Jewel Behind Bars!

So there I was...trapped on "Rock Island," a maximum women's security prison somewhere in the Philippines, twenty thousand miles away from a decent hamburger, four countries away from Los Angeles. Why was I here? Oh, yeah...the mission: save the Princess from certain doom (and I'm not referring to Princess Di).

I guess I didn't read the script very well, or maybe I was concerned more with dialog, I don't know. All those pages of getting thrown in the mud, running in the rain through jungles, whipped by guards, hung by my hair, beaten up by my fellow inmates, slammed into walls and bars...I had the silly idea that they would be done by a stunt double. Then I got to the set the first day and discovered who the stunt double was. It was me.

I was playing the lead – a female "Rambo" type – in an action flick currently entitled "Prisoners" (the title could change next week). My first Roger Corman movie! It was made in association with Premier Films and directed by Cirio Santiago, who is best known for "Firecracker," "Firehawk," "Ebony, Ivory and Jade" and about four hundred other films in which women beat the crap out of men.

My character is a CIA agent posing as the mistress to the King of some unknown country (original so far, huh?). I stage a bogus assassination of the King as part of an attempt to get him out of the country. If everything had worked properly, the whole movie would have been about eight minutes long...so, all of a sudden, some thugs kidnap his daughter, the princess, and throw her behind bars at the Rock Island prison where women are beaten, mistreated and forced to take showers every few minutes. Like an idiot, I go and promise the king, "I'll save her." So how does one break into prison? The old fashioned way: Drugs. I get busted with a few pounds of Heroin, thereby landing in the slammer. I fight a few of the inmates, argue with the princess, attempt a rescue, fail, get beaten up by the guards, try another rescue attempt, blow up a few guards, flee through the jungle, etc.. I won't tell you the ending...I think I'll just let you wait until it shows up on cable or in your video stores around the beginning of next year. (Of course, if you happen to be in Japan around the end of this year, you can see it in an actual theatre there...but I wouldn't make the trip just for that.)

Most of the film was shot in the Philippines...which was pretty cool, if you like rush hours that last all day, food that stares back at you and insects the size of a Pontiac.

About the traffic: We had a location that was fifteen blocks from the hotel. It usually took forty-five minutes to get there. So, when people complain about traffic jams in Los Angeles, I just smile and say you could be in the Philippines. Which is usually followed by a blank stare and instant change of subject.

When I first arrived in Manila, the first thing I noticed – aside from the odor of leaded fuel and traffic jams – was the transportation the people used: buses to you and I; to them, Jeepneys. These "Jeepneys" are tacky, neon-colored, elongated jeeps with signs that boldly declare the colorful name of each vehicle. I almost got run down by Cancer, Taurus, Christ and Fred. (My favorite was probably the Nowhere. I found it odd that people would pay the one Philippine peso to go for a quarter mile in the Nowhere. I stood there, staring straight at this pink neon bus, wondering if the people really knew they were going Nowhere...or was there some hidden place called "Nowhere," known to everyone but me, the tourist? Obviously, the Jeepney knew where it was going. Now, in hindsight, I think I should have gotten on the Nowhere and gone...nowhere? But I couldn't; I had a princess to save.)

We were in the Philippines for three weeks and for me the best thing was the hotel, The Mandarin Oriental. Every morning, I would awaken in my five-star hotel at five A.M. and go to the set to be whipped or beaten. Around ten at night, I would crawl back to the hotel, my hair caked in mud, dark circles under my eyes and blood (real and fake) running down my lips. There were a number of weddings at the hotel and I had a tendency to wander into the wedding parties, dripping mud and blood, my clothes ripped to wish the bride and groom good luck. I don't think I helped get those marriages off to good starts.

The next stop was Vietnam and I was looking forward to going. I know Dan Quayle didn't go, and certainly Bill Clinton didn't want to go...but I couldn't wait. I thought of Vietnam as a vacation paradise in the wake of what I had just been through. No one wanted to go there in the sixties or seventies...but here we are in the nineties, so I went.

And you know what? It was great! The Vietnamese people were so warm and friendly, the countryside was so beautiful – teaming with ducklings swimming around in rice paddies, purple flowers blooming on almost every tree, it was paradise. I couldn't help but think about a young G.I.'s first impression of Vietnam, obviously considerably different with bombings and the threat of dying at any moment. Nothing had changed in the twenty years since the war. The people still lived in little huts in the countryside, still plowing the rice fields with oxen. I felt sad...why did we have to go and fight a war here? There was no evidence that a war had ever existed, from either the people or the land. They were just going about their own business. They held no bitterness towards Americans; I wish I could say I felt the same. I felt all sorts of feelings as I visited the Tunnels of Chu Chi, which cost three American dollars (American credit cards not accepted, just dollars). The tour guide explained to me the problems of tourism in the tunnels; that they had to enlarge the holes to accomodate the Europeans. He went on about the courage of the Viet Cong and the ingenuity of their successes against the Americans. I stood, staring at a bamboo booby trap which would only impale an unsuspecting person and wondered how many Americans lost their lives here. And, as I started to cry, I noticed my tour guide looking away, only to catch tears in his eyes, also. So, in spite of the beauty this country had to offer, I guess there was still a lot of pain, from at least one Vietnamese and one American.

After leaving Vietnam, I flew to Kansas City (you know, that's in America) to be a guest at the Toys From The Crypt Convention, which actually turned out to be a Star Trek Convention. And, boy, did I feel like an Alien there. Aside from the culture shock after spending a month in the Orient, I witnessed a whole new culture: Klingons. I stood on a small stage with a podium and gazed out over people dressed as Klingons, an occasional Kansan was among them.

Searching for a way to begin, I remembered that, back in Vietnam, I'd been given a number of coveted Zippo lighters. To some folks, a Zippo is just something to light a cigar with but, in 'Nam, then are great treasures, especially when engraved with sayings from the War. Much of the culture and heritage of that period is actually engraved forever on the tanks of Zippo lighters and, now, Frenchmen come to Vietnam, buy them off the natives and then sell them for high prices in Japan, where there is a thriving market for American war souvenirs.

Standing at that podium in Kansas City, groping for something to say, I thought I would regale the crowd with the history of the Zippo lighter and they would find it fascinating. Big mistake. They sat there for fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what all this had to do with B-movies before, finally, someone raised a hand and asked a question about "Return of the Living Dead." Oh, well. So much for international customs.

So I talked about that movie and about "Christina," (a Playboy owned movie, which is impossible to find in video stores unless you happen to live in Japan) and the real crowd pleaser..."The Underachievers," only because I played a spaced out Trekkie. I stood there thinking that, only a few days ago I was half-way around the world dining on cobra...and now, here I am, addressing the entire Klingon population of Kansas. And I still couldn't find a decent hamburger!

Everyone wants to know what conventions I will be doing next or where will I be appearing?

The answer, I'm afraid, is with my houseplants. Since I haven't been home much lately, they and my dog Popcorn are demanding more of my time. So as much as I would love to fly to San Francisco or New York, I must stay in L.A.. 'Course, I've never been to Peru or Antarctica, maybe...

Also the most asked question lately is "What do you do when you're not busy?"

Not Busy? Is there such a word? Oh, you know the usual...campaign for world peace, save the country-of-the-month from starvation, discover a vaccine for the common cold, et cetera...but realistically? I do absolutely nothing, and wonder why I'm not busy.

Commercial: This issue, I'm hawking two color photos and an art print for my fans. These are all in very limited supply so, if you want one, order now or forever hold your peace. The art print is from a painting of me by artist Kent Steine. The numbered edition retails for around $95.00 (plus postage) and is selling like crazy. I have five Artist Proofs (which are even more collectible), signed by both of us and we'll let them go for a huncred dollars each, postpaid. And I'll personalize my autograph on your print if you'll tell me what you'd like me to write. No hard-to-spell words, please.

I hope to see you all back here next month!