Film Reviews

Joe Bob Briggs

Have you noticed how there's been a backlash against the use of stunt breasts?
Guys are deciding that they're not that crazy about artificial breastskis anymore.

There are only so many Silicone Sacs you can look at before you go: "You know what? I knew this girl who had breasts just like that."

And it's even worse in the movies. There's been a run on Silly Putty tetherballs, to the point where some of these gals have Reverse Waterwings that stick out so wide if you see 'em from behind you think they've got a fire extinguisher strapped to their chest.

And so now you have actresses giving interviews where they say, "And they're natural, too!" Like we're gonna argue. What are you supposed to do, bring out a plastic surgeon to feel around in there?

Even women who obviously have about 30 gallons of silicone sloshing around in there will insist, "I was born with these."

Nobody wants to give the poor doctor any credit for his artistic handiwork. But watch that left one start to droop a little bit, and then it's Lawsuit City. "You took away my self-respect as a woman! Three million dollars, please!"

Anyhow, I know you gals don't believe this--especially you gals who have already had a surgeon whack on you and pour stuff into your chest--but always remember one thing:

It's not the size of the breast that matters.
It's what that breast looks like when we're drunk.
I'm surprised I have to explain these things.

What got me thinking about this was Lap Dancing, the sensitive story of a young girl from Kansas who can't make it as an actress in Hollywood, so she turns to topless dancing to perfect her craft.

Fortunately, she has two enormous talents, and in the big Flashdance-ripoff finale, she lap-dances her way into a speaking part.

Lorissa McComas is the sweet young thing who walks down Hollywood Boulevard in high heels and a miniskirt, saying her good mornings to the friendly neighborhood vendors, without ever getting mistaken for a hooker.

Tane McClure (that's Taw-nay, if you're interested) is the hard-bitten roomie who tells Lorissa it's time to dump her jerk boyfriend and start earning some real money down at the topless bar.

Thirty-seven nude dance sequences later, they all live happily ever after.
This is the movie that Showgirls was trying to be. But Showgirls cost about 40 million bucks, and this move cost about...oh...40 bucks. My kinda flick.

No dead bodies. One hundred seventeen breasts. Multiple aardvarking.
Lap dancing. Cage dancing. Fire dancing.
Convenience-store dancing. Blindfold aardvarking. Blind-man aardvarking. Lesbo fu.

Drive-In Academy Award nominations for ...
* Tane McClure, as the worldly-wise stripper who says, "If I could act I wouldn't be stripping."

* Kim Dawson, as the dancer who gets beaten up by her boyfriend all the time, for saying, "I need everyone to want me."

* C.T. Miller, as the blind topless-bar patron and retired acting teacher who can smell someone on the street and tell who it is.

* And Lorissa McComas, as the hot little number in white vinyl who says, "I need more than just missionary-with-the-lights-off!" and brings down the house with her "Set Me Free" production number.

Three stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
Joe Bob's Find That Flick
This week's wit-whirler comes from...David Walker of Chicago:
"A few years ago, there was a supposed thriller about a serial killer.

"The killer was a Vietnam vet who went crazy and started killing prostitutes to gain bulletproof power--which he evidently had, judging by how many bullets he absorbed from the police.

"Anyway, the lead detective was an alcoholic, as always. And of course his girlfriend was a potential victim.

"A female detective was killed by the maniac near the end of the film. What's the name of that movie?"

A video will be awarded to the correct answer. (The winner chooses from a list of about a thousand titles.) In the event of a tie, a drawing will be held. Send "Find That Flick" questions and solutions to Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221. You can also fax them to (213) 462-5982, or e-mail them to Joe Bob on the Internet: [email protected] (E-mail entries must include a postal mailing address.)

We have a winner!
Jim Jumper of Camp Hill, Pennsylvania wrote: "Twenty-plus years ago I saw a sci-fi film where these scientists were wandering around a deserted space station.

"They were in some kind of library with walls of black boxes, each of which had a white knob in the center.

"They tried to open them, but could only open a few. Then they used earphones to listen to the information inside.

"Knowing an alien attack was pending, they assimilated the information from the boxes and learned how to launch the station's missiles.

"The missiles were launched through some cheesy-looking tubes and they blew up the alien ships, eventually diverting the invaders.

"I don't know why I remember this film more than the other stuff I watched as a kid, but somehow it is indelibly etched in my brain.

"I would love to know the title to aid me in my quest to see this flick again."

We had one correct answer. The winner is...Mark Bartel of Harvest, Alabama:
"The movie is The Terrornauts, a lovely little piece of beef tripe from Britain."

1996 Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by NYT Special Features)
To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221 or fax him at (213) 462-5982. Joe Bob even hangs out on the Internet: [email protected].