almost okay

DOUBLE 'DD' FEATURE CHASES
MARTY'S BLUES!
Tune in at 11:00 for the latest cleavage...Did you know that Greece was on fire? No, not a grease fire, stupid, the country... Greece. The whole frigging thing is going up in flames and I didn't even know it until Saturday night. We had tornadoes touch down here in the Detroit area and across southern lower Michigan on Friday (luckily killing no one, by the way) and the media here covered that like it was the second coming of Christ. So forgive me for not knowing that the country that gave birth to the Olympics and produced some of my favorite gods was on frigging fire! (Did you know that Apollo - also a fave of Prof. Dirk Beat - was not only the god of the sun, but the god of poetry as well? Well he was. Doesn't that make poetry seem much more manly? I thought so.)

Now I admit to being somewhat out of touch with current news, but here's why: After ten minutes of the national broadcast on ABC Saturday night, I was nearly in tears. Not only was Greece on fire, but you could see it from orbit, see the columns of smoke rise into the sky. No shit! They even showed us a succession of poor villagers weeping over loved ones lost to the blaze. Then on to the War in Iraq where a number of folks were again killed by those ubiquitous road side bombers. Then a recording of a frantic 9-1-1 call from somebody sitting on the freeway near where that bridge collapsed in Minnesota a few weeks ago, complete with captions. Oh, and I almost forgot - one of those hot-air balloons burst into flame, rose into the sky and crashed to earth, killing two people - all caught on video by a bystander for my unbelieving eyes to see...'Stay tuned we'll be right back...'

Not this kid! I couldn't take it any more! After switching the goddamn thing off and sitting in the dark drinking beer for a while I was able to recover slightly, get my senses back somewhat. I stumbled upstairs and grabbed another bottle of Blue and contemplated the rest of the evening. What to do?

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning into my soggy brain, I knew the answer. I got up, grabbed my DVD of 'Sheba Baby' and watched it from beginning to end, watched Pam Grier shoot that bad, bad guy with the harpoon as they raced across the water in speedboats, Pam wearing a skin-tight blue wet suit left unzipped at the top to show off her fabulous, hefty cleavage, her soft Afro blowing in the wind. But it just wasn't enough. I still had that bad aftertaste of 'news' in my mouth, so I reached for my VHS copy of 'Friday Foster' went upstairs for more beer and settled in for the night.

Ah, 'Friday Foster'... easily Pam at her most beautiful and I don't care what reviewers say about this flick, it's not bad at all. Pam cavorts with a cast of great character actors including Yaphet Kotto (unforgettable in the original 'Alien'), Eartha 'Catwoman' Kitt (Rrrrroowwrrrrrr!), Ted Lange (Isaac on the 'Love Boat'), Godfrey Cambridge ('60s comedian who also starred in 'Watermelon Man'), Carl Weathers (from 'Rocky'), Scatman Crothers (superb in 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' and 'The Shining') and Jim Backus (yes, Mr. Fucking Magoo and Thurston Howell III!).

Is the story dumb? Kind of, I suppose, but Pam's screen presence and the 'R'-rated action tend to carry it along just fine. Writer/Producer/Director Arthur Marks was no dummy, and he kept Pam on screen in nearly every frame, as she snaps photos (her character is a former model turned freelance photographer), showers and makes love to nearly everybody in the cast who's over six feet tall. I absolutely love Pam in this flick. She's more believably vulnerable and feminine than ever before, and I could just kiss her every time I see her face. She also displays a much broader range of emotions than her previous roles allowed, including a delightfully wicked, impish sense of humor, and some genuine anguish and fear.

Sure there are a few monstrous holes in the plot and some minor flaws in continuity and logic - for example: they are supposed to be running around D.C. in February (Valentine's Day, to be exact), but it was obviously shot in the middle of the summer. For the most part, though, it works just fine right up until it all unravels at the end. It almost seems like they ran out of film after the bullets fly and the mystery is solved.

Scene stealer Tierre Turner who plays Pam's kid brother also starred with Pam and Richard Roundtree in the Marks' directed 'Bucktown' before going on to a long career as a television character actor and stunt double. He's super cool here as the precocious street-wise Cleve, keeping a locked closet filled with goodies that were aimed at his big sister by local street hustler Fancy Dexter (played with panache by Lange) who's continually trying to recruit Friday into his stable of bitches. Lange arrives like clockwork daily in front of Friday's pad, gifts in hand, driving a pinstriped pimp mobile and accompanied by his whores. He delivers one of the movie's best lines when he's trying to hard sell Friday: “You have to admit, my shit is heavaaayyyyy...”

Made in the seventies, this flick also takes me back to a more innocent time before cell phones and computers had taken over the world, before news was an instantaneous look into the pain of other people and long before we could see every fucking disaster recorded and broadcast around the world within minutes of when it occurred. Pam actually bribes her way into the airport with a bottle of booze, slipping past security by wiggling her ass and smiling. Oh, those were the days!

And the music by Luchi DeJesus, who also scored 'Black Belt Jones', was precisely what the doctor ordered for my trauma, with just the right amount of wah-wah and chunking guitars riffs. I have the soundtrack on CD and listen to it all the time. I especially like to be in the shower with it blaring when the music for Pam's own shower scene comes on. It gives me the shivers imagining her naked right next to me under the tap, all slick and wet and soft, her warm brown flesh yielding to my firm hands, Pam smiling, then turning and bending to receive me from behind as the hot water splashes us both...

Anyway, by the time 'Friday' was over it was early Sunday morning, six beers further down my own road to Hell, and my 'news blues' were all but gone. I'd nearly forgotten about the storms, the death and the destruction. I fell asleep on the futon in front of the television and dreamed a pleasant scene of Pam running topless and drunk around my house, bouncing off furniture and go-go dancing for me before kissing me lustily with her soft, full lips.

When I woke up at eight o'clock I flicked on the set and accidentally caught just a glimpse of the news while trying to get the weather forecast for the day. Guess what? Greece was still on fire. I shut the thing off, rolled over and tried desperately to get back to sleep, tried in vain to recapture the magic of that sweet, sweet dream...

I couldn't, but I have successfully managed to avoid watching the news ever since.