, the headful of vivid thoughts.
Every amateur golfer dreams of making the perfect swing and hitting the perfect shot—even just once. Yet, some 500 years after the first featherie golf ball was struck at St. Andrews in Scotland, the typical club-level player still takes almost two and a half times more whacks per round than Lizzie Borden took to kill her stepmother.
By Acquiring new golf equipment, you accomplish many worthwhile things: You mentally shift the blame for past mis-hits and banana slices onto the treacherous old clubs you are abandoning, freeing you to imagine that your new set will be made up of dub-free, straight-arrow, cup-finding ball-mashers; you feed the all-American obsession to acquire the latest, bestest, mostest, thereby keeping the post-Carter economic boom going; and you get a new reason to spend even more time golfing, to maximize your investment. What you may not do, necessarily, is improve your game; it ain't the mashie, it's the motion. But golf's high technology is available to all, for a price, and the arguments sound persuasive. So pay your money and take your choice.
Now That you've opened to these pages for the 84th time and you're finally gonna read the article, let me tell you what I know about the gals who work in B movies. I've seen about 39,000 of their pictures, give or take a few Oklahoma triple features, and that comes out to about 784,000 nek-kid breasts. Those are not very impressive figures to the editors of Playboy—I realize that—but it has led me to a few conclusions about what makes a great Queen B.
Writer's Log, Stardate 8907.6, Contributing Editor David Rensin reporting I'm in traffic around the Paramount Pictures lot, where William Shatner, also known as Captain—now Admiral—James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, has finally gone where he's never gone before: to direct a feature film, 'Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.' I'll be parking soon and walking to his production offices. There, according to reliable information, we will meet for an interview. I don't know what to expect. A review of preparatory materials indicates that he's difficult to detain and interrogate. Also, that he can talk tirelessly about horses and the environment, as well as space adventures. This much is also clear: The Shatner creature can,at will, transform himself into something called a T. J. Hooker. Yet I have been advised that he will likely be neither Hooker nor Kirk but something far more formidable. Perhaps with a sense of humor. I can only hope so. My job apparently depends on it."
The classic 1953 film The Wild One may have helped Marlon Brando's career, but it didn't do much for the image of the motorcycle jacket. Popular opinion was that only greasers and gang members wore them, despite the fact that the sturdy hide gave riders wonderful protection in case of a spill. But as the motorcycle has become an upscale urban means of transportation, so has the motorcycle jacket been rediscovered. The Harley-Davidson black-leather look is a traditional favorite, but leathers with more subtle styling are also very hot—especially with guys who would rather hang out at their favorite bar than hang on to a pair of handle bars while negotiating a twisting gravel road.
Hamilton Classics has introduced the Art Deco—a registered-edition reproduction of a timepiece first made in 1927 by the Hamilton Watch Company. While the exterior looks the same (the tools and dies of the original design were carefully recast), it now has a Swiss quartz movement; $298.50, including handling. To place a credit-card order, call 800-367-4534, extension 9000.
"The modern man's guide to living with women"—from bathroom etiquette to rules of combat, everything you've ever wanted to know about sharing your dwelling with your live-in love—strategy by Denis Boyles