IVIovies
Too much squir
11
In’ for the screen
By MARCY BASILE
Movie Reviewer
There she was — writhing
on the floor. Her open-toed
high heels, reminiscent of past
decades, were candy-apple red.
Why she neglected to remove
her shoes is beyond me. Who
am I to question the woman’s
motives....?
Those were my first
thoughts when the movie be
gan. (I had lots of other
thoughts before the movie be
gan. Too bad none of the
thoughts had to do with the
company I was with but that’s
another story.) Later, I began
to question the sanity of my ed
itors — sending a poor, de
fenseless, slightly inebriated
writer to a video shop to ac
quire pornographic material to
review. Needless to say, I
brought backups (actually, just
one, but he was loud enough
for four).
Someone neglected to tell me
porn movies are really gross. I
knew they were raunchy and
risque — but gross? I mean,
how could something that’s
supposed to come naturally be
gross? They have majors deal
ing with the subject!
No matter what anyone says,
historical romances (i.e. trash
novels) have nothing on these
things. Words cannot express
the shockwaves that swept over
me when the VCR kicked in
and the squirming began.
What do people see in such
“art?” I mean besides the
grinding satisfaction of watch
ing other humans breed. They
weren’t even breeding; plat
form heels do not a breeder
make. Have you ever seen a Do
berman wearing open-toed,
candy-apple red slingback
platforms? I think not.
The woman in the video
shop thought we were crazy.
Never before had anyone ques
tioned the plot, let alone the
ory, behind porn. What really
made her night though was
when I drunkenly admitted
that I was viewing these films
as part of my job — neglecting
to add that I reviewed movies,
NOT sold my flesh. My friend
was no help; he had the gig
gles.
Next day.
The movies sit inside my car
waiting to be played with, I
mean viewed. None of my
friends with VCRs are willing
to sit through two hours of bla
tant, uncensored, cable-version
sex without benefit of a back
seat. (Drive-in porn must be
hideous. Humans — larger
than life and better than ever.)
Forced to renting not only
the movies but the VCR, too, I
sat at home — finger poised
over the fast-forward button.
The stove heated up my lunch
while Vivian, of high-heel
fame, heated up the dance cho
reographer. I worried about
burned spaghetti while Vivian
worried about not being a “D”
cup.
Music
People who make a point of
paving money (I only paid be
cause they made me) to see
these celluloid stimulants must
have the social life of earth
worms. Worms don’t need
each other to reproduce — or
backseats for that matter.
Now, I'm not admitting to
anything but I am not naive. I
went to public school. I know.
Playgirl, the magazine in the
plain brown cover, is thrust
into my mailbox once a month.
My friends are as sex starved as
the rest. But never in all the
joking and hinting and oogling
has the true meaning of
obscene become so apparent to
me as it did this weekend.
I now understand why Bible-
toters and parents want por
nography banned. I also under
stand why legislatures have
problems with the subject.
Who is to say what is the epit
ome of raunchy? I thought Vi
vian’s display was the epitome
of the epitome of raunchy.
Then again, there are some
who might think my burned
spaghetti pretty much scored a
10 on the raunchy scale. (Of
course those people have no
taste, but that’s another sub
ject, too.)
But what would happen to
the mild porn? Playboy, Play-
girl and even Hugh-baby
would be finished. Kaputt. Fi
nis. Such a waste that would
be. Not only would America,
and everyone else, miss out on
some well-written articles, but
I would have to go to other
sources for wall decorations.
Enough didacticism.
Vivian taught me something
about myself: deep down, I’m
the good girl Mom brought me
up to be. Vivian chose to do
those things on camera and
I’m sure she was too well paid.
But I’ll keep my giggly friends
and crude jokes. They suit me
much better than open-toed
red high-heeled platform shoes
ever could. \
Breakdancing with death
By WALTER SMITH
Music Reviewer
If you have any ankle, knee, back or
other physical problems, you should
have a medical checkup before at
tempting the dances described in these
materials. Parental supervision is ad
vised for children who attempt these
dances.
While this unsettling message
might be' appropriate for a record
like “The Jane Fonda Workout for the
Abnormally Masochistic” or something
to that effect, never would one expect it
to appear on the cover of a K-tel album.
K-tel may be the epitome of consumer
exploitation, but I never thought it
would release an album that potentially
could maim a future record buyer. But
alas, enter “Breakdance.”
For a mere pittance ($8.26, including
tax), you too can own this LP, as well
as the bonus instructional poster and
the exclusive breakdance rap sheet.
These extras aren’t cheapies either;
the poster is chock-full of step-by-
step photos of members of the New
York City Breakers going through the
convulsions and contortions known
as breakin’.
But if terms like “top-rocking”
and “max out” aren’t at home in
your lingo, then the glossary onthe
poster will be a godsend. I’m certain
Mr. Webster never guessed that “dog
someday would be used as a verb
meaning “to overuse, abuse, or spoil
through excess.” For example: “Yo,
man, he dogged his sneakers. They
were all critical looking.”. But since
breakers rely on their skills as dance-
masters, instead of toastmasters, their
mastery of the Queen’s English isn’t a
must.
As if all this isn’t enough, you also re
ceive an insightful
glimpse of the history
and philosophy of
breakdancing as told by
Michael Holman, who’s billed as
America’s leading choregrapher and in
terpreter of breakdancing. Holman
manages to trace the roots of breaking
to the “Cotton Club” era of tap dancing.
He also declares New York City to be the
international “school” for breakdanc
ing. With such authoritative personali
ties as these, this LP still would be a
steal at twice the price.
Good music is a must for any serious
breaker. So K-tel has gathered songs
from the best of the inner-city rhythm
teams and arranged them into a two-
part “self-improvement-through-body-
damage” record. Side one contains the
likes of Grandmaster Flash and the Fu
rious Five, Freez, Twilight 22 and the
Dazz Band. Side two, however, serves
no purpose other than something by
which to “pop and lock.” Whether or
not Alex and The City Crew are close, personal
friends of a string-puller is immaterial; what
counts is that seven songs worth of album time
is taken up by veiy cheap, extremely amateur
ish music.
Ever since Michael Jackson made break
dancing legitimate by moonwalking through
the Grammies, it’s become the biggest rage in
this country since tofu. Perhaps the pinnacle of
body poppin’ was reached when a breaker
team received a command performance at
Carnegie Hall. To break or not to break? What
ever you decide, by all means, be careful. ^
-3-