Monstervision's Joe Bob Briggs Looks At
"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 3/12/93
Billy Dee Williams can command a space-ship in deep outer space, but he turns into jelly when he sees Tracy Scoggins in a mini-skirt, in "Alien Intruder"
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
This movie is rated (R) for physical violence, gun violence, some gore, profanity, female nudity, sexual content, and sexual references. And there are some in the review, too.
Just this past year we've had a huge new political movement get started. I call it the Nekkid-Women-Haters.
It's people who are sick and tired of WOMEN GETTING NEKKID.
They're tired of women getting nekkid in the movies. They're tired of women getting nekkid in topless bars--WHOOPS!, I mean "gentlemen's clubs." They're tired of women getting nekkid in magazines, and wet T-shirt contests, and on late-night cable. They're sick of seeing way too much of Sharon Stone. They're people who think this Getting Nekkid Thing has gone way too far, and that these women should put their clothes back on, or at least not take em off QUITE SO OFTEN.
(By the way, I'm not a member of this movement. I thought I should point that out.)
And the places where the Nekkid-Women-Haters get the maddest, and the craziest, are the little suburban communities that have new topless bars opening all over the place. There's nothing more terrifying than an army of post-menopausal garden-club members in fur hats converging on a topless bar like rabid mountain lions circling a yak. These women have started frothing at the mouth like the anti-abortion Fetus Fans. They like to stand out in front of the topless club and yell at people as they go in--stuff like, "Hey, sleazeball, how's your WIFE?"
Lemme explain something here.
For umpteen jillion years, these places--topless bars, or "gentlemen's clubs," or "nude cabarets," or "burlesque joints"--have been located in the crummiest part of town, next to the railroad yard and the auto-parts warehouse and beer-bars with all the glass broken out of the neon sign. And all these Nekkid-Women-Hating Crusaders have ASSUMED this is because they were frequented by your winos, your drug dealers, and your low-rent greaseball street thugs.
No way, Jose Feliciano.
These places ALWAYS made their money off of three-piece-suiters. Guys who drove in from the suburbs in Isuzus. They're white, they're straight, they have money, and they're MARRIED.
Every hooker knows this.
Every topless-bar owner knows this.
So all that's happened, in the last couple years, is that these places have relocated to WHERE THEIR CUSTOMERS ARE. You ever notice how there are no topless bars in the South Bronx, or Little Mexico, or the white-trash part of East Dallas? You ever notice how, the more conservative and upper-middle-class the neighborhood, the more topless bars you have?
That's why it doesn't make sense when the City Councils say they're gonna pass anti-topless-bar laws that run these places out of town for not measuring up to "community standards."
These suburban towns are the only places where there's a DEMAND for the service--the only places where they SATISFY the "community standards."
It's not the bar owner's fault.
It's not the nekkid woman's fault.
It's not the three-piece-suiter's fault. After all, he has these URGES.
It's called "human nature."
I'm surprised I have to explain this to you ladies.
Speaking of otherwise intelligent men making idiots of themselves over cleavage, lipstick and spiked high heels, Tracy Scoggins is back in "Alien Intruder," which is a goofy combination of "The Dirty Dozen," "Fatal Attraction" and Total Recall. Four convicts sail into outer-space with Commander Billy Dee Williams on a mission to bring back a lost spaceship--in return for a "get-out-of-jail-free" card and the chance to use the "Virtual Reality" weekend-porno machine all they want to. (It's one of those things where you go to sleep in a pod that looks like a tanning machine, and while you're dreaming you get to star in the fantasy movie of your choice.)
Unfortunately, it's all a plot by an alien disguised as Tracy Scoggins in a red mini-dress and a WHOLE lot of fingernail polish, vamping around the spaceship, saying things like "Violence makes me soooo horny," until all the guys are blowing one another away. Except for Maxwell Caulfield, who knows a pair of fishnet panty-hose when he sees em.
In other words, like a Mexican neighborhood with only ONE girl in it.
Not a pretty sight.
Twenty-five dead bodies.
Exploding gas station.
Fried Billy Dee Williams.
Gratuitous blues singing.
Gratuitous biker gang.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Billy Dee Williams, as the spaceship commander obsessed with the dark woman on his computer screen, for saying stuff like "I'm looking for a few good men" and "You're on a need-to-know basis, Mancuso!"; Richard Cody, as the computer criminal who gets slugged in the mouth and says "You need to try some decaf, Peter"; Gary Roberts, as the demolitions expert from Houston, for saying "Are we slipping into some black hole of hairless space?"; and Tracy Scoggins, as the man-eating alien, for saying "Enjoy your meat" and "Gary Cooper you're not" and "Tell me you don't like nasty."
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Republican Alert! The landmark Bolero Drive-In in Kerrville, Tex., which went dark two years ago, no longer has any chance to breathe again, because owner Paul Sherman went out there one day with his pick-up, blow-torched through the steel anchors, and pulled down the screen with a rope. Nobody knows exactly why Paul did it either. The Bolero opened in 1947 and was famous as the site of a famous 1979 murder. The drive-in's ticket-taker, Betty Stotts, was attacked by Randy Woolls of Medina, who struck her in the head, cut her with a knife, set the booth on fire--and then drove on in to WATCH THE MOVIE! He was arrested, tried, found guilty, and executed. Fred Bonavita, State Editor of the San Antonio Express-News, reminds us that, without eternal vigilance, it could happen here.
To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and Joe Bob's world-famous "We Are the Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
Dear Joe Bob:
What I cannot understand is this. After a person dies and becomes a ghost, why would he hang around some gloomy castle or monastery when he could hang around the woman's dressing room at the local swimming pool?
Is it because the only people they make good movies about are weirdos, or what?
John B. Sherrill
Obviously you haven't seen the movie "School Spirit," where ALL the ghost wants to do is hang around the girls locker room.
Dear Mr. Briggs,
I just wanted you to know that not all women think you are a creep! I wish all the bleeding heart lesbo feminists would get off your back and fling some dung into the eyes of the Republican men who keep us working for minimum wage! Your humor and sarcasm is refreshing, and I have yet to read a column that has insulted my intelligence. I certainly can't say that about an editorial page from any major publication! So keep up the good work! Tell all those bitchy broads to lighten up and have a sense of humor! Maybe then they would realize that men and women always have been different and always will be. And that's the way it SHOULD be! Thanks for brightening up my Sundays!
Twain Harte, Calif.
Men and women are different?
So THAT'S what's wrong!
Dear Joe Bob,
Having only an ex-girlfriend, I decided to visit Thailand. I went with a group run by Gunter Frentz, a guy who takes no shame in turning folks on to the very earthly delights that country offers. He bills his trip as the "Love Tour of Bangkok!"
Some tour members were looking for one special woman. Others were looking to become one with as many women as possible. The legal age in Thailand is 16, and first I thought, "Yeah!" However, with so many beautiful women looking for foreign husbands and boyfriends I met a wonderful lady very quickly and spent the rest of the time with her. The famous Bangkok nightlife scene is as wild as as you may have heard about, but it is honest and straightforward, for the most part lacking that patina of sleaze which so characterizes its U.S. counterpart. I'd recommend the tour to anyone, though they must take care in this "viral decade."
Cleveland Heights, O.
We had tours like that in the service, too. They were called "three-day leave."
They were cheaper then.
Dear Joe Bob,
I must commend you for your excellent answer to the letter of Steven Reeder. Your reply was one of the most succinct summations of the difference between AIDS and all the other diseases mentioned. So often the only message we hear is that AIDS is the only communicable disease on the list (which is true). But the things you cited are even more noteworthy, I believe.
While I have you on the line, I should also tell you that I made many copies of your excellent column entitled "The Reason for AIDS" which was published here several months ago. Anyway, I mailed it out to everyone I know. I hope you don't mind.
P.S. I read all your columns (reviews) with great relish.
I wish they would have a scientific breakthrough some day and discover that the number one way you get AIDS is by being judgmental.
Watch that research money pour in.
Dear Joe Bob,
Enjoyed your article about the duck pond, but I suspect that guy was pulling your leg slightly. I was raised in the carnival business, and wasted a few summers of my childhood running the duck pond. We always did it straight, relying on the law of averages (naturally there are very few winning numbers), and we carried around the same big prizes for several seasons.
The beauty of the duck pond is that for some unknown reason, people seem to THINK it's fixed (or, in our terms, "gaffed," or more frequently, "G'd." I've never heard anyone say "flatted," though "flat store" is the name for a game you can't win). On a number of occasions, I've seen fairground officials and/or the police closely examining the duck pond, while totally ignoring the "pin store" and the "razzle"--the two most notoriously and crooked of carnival games.
In fact, your friend's alleged "expose" of the duck pond/fish pond is almost EXACTLY a description of how the latter two games work. In the pin store, the mark throws small hoops (often the liners of Mason jar lids) over flat clothespins, each with numbers on them. If the numbers add up to a certain total, you win, because the agent puts his thumb over numbers, holds the pin upside down, etc. The razzle usually involves rolling balls into holes with numbers on them, or, more rarely, the rolling of dice with numbers on them, also adding up to a certain total to win. It's a little too complicated to explain here, but let me say that these games are NOT for kiddies. Adults get so greedy on this, I have seen them drop 50, 75, even over 100 dollars on these games (and this was over 20 years ago, when money was worth more), and then THANK the agent because he gave them a stuffed toy for their trouble. Needless to say, Joe Bob, if you're ever walking down the midway, and somebody shouts after you, "Hey buddy, did you get your free ticket?", just keep walking.
See if your favorite person, TV series or
It's nice to know that SOMEBODY ran an honest duck pond in this world. I didn't wanna have to tell Little Timmy.
© 1993 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved. For more of Joe Bob's pre-TNT reviews in Grapevine, Texas, go to his Drive-In Reviews Archive over yonder at Joe Bob Briggs.com
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Gonades have their use but they are no substitute for brains. - Paul Harvey