Film Reviews

Joe Bob Briggs

How do you spot the people in the office who are indulging in Happy-Hour Nookie?

Of course, we all know the answer to that one:
The ones who never speak to each other in the office.
The reason you can't talk in the office if you're in the middle of little Extracurricular Aardvarkus action is that they have all these rules now. You can get your hiney fired for that.

Somewhere along about 1984 somebody decided--and I'll just bet you it was a lady with an Anne Murray hairdo wearing padded shoulders--somebody decided that it should be an actual crime to fall in lust with somebody at the office.

Supposedly it "hurts morale." It's "unprofessional." It distracts the attention of "your fellow co-workers."

In other words, it annoys the heck out of everybody who's not having a hot office romance.

Some guy named Otis has been sittin' next to Associate Sales Rep Cindy Stimson for four years, and he never even looks twice at her because she's always wearing a gray pants suit and Earth Shoes.

Then Otis finds out she's having an affair with Lethal Larry Madison in the mail room, and he can't sleep at night.

He starts having these wild fantasies about what's underneath that gray pants suit and what happens when Lethal Larry rips it off.

So what does Otis do?
He tells his supervisor that Cindy Stimson is being "unprofessional." If she would just stop giving off those massive sex vibes, Otis could relax and do his job.

But the main reason these no-nookie-at-the-office rules never work is that as soon as you start thinking, "Well, I guess I could never date her, because I work with her," something goes off in the Rear Sex Lobe of the cranial cavity, telling you over and over:


So you Sneak Around.
You get her.
And 10 months from now you wake up one day, suspended from your job, noticing that she has a giant scab on her elbow.

The Rear Sex Lobe has shut down entirely.
And it's all because Miss Padded Shoulders made a Rule.
Personnel People, listen up:
Just keep your mouths shut, OK?
There's gonna be nookie in the office.
It's gonna bother Otis.
Live with it.
We'll all live happier lives.
In the '90s, you have to explain these things to people.

And speaking of rules, there are three principles of drive-in moviemaking that are sacred:

1. Never let a model do a serious dramatic role.
2. Never let a Playboy Playmate do any role.
3. Never let a pro wrestler within five miles of the set.
And, as with all rules, there are exceptions:
1. Elizabeth Gracen is a great actress.
2. Kathy Shower is a great actress.
3. Most amazing of all, Roddy Piper always delivers the goods.

He doesn't get the huge movie deals like Hulk Hogan, but then he doesn't have Hulk's sensitive emotional side.

Roddy's latest is called Jungleground, and it's the old story of a cop who journeys into a "no man's land" that looks like a combination of Road Warrior, the South Bronx, and a Greyhound bus terminal in East St. Louis.

He goes in there to nail some drug dealers, but he's captured by some roller-blading punk religious leaders with automatic weapons who decide to use him as a human guinea pig in the run-real-fast-and-we-might-not-kill-you game.

Roddy spends about an hour running through what looks like the ruins of Dresden with a wisecracking hooker while his girlfriend is being terrorized by killer twins back at the groovy loft apartment where she welds giant sculptures in the shape of circus animals and homeless people.

Of course, we know where this leads, right?
Gunfire on the roof. Kung fu. Skylight drop.
And I don't wanna give it away, but...why does Roddy always drive the only vehicle that can flip over three times and not burst into flame?

Thirty-eight dead bodies. Exploding building. Exploding van.
Four gun-battles. Two flaming character-actors. The old
blow-dryer-in-the-bathtub trick.
Head-butting. Duct-tape nose torture. Groin-crunching.
Three motor-vehicle chases, with three crash-and-burns and one fireball.
Five kung-fu scenes. Punji-stick fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for...

*Jr. Bourne, as the Viking-loving punk Nazi who says, "I want you to bring me back his ring finger, please."

*Peter Williams, as the sensitive young gang leader who wants to blow all the drug dealers away, for saying, "He's done--let him live a straw life."

*Torri Higginson, as the artistic girlfriend who turns into a great screamer.

*Rachel Wilson, as the cute little hooker who runs for a half hour without getting dirt on her frilly outfit or losing her heels.

*And Rowdy Roddy, as the target.
Two and a half stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.

To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get his world-famous newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221. Joe Bob's fax number at his trailer house is always open: 214-985-7448. Joe Bob even hangs out on the Internet: [email protected].

Copyright 1995 for Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by NYT Special Features/Syndication Sales


KEEP THE DALLAS OBSERVER FREE... Since we started the Dallas Observer, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Dallas, and we'd like to keep it that way. With local media under siege, it's more important than ever for us to rally support behind funding our local journalism. You can help by participating in our "I Support" program, allowing us to keep offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food and culture with no paywalls.
Joe Bob Briggs