We're Talking Twins! No, not Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger, though they're cute, too. The perfect pair on our minds this month is Mirjam and Karin van Breeschooten, Rotterdam natives who have us in Dutch in the best possible way--with a dazzling Playmate pictorial and special twin-sized gatefold. Double vision has never been this much fun. (Or at least not since October 1970, the last time we featured twin Playmates.)
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), September 1989, Volume 36, 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 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.
NBC's new show Quantum Leap stars Scott Bakula as Sam Beckett, a scientist from the present who, due to a foul-up in his time-travel experiment, gets lost in the decades between his birth in the mid-Fifties and the present. Actually, Beckett's body doesn't go anywhere; only his mind does. As a result, he inhabits the bodies of people in other eras.
Murderous, movable farces about shuffling dead bodies from place to place are an old Hollywood tradition. Weekend at Bernie's (Fox) has a corpse that hosts a cocktail party, gets buried in the sand and is resurrected to go water-skiing. Dead or alive, Bernie is played by Terry Kiser as a financial charlatan who invites two naïve young insurance executives (Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman) to his beach house, planning to have them bumped off lest they expose the details of a multimillion-dollar scam. The lads arrive to find their host mysteriously murdered; the rest is body-snatching spoofery. Why rigor mortis never sets in we aren't told, but the actors--with Catherine Mary Stewart as Bernie's attractive neighbor--work hard to pump life into a broad comic premise clearly ready for last rites. Rude and dopey as Weekend is, you'll probably catch yourself laughing a lot. [rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
He's an award-winning young star on Broadway (for Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing), but dark, handsome Peter Gallagher, at 32, has been less lucky with movies. In The Idolmaker, a 1980 also-ran but now a cult favorite, he played a rock star. Critics scoffed when he swam nude on a Greek island with Daryl Hannah, who tied him down and dripped candle wax on his bare chest, in Summer Lovers (1982). Things were looking up as he headed for the Cannes Film Festival to hype his sixth film, the definitive study of Yuppie love called sex, lies, and videotape. "It feels great to be with something hot," says Gallagher, who plays a philandering young lawyer who sleeps with his wife's sister. At one rendezvous, he waits for her in bed with a potted plant covering his groin. "That was my idea." says Gallagher. "I thought the character would look silly lying there with a sheet pulled over his schwanz." Early reports indicate that the movie could put Gallagher's screen career in gear. After one L.A. screening, he got a phone call from Jack Lemmon, who, he says, "couldn't wait to tell me what he'd overheard a woman saying about me on the way out: 'He has such a subtle way of being a complete asshole.' " Alter Cannes, Gallagher was heading for Prague to film Milena, starring Valerie Kaprisky as a Czech who translates Kafka. "I play her first husband, a notorious womanizer." Is he leery of being typecast as a rake? "That's not the worst thing that could happen," says Gallagher, grinning, "but we're losing the candle wax and potted plant."
"I am so easy when it comes to the videos I enjoy," says X-flick-queen emeritus Marilyn Chambers, indeed, her VCR hit list ranges from psychological mysteries to screwball comedies starring Carole Lombard to anything by Ingmar Bergman ("My favorite director, no question"). And while lush romances--Casablanca, The African Queen, The French Lieutenant's Woman--score high marks with Chambers, she's a pushover for steamier love stories such as The Big Easy and Two Moon Junction. Which brings us to the real question: Does Marilyn (whose recent Party Incorporated is R-rated) ever rent the types of videos she used to make? Absolutely. "But when I sit down to an X-rated film, I honestly don't want to see a story and all that shit," she admits. "I just like to see the actors getting into it like I did--really having a good time."
Remote Possibilities: OK, thanks to Magnavox, now you'll never have to get off the couch. Yep, its new four-head VCR (VR9846AT) has a 49-function remote control. Included with this hand-held masterpiece are full on-screen function displays and bar-code programing.
Best Let's-Pray-You'll-Never-Be-This-Bored Videos:The Magic of Paper Folding and Tissue Paper Art;Best Building Videos Not Inspired by Donald Trump:Building Mr. Universe Thighs and Building Your Own Rod;Most Pathetic How-to Tape:How to Party;Favorite Video Conversations:How to Talk to the Elk, How to Find and Call the Wild Turkey and Soliloquy to a Salmon and the Atlantic Salmon;Best It's-a-Living Video:Boning and Carving.
Woodstock is 20 years old; Don Kirshner's Rock Concert has faded into late-night oblivion; MTv caters to the Clearasil crowd. But fear not, there is a niche in videoland for rollicking live concert films in the tradition of Monterey Pop and the Stones' Gimme Shelter. Namely:
Lately, we've been seeing a lot of straight-to-video films--movies that never quite made it at (or to) your neighborhood theater. This can mean a good film that fell through the cracks or, more frequently, a dog that deservedly died at the box office. Here's a guide to a few of them:
There are a handful of writers who dare to wrestle larger-than-life themes, pursue extremes and transcend the normal limitations of prose to reach for a personal vision of The Great American Novel. Thomas Pynchon, Norman Mailer and Robert Stone come to mind. With Mile Zero (Knopf), Thomas Sanchez joins them.
Although still best known for his guitarwork in the Police, Andy Summers' career as a composer, a producer and an instrumentalist has taken off with "The Golden Wire," his second solo LP. He was eager to hear the latest from some other multitalented music makers, the Neville Brothers.
See Me, Feel Me Department: Writer Danny Sugarman, who moonlights as the, Doors' keeper of the flame, turned down a request from Trojan condoms to use the Doors' 1969 hit Touch Me in a commercial. Ah, life; ah, art!
Each time college football season rolls around, I begin to ponder whether people can hold their own against wild animals, pets, colors and elements. Bears, Wildcats and Tigers abound, as we know, but there are plenty of people out there, make no mistake. Sooners are people, for instance. So are Cornhuskers, Mountaineers, Trojans, Rebels, Deacons and Tarheels. Even an Aggie is a person.
Are you ready for this, men? In just a few months, the Eighties will be dead and gone. We'll say farewell to the decade that brought us Ronnie and Nancy and Ollie and Madonna. Gosh, what titans they were, too! Isn't it awful to lose them like this?
If Oklahoma Congressman Mike Synar has his way, it will be illegal to hold the Kool Jazz Festival; it will be unlawful to produce a baseball cap with the word Winston on it; it will be illegal to picture a woman in a Virginia Slims ad; it will be unlawful for a bus with a cigarette advertisement displayed on its side to be driven near a school.
Someone other than Playboy has finally taken note of the Reverend Donald Wildmon and the New McCarthyism. Richard Yao, cofounder of Fundamentalists Anonymous, recently wrote a letter to D. Wayne Calloway, chairman of the board of Pepsico, chastising him for submitting to Wildmon-inspired fundamentalist pressure to pull the Madonna Pepsi ad.
United We Stand reads one of the United Way's fund-raising posters. The 100-year-old charitable organization claims that "United Way--supported services benefit individuals and families by making possible the help and expert care needed when critical problems arise." Not always--not when the critical problem is an unwanted pregnancy.
Last March, the midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy published a parody of Playboy called Playmid. The issue contained a centerfold of a female midshipman (please salute), pages of company cuties (suggesting that the uniform still works) and various articles. Rear Admiral Virgil L. Hill, superintendent of the school, declared the parody inappropriate and ordered all 5000 copies destroyed. The members of the brigade, in training to uphold democratic principles, weren't even allowed to see the magazine or decide for themselves. Now they can. Destroy 5000 copies, end up with 18,000,000 readers. That's the lesson in censorship.
The Reverend Donald Wildmon has been getting so much press recently that you would think he is the only person in America who knows what we should read and witness. But there are other names on the right-wing Rolodex, other contenders for the title of all-American ayalollah. Yes, we have certain inalien-able rights--the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness--as long as we lead the life these puppetmasters want us to lead. Cartoonist Keith Robinson provides us with the nine-least-wanted list, a rogues' gallery of repression. Next thing you know, they'll be telling you when to laugh.
He is the ultimate professional. Since 1974, when he broke into the big leagues with the St. Louis Cardinals, Keith Hernandez has been perhaps the most consistently productive player of his era. After 15 seasons in the majors, Hernandez, the diplomatic elder statesman of the New York Mets, has compiled a lifetime batting average of exactly .300. Many baseball purists believe he's the finest first baseman of all time and that he has almost singlehandedly redefined that position. Before his emergence, first base was often the outpost of good hitters who couldn't field a lick. Not for Hernandez. Uncannily adept at digging up throws in the dirt and having almost patented the three-six-three double play--first base to shortstop to first base--the slick-fielding southpaw has won National League Gold Glove awards for the past 11 years.
Super Bowl XXIII, three minutes, ten seconds left in the game, Cincinnati up 16--13, San Francisco with the ball on its own eight-yard line. Are the 49ers worried? Nah! After all, they have the best wide receiver who has ever played the game in Jerry Rice. And they have Mr. Clutch, Joe Montana, the guy who has been bringing teams back since his peewee-league days.
Tony Mandarich is no ordinary man-mountain. He is a mountain range--Rocky thighs, Himalayan shoulders, tectonic plates of muscle so tight his pecs twitch when he clenches his fists. The 6'6", 315-pound Mandarich is volcanically strong. At an audition for N.F.L. scouts, he bench-pressed 225 pounds 39 times. He can dead-lift 780 pounds. In the course of a "psycho workout," he may hoist half a million pounds. And he may be the fastest man his size on earth. Mandarich is a preview of the N.F.L.'s future--when every player will be Schwarzenegger strong and scatback fast. Offensive tackle as Terminator.
Getting High Marks for a collegiate wardrobe seems to have as much to do with where you go to school as it does with what you wear once you get there. This fall, a fashion war between the states is raging on college campuses. But never fear, Joe College, we've done your homework for you. We have the region-by-region fashion skinny from schools across the country to determine just what the hottest looks on campus will be. Ready? Sharpen your number-two pencils. Urbane style has returned to the urban schools of the East. Colors are darker, with splashes of mustard and white. Chilly weather dictates turtleneck sweaters, oversized blazers and black biker-style leather jackets. Retro prints and antique clothing are the rage, with the peace symbol making a comeback. Cowboy boots and thick-soled oxfords prevail as pick hits to hit the bricks. On Midwestern campuses, the tone is a rugged country look. Heavy outerwear is a fact of life at these schools. Anything longer than waist length is the choice of the student body in the flatlands. A big colorful sweater and a pair of indigo jeans and you're ready to face the coldest weather this fall. Last but not least, the backpack is back, this time in leather or leather trim. The Sun Belt campuses on the West Coast maybe having all the fun. Shorts can be worn even on cool days, and the athletic look is the way to go. The length of your shorts is important. They should be walk-short or volley length, worn with an untucked camp shirt. We score points for color, remember; light pastel sun shades--coral, pink and blue--are the best. Speaking of shades, sunglasses are an essential piece of the Western wardrobe. Mirrored Oakleys are the hottest, in bright, interchangeable colors, with clip-ons a close runner-up. Add a faded blue-jean jacket, lace up the high-top sneakers and prepare to go out and score high fashion grades this season. Wear one for the old alma mater.
When a Surfeit of pleasure dulls an already mediocre mind, a man commonly begins to fancy himself a philosopher, always ready to expound his view of the world to a captive audience. Thus it was that Alfred Toomey III said one evening to the Nigerian with whom he was playing five-card draw, "Anything can be bought for money, my friend."
On the Unusual Day she devotes to relaxing, she drives her black-cherry Corvette to the beach at Marina del Rev, California, strips down to a microbikini and shows off the shape that made her famous. "This is not the perfect body," says KC Winkler, contradicting the evidence. "It ought to be, with all the working out I do, but it's not perfect yet." Her nearly perfect shape, golden hair and aqua eyes have dazzled viewers of TV's Dallas, Growing Pains, Three's Company, Riptide and Crazy Like a Fox, but Kc first achieved name recognition as co-hostess of the game show High Rollers. She parlayed that dicey gig into more guest shots and movie credits, including Night Shift, Armed and Dangerous and the upcoming comedy Say Bye-Bye. And she just finished her first season as the paragon of the syndicated workout series Body by Jake--Kc is the tanned beauty who performs fitness guru Jake Steinfeld's exercises while Jake jokes around with the camera. "He's very funny," KC says, "but you know something? I'm one of the few people who have never seen Jake work out. I'm the one looking at the floor while he gives instructions." Her on-camera regimen, backbreaking as it seems to Jake's viewers, is a warm-up compared with the daily grind she performs to keep her condition in the condition it's in. In the mirrored workroom of her palatial Marina del Rev town house, she catches up on her reading while spending hours on her exercise bike. She does lunges, calf work, trunk twists, flutters and crunches, and works out on an evil-looking contraption called a Paramount Fitness Trainer. Pinned to the wall of her workroom is a poster--Kc in a hot-pink bikini that would show a gram of fat if one dared accumulate. "My motivation," she calls the poster. Worried that Playboy's cameras would detect any imperfection, she stepped up her workouts in May. She needn't have fretted. Now that her career is picking up speed, she plans to be selective about the parts she accepts. "You get a little tired of playing bimbo roles--ditzy blondes," she says. "I hope I can help show that there are good-looking women who can also walk and talk and think." Too late. She already has.
The Toughest Man in the United States holds no official titles and has had only one fight in years. He lives with his pregnant wife and four children, three small sons and a baby daughter, in a modest ranch house on a tidy little street of similar homes in Torrance, California. He is 37, tall and skinny at 6'2", 165 pounds, and he does not look very tough. He looks more like Tom Selleck than like Mr. T He is dark and handsome like Selleck, with wavy black hair, a trim mustache and a charming, self-deprecating smile. He spends more time in the kitchen than his wife does and wears a woman's apron. He has an idiosyncratic high-pitched laugh. He picks up a yellowed newspaper with an account of one of his father's fights, adjusts his bifocals and reads. "The most savage, stupid bloody desires of the audience were satisfied,'" he says. Then he laughs. "Heh-heh!"
Karin van Breeschooten & Mirjam van Breeschooten, Miss September, 1989
<p>First things first. Mirjam van Breeschooten was born November 15. 1970, at 7:58 A.M. Karin van Breeschooten was born eight minutes later. When neighbors rushed to tell the father the news, he suspected what was coming: "Let me guess." he said. "Twins." It seems that the house in which the family resided had a history of producing twins as far back as the I500s. The only question we have: Were they as perfect as the Van Breeschootens: Before we had a chance for a face-to-face chat. Playboy Associate Photo Editor Michael Ann Sullivan provided the significant information: Karin has a birthmark near her mouth and a boyfriend in Germany: Mirjam doesn't. Other than that, we were on our own. We met the girls in a hotel room across the street from the Playboy Building. Mirjam was wearing a long jersey, with the sleeves pulled over her hands to use as mitts while she served a hot room-service breakfast. The first impression--adorable!--soared when her double. Karin. walked into the room. We started the interview by asking Mirjam her opinion of America. "We watch St. Elsewhere, Miami Vice, Moonlighting, Hill Street Blues. We only know the gangsters. Last night, we were awakened by police sirens. We thought we were in an episode of Hill Street. Then we took a walk. You have beautiful cars. Big, beautiful cars. So far, everyone we've met has been incredibly nice." Karin jumped in. "Holland is so small. It is a two-hour drive from one side to the other. It's like living in a dollhouse. Everything is under control. There's never a big event. All the news from foreign countries is more exciting than what happens at home. Our newspapers can keep writing about a kidnaping for six months. We learn to talk about very small things for a very long time." They said they couldn't wait to eat at a real Mc-Donald's. They wanted to go shopping for cowboy shirts and boots. They wanted to visit a school like the High School of the Performing Arts featured in Fame. They realize that their curiosity is shaped by entertainment, but then, most Americans, when they visit Holland, want to meet Hans Brinker of Silver Skates renown. "What is this silver skate?" asked Mirjam. Karin: "Our characters are really quite similar but never at the same time. A few years ago, I was the wildest one in the house, and now Mirjam is." Karin was a model and Mirjam a nursing student when the opportunity arose to appear in the Dutch edition of Playboy. Mirjam recalls Karin pushing her in front of a mirror and Mirjam giggling at the idea, saying, "Oh, for sure, that's the girl who will be in Playboy." Mirjam giggled to the point of tears again at the memory, her dimples giving warning of a blush. "Yes," said Karin, verifying the story. "One day she was nagging that I was much more beautiful than she was. I dragged her to a mirror and made her look." They are disco crazy. In Holland, kids start to go to dance clubs just out of diapers. Mirjam snuck out at 13. Six months later, the two went out together. "I was helpless," Karin recalled, "but everyone knew Mirjam from the first time." Have they ever switched dates? Never. They shrugged off the inevitable twin questions. "We never could understand what's so special about it. We can't imagine what it's like not to be twins."</p>
Oil-fire-fighting expert Red Adair stopped off in Las Vegas for a few days of relaxation. While sitting in a lounge one night, he was engaged in conversation by a fellow who'd obviously had a few too many.
Here is Jeff Daniels, Michigan home boy, reluctant Hollywood actor-guy, grinning his sly, smirky grin. Barefoot and just slightly beered up, he paddles and putters his pontoon boat around the small lake on whose shores he makes his home. Daniels lives in the rural southeastern Michigan town where he grew up, a town whose name he prefers no one knew, because it is here that he likes to pretend that he is not a big-deal movie star. To the locals, he is just plain Jeff, tavern squatter, softball zealot. To the contrary, he is the fine laconic leading man whose quirky charms have enlivened such films as "Terms of Endearment," "The Purple Rose of Cairo," "Something Wild," "Sweethearts Dance" and "Checking Out." Due next is "Love Hurts," a tale of divorce and hope. Contributing Editor Bill Zehme spent one long afternoon on the pontoon and reminisces thusly: "We circled the lake roughly eight thousand times and drank many cold ones. Once, we went ashore to see the large house Jeff was building for his two small sons and wife, Kathleen. We watched workmen work. I asked him if he'd seen any signs of Elvis, who is rumored to be residing in the state. Daniels blanched and said that Elvis had recently stopped by, scrounging for money. 'He looked pale,' he reported, 'very pale. I told him to get lost.'"
There's Nothing Like the promise of solo flight to get you watching natural wind socks: treetops, tall grass, steam plumes, flags, birds. Especially the birds if it's a paraglider you'll be strapped to--a piece of cloth without frame or motor that you'll pilot through whatever gust and thermal earth and sun happen to cook up while you hang between them, a wind sock yourself.
Ok. Lets Get it Over with: Ladies and gentlemen, here they are... Morganna. Yes, they are real. That's right, John Candelaria, "The Candy Man," they're all her. All, indescribably delicious, her own Mounds. No, she doesn't have to sawtwin cavernous holes in the mattress to sleep at night. Yes, she eats gobs of junk food and then works it off on the rowing machine. No, she has never had her rib cage removed. Maybe they are the advertised, incredible 60 inches--that's six-oh, my goodness--all the way around. Most definitely, if not the eighth Wonder of the World, they have to be way, way out there with anything else you might nominate.
Love and Sex can be magically simple or maddeningly complex. We are always encouraged to talk things over with our partners. Sometimes, however, we ask the wrong questions of them and of ourselves. Gregory Stock, whose best-selling "The Book of Questions" helped sharpen our skills at asking just the right questions, has turned his attention to imponderables that are close to our hearts. This is not a quiz; there are no right answers. Your answers may tell you something new about yourself. And that will give you something new to share.
Despite the Fact that Reno, Nevada, ranks internationally as a mecca for gamblers, matrimony remains its most popular spectator sport. First it was quickie divorces for out-of-towners; now that divorce laws in other states have caught up to Nevada's liberal standard, the city of 126,000 has turned the tables and issues about 35,000 marriage licenses every year--95 percent of them to out-of-staters. A lot of people just like to get married in this capital of glitz. Like the mayor. He liked it so much, he did it three times--twice to the same lady. Indeed, nothing has excited Reno's matrimonial fever more than the stormy union of its twice-married, twice-divorced first couple, Mayor Pete Sferrazza and--as the local newspapers put it--his leggy blonde wife, Leslie, the sizzling subject of the photographs on the next few pages. At the time of Leslie and Pete's first marriage in 1986, each had been married once before. Like other good Reno tales--why does The Misfits come to mind?--theirs starts in divorce court. Leslie's friend Mayor Sferrazza, a working attorney whose mayoral job is only a part-time one, was handling her case against a scion of the Cord auto family. One thing led to another, and as soon as Leslie was single again, she married Pete. All Reno was agog: Its mayor, 41, had teamed up with a first lady who, at 22, was close to half his age. "Mayor Pete Sferrazza and his new bride will honeymoon at Disneyland," teased one media gossip. The newlyweds had actually gone off to Mexico, which was deemed less than enchanting copy. News stories perked up even more after the publication of wedding pictures revealed that the bride wore braces. Love--who can explain it? As first lady, Leslie inherited an exhausting tour of duties: nonstop volunteering for community work, journeying around the country with Pete for his work on the advisory board for the U.S. Conference of Mayors and campaigning all over the state--Pete was running for Congress. "It meant traveling through cow towns for days," she says with a groan. "Once, we had seven campaign dinners in one night. One was country-and-western, the next was ultraformal, and so forth. I had to change my clothes in the car and in closets. It was not exactly the giddy, glamorous life one may imagine. You have to knock on doors from nine in the morning until eight at night. And you travel everywhere." There was the night, for example, that the campaign went to Lovelock during Frontier Days and every hotel was full. The Sferrazzas holed up in a dirt-floored shack, with garbage bags for a mattress. Not surprisingly, the Sferrazzas' marriage eventually hit rough ground. In early 1988, to the delight of Reno's headline writers, it ended--for a while at least--in divorce court. But some habits are hard to break. Within a few months, Leslie married Dr. William Ford, a Reno surgeon. The marriage, Leslie's third, lasted 45 days. That's when she divorced Dr. Ford and remarried Pete--all within six hours. Got all that? Good. There's more. Six months later, the first couple was back in court. The mayor filed for divorce and Leslie discovered another liability of being married to a politician--not one Reno attorney would take her case. So she represented herself--and won what she considers a satisfactory settlement. While a divorce decree has been handed down on grounds of incompatibility, the couple has refrained from having it filed. At technically three divorces and counting, Leslie now has some decisions to make, but she admits to having no regrets. "I have absolutely nothing to hide," she says boldly. Hence, our lovely pictorial. "I am honored to be doing Playboy. This could be very good for our city," says Leslie, adding one last thought: "In the future, I hope the voters of Reno are smart enough to vote on Peter's political, not his personal, life. He's been a fine politician." Would she vote for him? "Yes." Somehow, we suspect this isn't the end of the story.
What's the most mundane accessory in the male wardrobe? Probably the key chain. All too often, it's just a ring that has as much personality as a doorknob. So since you have to carry one, why not flaunt it and go for some style? A good key chain should feel right without overpowering your person. (Is that a key chain in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?) It can reflect your hobbies or sport the marque of your favorite wheels or even designer initials. And if you really want to make an impression that will open doors, have your spare home key cut from a gold blank, such as the Tiffany one pictured here. Whoever you give one to will be sure not to lose it.
"The Madison Heights Syndrome"--Two Detroiters Survive a Hostage Crisis at a 7-Eleven. The Question is, can they make it through the ensuing media madness unscathed?--Fiction by Our College Contest Winner, A. M. Wellman