BowlesSR.dlos@PARC-MAXC.ARPA (06/02/83)
about art.
And it's also because I get 200 cold cash American.
I drove all the way over again, even though the Toronado's
just about played out and I was on the verge of going down to
Goss on Ross, Tradin' Hoss - Se Habla Espanol, and putting in my
order for a new GTO, but I figured, what the hey, why blow the
whole 200 before I leave? I might get thirsty over there.
So I planted this fake story in the Herald, to make Wanda
Bodine think I was in Salt Lake City, and tooled down I-45 to the
Harbor Lights Bar in Houston and hung around there for a long
time hoping I could find some frog sailors that would help me get
my wheels across the Pacific Ocean.
No way, Jose. Had to pay a Turkish slopehead 18 bucks to
get the thing in one of these crates they haul up on the
container ships. Rolled that sucker in there, took a bunch of
Arabs over to the mall so they could buy some Pia Zadora albums,
and they finally said it was OK, only they weren't going to
Marseilles this year, they were going to Barcelona, and I said,
OK by me. On the way over, one of the Turks said he remembered
Wanda. Got fairly steamed about it, too.
Anyhow, I was gonna make this one short and sweet--headed
straight for the Olympia, this place where they show the drive-in
stuff even though they don't have drive-ins in France. Why they
bring it over here when we've got perfectly good drive-ins in
Texas, I have no idea. Probably something to do with the king of
France, I don't know. But anyhow, it's where I discovered
"Basket Case" last year, so it can't be all wrong, right?
So far, I've only found one I like. Called "Wavelength."
About these bald-headed space babies that come to Earth and get
put in sterilized barrels in a secret military laboratory
underneath Hollywood. But the space babies start yelling through
their brainwaves and they hook up with this blonde fox named
Cherie Currie who's hanging around with Robert Carradine at his
house in the Hollywood Hills. They go and get Keenan Wynn, who's
either the last mining prospector in the Hollywood Hills or the
only one Hollywood ever had, I'm not sure which. Keenan lives up
there in a tent, telling stories around the campfire, and he
helps Carradine and the fox to find how to get down into the
military base. Of course, they're all dumb as a box of rocks, so
they go down there and get bombarded by bald-headed space baby
brainwaves and then get arrested by the Army.
Meanwhile, the bald-headed space babies are killing
everybody in sight. So the general decided the only way to save
the world is to bury everybody down there, even his own men.
Only, Carradine and the fox break open the space-baby incubators,
and the space babies pour out of there and start knocking down
doors until everybody gets out. They decide to get in Keenan
Wynn's horse truck and go out to the Mojave Desert for a while
with two Indians.
But once they get out there, the whole U.S. Air Force takes
off from Edwards and it looks like it's gonna be bombola time,
but then the bald-headed space babies get nekkid and go out in
the desert and talk to another planet...
Well, you can see we're talking art film. Great space baby
effects. Gonna rank pretty high on the best of '83 list when it
has its Texas outdoor premiere. No "Basket Case" though.
I got to find one quick so I can get out of this place
before Wanda Bodine figures out what's going on.
Hang in there.
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JOE BOB'S MAILBAG
Joe Bob:
Thought I'd better pass this along in the interest of D.I.
current events!
My friend, Jimbo, was traveling in Michigan last week when
he and his host decided to take in a special showing of "The
Sword & The Socerer" at the local OD screen. With the '74 Chev
fully stocked with cold ones, they failed to care that 16 inches
of snow had fallen on them by half-time, and that the only other
vehicle left on the lot was a four-wheeler with an advanced case
of window fog. At the show's end the Jeep split through bumper-
deep white stuff, leaving Jimbo and companion stranded, where-
upon they mushed down to the concession stand in search of
civilization and a john.
Turns out the only other two humans around were the
projectionist (22-year-old fox -- DI owner's daughter) and the
snack bar cashier (31-year-old divorcee with table-grade
garbonzas!). Without too much persuasion they combined
resources--beer, snacks, body heat, etc., and spent the rest of
that night plus the following two "watching the flick," as
Western Michigan dug out from the storm.
I figured Jimbo deserves an honorable mention in the DI Hall
of Fame for:
1. Most consecutive viewings of "S & S", and
2. Opportunistic use of a weather disaster.
Only thing workin' against him though is that he is not from
Texas, but Tennessee. (But that's a suburb of Texarkana, ain't
it?)
C.E. Newcomb
Cedar Hill (no wimp town)
Dear C.E.:
I need sworn statements from witnesses. This sounds like
the PG version of a letter to Penthouse.
*
Dear Joe Bob:
As an East Texas boy now in the movie business in New York,
I'm just real tickled to let you know about one of our new
pictures. One of our recent ones was "Texas Chainsaw Massacre,"
but this new one, "The Evil Dead," is beyond what you have ever
seen.
The wimps at the MPAA said we'd have to change everything
after the second reel to get an "R" so of course we didn't.
I guaran-dam-tee you that this picture will totally blow you
away. It's beyond "Night of the Living Dead," "Dawn of the
Dead" and "Zombie." It will be a cult classic forever. I'm
counting on you to help us in Dallas.
Incidentally, you might want to catch our "Xtro," about a
mean E.T., which should be there soon. We also do things like
"Pink Flamingos" and "Polyester."
I'm enclosing material. Let's be in touch and help make the
world safe for real men.
Best Regards,
R. Michael Harpster
Vice President
New Line Cinema
New York, N.Y.
Dear R.:
The all-seeing eye of Joe Bob Briggs knows about "The Evil
Dead" already.
I like the idea--zombies that can be killed only by TOTAL
DISMEMBERMENT. That means arms roll, legs roll and, of course,
heads do roll.
*
Dear J.B. (if I may be so familiar),
This letter is not to question, in any way, your authority
on the subject of breasts. I doubt that anyone, anywhere, has
more hands-on experience, if you know what I mean, and I'm sure
you do.
I do question, you use of the word "garbonzas." It reminds
me of the Spanish word for chickpeas, "garbanzos." Now, how big
is a chickpea? I mean, we're talking *small.* I happen to like
the word "gazongas," because it somehow reminds me of
"humongous," and I guess I prefer to think of the subject that
way. No big deal, really, because a rose by any other name,
etc., etc., right?
I send your column every week to my brother in Long Beach in
hope that, by reading it, he may learn something about Life and
Culture, but I'm afraid that, in his ongoing work to improve the
quality of his medical practice, his spare time is spent with
Business Week, Inc., Fortune, Medical Economics and The Wall
Street Journal.
Great idea about the Breast Awareness Telethon. If you need
volunteers, you can count on
Yours truly,
Bill Meals
Richardson
Dear Bill:
It took me six weeks to get the high sheriffs at the Times
Herald to let me say "garbonzas" in the paper. I told them and
I'll tell you: it's the scientific term for female appendages.
I'm sure your brother would agree with me.
*
All letters to Joe Bob should be sent to:
Joe Bob Briggs
Movie Critic of Rockwall, Texas
Living Dept.
Dallas Times Herald
1101 Pacific
Dallas, Texas 75202
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Reprinted without permission from the Dallas Times Herald May 20,
1983
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