Playboy Interview: Raquel Welch

Since the Twenties, when Theda Bara became America's first female sex symbol, Hollywood has searched unceasingly for young beauties who could fan the American male's erotic fantasies. In the Thirties, it was Jean Harlow; during the Forties, Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth took turns turning on film audiences; and in the Fifties and Sexties, respectively, Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor personified the U. S. sexual deity. As we head into the Seventies, a new cinema siren in the old tradition has emerged--brown-eyed, chestnut-haired, spectacularly structured Raquel Welch. It has taken the 27-year-old actress little more than four years to eclipse a multitude of pulchritudinous pretenders to the throne. Raquel's revealing photographs--the most famous displaying her 37-22-35 form swathed skintight in a doeskin bikini--can be seen not only in GI barracks but in captured Viet Cong bunkers as well. And comedian Johnny Carson has accurately called her "the kind of girl you'd take home to Mother and Dad--if they were gone for the weekend."

To a great extent, Raquel's rapid rise from $250-a-week billboard girl on the "Hollywood Palace" television show to $325,000-a-film superstar (her salary for playing the title role in "Myra Breckinridge") can be attributed to the acumen of Patrick Curtis, initially her manager and currently her second husband. A onetime child actor, Curtis quit his job as a press agent three weeks after meeting Raquel at a Sunset Boulevard coffee shop and formed a joint business partnership--Curtwel Productions--of which Miss Welch was the sole asset.

Like thousands of movie hopefuls who migrate to Hollywood each year, her credentials were rather nebulous. She was born Raquel Tejada to Castilian Spanish and English-Scottish parents, who moved from Chicago to La Jolla, California, when she was two. Raquel's uneventful teenage years at La Jolla High School--highlighted by nothing more impressive than a summer-stock role as an Indian maiden--ended in marriage to James Welch, who fathered her two children, Damon and Tahnee. Following their 1963 divorce, she supported herself for the next two years by modeling, working as a cocktail waitress and making occasional appearances on San Diego TV talk shows. Soon after, she met Curtis, who immediately proved to be the perfect catalyst for her career. Step number one of his plan was to make her known to Hollywood executives in a position to offer her employment. A bit part as a hooker in "A House Is Not a Home" was followed by the lead in a low-budget beach movie, "A Swingin' Summer," in which she performed a highly sensual striptease.

But Raquel's first measurable impact on the film industry came not on the screen but at the 1965 Hollywood Deb Star Ball, a hokey beauty pageant sponsored by movie hairdressers, at which she so outshone the other starlets in attendance that a 20th Century-Fox producer who was introduced to her that night arranged a screen test on the spot. It led to Raquel's role in "Fantastic Voyage," one of the better science-fiction films in recent years. Although Miss Welch's exploitable assets were concealed throughout the proceedings in a cumbersome wet suit, this oversight was immediately corrected in "One Million Years B. C.," a monstrous prehistoric saga shot in the Canary Islands. Playing an Amazonian cave woman, Raquel pranced around grassy landscapes and talked to the pterodactyls while attired in little more than tattered animal skins.

Shortly thereafter began step two of the big build-up: Christmas cards depicting a skimpily clothed Raquel standing on a mountaintop were dispatched around the world to more than 10,000 film exhibitors, magazine editors and newspaper reporters. Within 18 months, European periodicals were calling her "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" and her unforgettable body and toothy smile had appeared on nearly 200 magazine covers. Moviegoers flocked to her next four films, all of them somewhat unfortunate: "The Biggest Bundle of Them All"; "The Lovely Ladies"; "Shoot Loud, Louder ... I Don't Understand"; and "Fathom." Raquel's appearance in "Bedazzled" (which cast her, appropriately enough, in the role of Lust), plus her reputation as the darling of the paparazzi, finally led to step three in her development: more prestigious parts opposite celebrated American actors. Soon she was Sinatra's leading lady in "Lady in Cement" and the window dressing for Jimmy Stewart in "Bandolero!" And in 1968, she and ex--pro footballer Jim Brown were teamed in a shoot-'em-up epic, "100 Rifles," that turned out to be less memorable for what happened on screen than off. The filming had hardly begun when news media throughout the Continent and the U. S. carried stories about a private feud between the co-stars, reportedly over matters sexual. By the time Raquel finished the film--and a cameo role in "The Magic Christian," as the whip-carrying overseer of 91 topless slave girls--her sex-star status was firmly established.

Late last summer, while Raquel was completing her first television special--to be aired April 26 on CBS--and preparing to film "Myra Breckinridge," she met on five separate occasions with Playboy interviewer Richard Warren Lewis for this exclusive conversation. The setting was her newly acquired seven-bedroom, eight-bathroom Beverly Hills home, once owned by Jeff Chandler and later by Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh.

Reports Lewis: "The first thing a visitor notices while walking up the brick pathway leading to the house is the his-and-hers Rolls-Royce convertibles resting side by side in an open garage. A very British secretary opened the heavy, carved front door and led me into a living room decorated with ferns, still-life paintings and plush white carpeting. Many of the volumes visible in the room's built-in bookcases reflected the occupants' occupational interests. Among the more prominent titles: show-business biographies of Frank Sinatra and film mogul Harry Cohn, 'An Illustrated History of the Horror Film,' 'The Films of Jean Harlow,' 'The Films of Marilyn Monroe' and 'The Studio.' Neatly arranged on an antique coffee table were several high-fashion magazines containing photographs of Raquel--many of them shot by Justin de Villeneuve, Twiggy's mentor.

"When Raquel descended the circular staircase from an upstairs game room, she shook hands firmly and flopped her long-limbed, 118-pound body into a Queen Anne wing chair whose brown-velvet up-holstery, I noticed, matched the color of her eyes. She wore zippered white pants, leather sandals and a transparent paisley blouse over a white bra. The emerald-shaped, ten-carat diamond on her ring finger reflected the light filtering through leaded-glass windows--beyond which one could occasionally glimpse busloads of passing tourists or her two school-age children (legally adopted in 1968 by Curtis) playing on the lawn.

"I wanted to accomplish two things at our first meeting: set a date for our first taping session and establish a degree of rapport with my subject. I needn't have worried on either count: Raquel loves to talk. There are frequent traces of an English affectation in her voice, and occasionally she lapses into an unintentional yet uncannily accurate impersonation of Katharine Hepburn, of whom she is an unabashed admirer.

"In our subsequent talks, I found Raquel to be a witty, gutsy lady. I also found her absolutely fascinated by certain subjects--such as her career and sex, acting and sex, men and sex, marriage and sex and just plain old-fashioned sex. The day we began taping--beside her Olympic-sized swimming pool--Raquel wore a suede bolero vest that left exposed the undersides of her celebrated breasts. Confronted with this appetizing sight, I thought it seemed eminently sensible to start our interview by discussing her penchant for exposing strategic--but not vital--areas of her epidermis."

[Q] Playboy: Many of the movies' biggest sex stars--among them, Ursula Andress, Kim Novak, Marilyn Monroe, Carroll Baker, Jane Fonda, Ann-Margret, Susannah York and Brigitte Bardot--have appeared nude in Playboy. Why have you refused our invitations?

[A] Welch: It's just been done too often, and now everyone seems to be hopping on the band wagon because it's the thing to do. A long time ago, I promised myself never to be photographed nude. Why should I show all my cards at the beginning of the game? If I did that, what could I do for an encore? I have a very good figure and it shows up plenty good in a bathing suit, so I'll wear a bikini any day of the week. But if someone started telling me, "Well, just take off the bra and sort of do the three-quarter bit," I'd tell him to forget it.

[A] As far as I'm concerned, 90 percent of the girls who've taken off their clothes should've left them on, anyway; their figures just aren't good enough. If they were, they wouldn't have to prove it that way. Sexiness doesn't come from exposing yourself nude; it comes from something you are. Carroll Baker tries to be sexy, but I don't care if she poses spread-eagle for Life; she never will be. There's a certain kind of piquant sexuality that Carol Lynley conveys, but it's not the kind that's enhanced by removing her clothes. And Kim Novak is way past the age to be doing that sort of thing. She's huge and she looks awful.

[A] There's only one instance in which I saw nudity in Playboy that I could appreciate. That was Ursula Andress photographed by John Derek. I felt as if I was seeing a lovely woman of flesh and blood reveal all the lovely things about herself--her purity, her freshness, her vitality and, of course, the classic look of her body. And I saw it through the eyes of a man who loved her and was, in fact, turned on by her, not by somebody who had perfunctorily snapped a picture. I simply don't intend to ever walk into a studio with some strange man, remove my clothes and be photographed naked, any more than I would agree to a similar arrangement in front of a motion-picture camera. I don't know anybody at this moment with whom I could comfortably pose nude and produce something lovely and complete.

[Q] Playboy: Then you're implying that you'd consider posing nude if there were some kindred soul behind the camera.

[A] Welch: Yes. The attitude of the photographer is the important thing to me; and when I look at a picture, it's rather obvious to me whether that rapport was there or not. I can't believe, however, that an actress or a model will bump into that many photographers who can capture something real about her insides--her guts or lack of same. For me, this hypothetical man would have to be very gentle, yet very much in control. Then maybe he could catch my vitality, my tremendous energy, my dominance and my coolness, as well as my vulnerability, my romanticism and all the other soft, conquerable qualities that a lot of people have never seen in me.

[Q] Playboy: Would this hypothetical photographer also have to find you sexually attractive?

[A] Welch: I think that would be essential whether I was posing nude or in a snow-suit, and that's precisely what I try to project whenever I'm being photographed. I think of someone looking at me and admiring what he sees. In fact, I practice that in front of a mirror by making faces at myself, by making love to my own image. While I'm doing this, I notice attractive things about myself and practice them--like how to walk gracefully, so that my legs will show to best advantage. Making oneself photogenic is really a science; but it's a very boring one. I don't want to talk anymore about posing for Playboy, though. If I wanted to do it, I'd do it; then everyone would see whatever there is to be seen.

[Q] Playboy: Since you haven't yet given the public that opportunity, would you describe how you look in the nude?

[A] Welch: How do you think I'd look in the nude?

[Q] Playboy: We can only speculate.

[A] Welch: I'm splendid in the nude, but you'll have to use your own imagination. After all, sexuality isn't something that can be talked about. It's not on the surface of the body and, contrary to current fashion, it has nothing to do with the size of one's breasts; it exists in the mind and spirit. There's an unfortunate obsession in this country with the mammary glands--those eye-stopping protuberances--as an isolated symbol of sex. They're the softest, most vulnerable part of a woman and, because they stick out the farthest, they're the easiest part to grab. And the American male is too quick to do just that. He makes them synonymous with sex, which they're not. Don't get me wrong, though. Nice knockers are great, but they're only one component of total sexuality. They're not the end-all. As a matter of fact, when all the machinery swings into high gear, they kind of get lost in the shuffle. So no matter how fantastic a girl's breasts are, if she spreads sloppily at the bottom and she's got a lousy face and bad hair and she dresses terribly and walks badly, she's still hopeless, isn't she? If that's all she's got, they just hang there like two worthless tits and don't mean a thing. That's why I think the fascination with them is absurd. But comedians still make jokes about boobs; they say things like, "I bumped into Raquel Welch s-l-o-w-l-y," as if the ultimate sexual experience came from fondling these two protrusions.

[Q] Playboy: There is a story circulating in Hollywood--one that is substantiated by several of your past acquaintances in La Jolla and San Diego--that your breasts have been enlarged by surgery. True?

[A] WELCH: That's all a bunch of bunk. I take it as a compliment, though, that some people think I'm too perfect to have occurred naturally. But what can I say? If that's their opinion, they're welcome to it.

[Q] PLAYBOY: What are the other components of the total sexuality you mentioned a moment ago?

[A] WELCH: There's beauty in every part of the body: delicate fingers, slender arms, gracefully curving shoulders, a well-formed rib cage, a flat, firm tummy, a supple back, with the smooth valley that runs down the middle of it, the shape of the buttocks and the way it moves, the softness of the pubic area, the thighs tapering to the knees, the calf, the ankle--all of that to me is tremendously sensual. Combine these things with the tilt and roundness of the eyes, the fullness of the lips and the way the hair is worn, and it all makes a beautiful total picture. How can anyone deny that boobs are just a small part of it?

Are her breasts all we remember about Marilyn Monroe? Of course not. We remember her white skin and cotton hair; her sleepy eyes and her soft, moist, constantly moving lips. She was strong and formidable, yet sleek and catlike. Brigitte Bardot's another example. She's a kinky child with those long lean legs and that little-girl body; but just mention Brigitte Bardot to most men and the first thing that pops into their heads is boobs. Marilyn Monroe and boobs. Raquel Welch and boobs. It's just ridiculous. But I think we may be beginning to grow up a little. Who knows--someday men may come to appreciate, say, the teeth and the lips and the back of the neck as erogenous zones, too; because that's what they are, at least to me.

[Q] Playboy: In a recent issue of Life, Jim Brown described the way he psyched you out in one of your love scenes for 100 Rifles: "The camera was on her face, and so I had my head on the other side of her head.... I stuck my tongue in her ear. She jumped. ... I came off that bed laughing because ... I had discovered that she was weak in the ear." Is that another one of your erogenous zones?

[A] WELCH: That whole story is a fabrication. It wasn't just my ear; he licked the whole side of my face. And he didn't psyche me out. In fact, all I could think at that moment was, "Holy Christ, what the fuck does he think he's doing?" Afterward, I realized that he'd done it because his face was offcamera in that shot and, knowing the way that man's mind works, the way he has to constantly feed his ego, I suppose it really irked him. I personally couldn't have cared less who was on top and who was on the bottom, but he was extremely rude and tried very hard to mess me up during that scene. I was angry because we wasted two days on that scene and people were spending a lot of time and effort and money to finish it.

In a situation like that, no real actor would play some little one-upmanship game just to let the crew know he was really the biggest stud that ever lived. If Jim Brown was the big stud he likes to think he is, then why couldn't he really communicate with the woman playing opposite him, instead of trying to pull some kind of power play? Obviously, he thought the point of the entire film was whether or not he was man enough to tromp on me. He was extremely insulting to a number of people, and particularly to several women on the set, myself included. As an ex-football player, he's been trained to kill, kill, kill, break that line, crush heads--and that's just how he treats women. Unfortunately, some of us aren't a bit titillated by that approach. His whole attitude reminded me of the pubescent boys in grade school, who used to run around pulling up the girls' dresses. I can just imagine how he would have acted if I'd agreed to appear the way the scriptwriters wanted me to. There was one scene in the original script in which, as a member of the Spanish army, I was supposed to run around a battlefield stark-naked, shooting people with a pump-action shotgun. That would have been a great scene, I suppose, but I couldn't do it. It wasn't the nudity that bugged me; it was the stupidity. A scriptwriter will usually try to get away with as much sex in a film as he can, but my big objection to most of the bizarre scenes written for me is that they generally have no real function in the script. They're obviously thrown in for exploitation value alone.

[Q] Playboy: Given the increasingly explicit sexual activity in films today, couldn't your reluctance to participate in such scenes be considered a bit prudish?

[A] Welch: I'd rather begin by examining this sexual revolution we've all heard so much about. When it first started, it was obviously something spontaneous and fresh, but, like the original hippie movement, the media began to exploit it and turned it into a fad. And since most people are engaged in a frantic effort to be just like everybody else, they're all trying to get into the act. So the media keep pushing it, because it makes them seem trendy, and the public keeps buying it, because they've been told it's the thing to do. Even if an individual doesn't want to participate, he really has no choice--if he doesn't want to be branded as a square or a prude. Then people will think he or she doesn't like fucking; God forbid.

So sex is shoved down our throats and, more and more, it begins to look like a commodity, a product--like Campbell's soup or underarm deodorants. It's become one of the status goodies that people use to convince themselves that they're part of the "now" generation. But that presents problems. The implication is that a girl should screw a different guy every hour on the hour, 365 days a year. Well, even though that might be nice for a while, it's obvious that it could get to be more than slightly debilitating. In fact, it might completely destroy her sexual appetite. The other dangerous implication is that people begin to apply to themselves what they see in the media. "Jesus," a guy says to himself. "There's Sean Connery in the tub with eight naked broads. Why can't I do that? What's the matter with me?" Obviously, it doesn't take the American male very long to realize that he can't possibly emulate this masculine paragon--and his lady is afraid as hell that she can't fulfill her fantasy role as an erotic amazon. How can anyone live with those pressures? I think it's about time we all relaxed and let sex return to its beautiful, natural place in our lives.

[Q] Playboy: Do you object to watching explicit sex scenes in movies as much as you object to appearing in them?

[A] Welch: It depends on the scene. But most of those I've seen have been tawdry and distasteful. And you don't find it only in movies. I saw something in a recent issue of a popular national magazine that I thought was obscene. There were lots of nude people lying around on the floor, covered with a slime that looked like blood and they were doing grotesque things to one another--very sadistic and perverse Marat/Sade--type behavior. I went "Yuk" and didn't bother to read the article. Also, one scene in The Killing of Sister George, in which Coral Browne unzips Susannah York's dress, gave me the same "Yuk" reaction. At first, I thought they were just going to kiss. I'd seen that happen in The Fox and wasn't offended by it. It was done beautifully. But the scene in Sister George was like a slap in the face. I couldn't believe I was really going to sit there and watch this lady do what she did to the other lady. There was a murmur throughout the audience. I just looked down and asked my companion, "Is it over yet?" I saw glimpses of what was happening, but I couldn't believe it. It was obviously stuck in just to be titillating and to boost the box office. It certainly wasn't entertaining. I was embarrassed not only by my own reaction but by the audience's reaction. I just don't care to see two ladies graphically engaged in Lesbianism, and I don't think the audience did, either.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever been confronted by Lesbian advances in your private life?

[A] Welch: Well, I've been meeting more strange women lately than ever before, and occasionally I really can't tell if some of these ladies with the low voices are men or women. They give me the creeps. We may be talking and then, all of a sudden, something strikes an off-key note and I think: "Wait a minute. I'd better make tracks." But when I hear that someone's a dyke or that she goes both ways, it doesn't seem so important to me. That's her life. Why should I bother with her problems or her private conduct? That has nothing to do with me. If it's something they want to do, fine; but I'm not interested in doing it or watching it myself, any more than I'm interested in seeing any number of other things go on.

[Q] Playboy: Like what?

[A] WELCH: Would you want to watch somebody killed in front of you or see somebody run over? Some people cannot draw themselves away from the sight of gore. They're fascinated by it. The bloody violence in The Wild Bunch, for example, disturbed me immensely. The director may have been trying to make a moral statement about how awful violence is, but I was at the breaking point by the end of the massacre scene. They did it very stylishly, in slow motion, with big blood packs bursting. It was incredibly brutal. I simply couldn't bear to see any more blood, no matter what he was trying to prove. It was the bottom line for me; I couldn't have stood to see one more person blown apart and flying through the air, to see one more child stamped by a horse, to see all of the people who, during the course of the picture, I'd grown to sympathize with and like for their own idiosyncrasies, get blown to bits. It was more than I could take and I broke down. Wanton violence is an obscenity that I object to even more than exploitive sex.

[Q] Playboy: If this trend toward ever more explicit sex in films continues, can you think of any kind of erotic scene that might excite you as a moviegoer?

[A] Welch: I thought Anne Heywood and Keir Dullea's love scene in The Fox was quite erotic. But if we're really going to get down to it, I figure that since I'm continually asked to show my stuff on the screen, I'd like to see some actor show his. Maybe that's an exaggeration; I guess I'd really just as soon not go any further than seeing an actor's rump. But if an actress has to run around doing crotch shots with her boobs bouncing, why shouldn't we make the men turn around? That would be the logical conclusion. Along these lines, I've heard that one of the very popular glossy women's magazines is considering a monthly center spread of a male pinup personality. I personally wouldn't want it, because I don't care that much about looking at it, but I suppose it might find an audience.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think these pinups might appeal more to the male homosexual reader than to the female reader?

[A] Welch: Well, right at this moment, I suppose so. But women are rapidly changing their ideas and becoming much kinkier. For instance, I adored the pictures of Rudolf Nureyev posing in the nude for a women's magazine not long ago, because he has a really fabulous body. When I see him, I think of the wonderful artistry he's capable of producing as a dancer. I'm struck by the strength of his body, by its movement. It's so much more to me than just a fantastic male body. Women appreciate good tone in a man's body as much as a man appreciates it in a woman. But I don't care for those muscleheads with the tremendously thick necks who can't even walk properly because their thighs are disproportionately developed. Their muscles are so pumped up they can hardly move. Having been a dancer for so many years, I much prefer to see a man who's stretched his muscles rather than one who's obviously spent all his time pumping them up. When it comes right down to it, though, I'll settle for Steve McQueen--dressed. I think he's an extremely attractive, sexy man. He doesn't need to make blue movies in order to be a great big movie star.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever seen any blue movies?

[A] Welch:The House on Bare Mountain is the only film like that I've seen. It shows a number of very buxom girls all taking showers and rub-a-dub-dubbing. Then they all come down the stairs in one long line--ka-bong, ka-bong, ka-bong--and run out and play volleyball. It's really so funny that I don't see how it could be erotic. Can you laugh and have an orgasm at the same time?

[Q] Playboy: The eroticism in I Am Curious--Yellow was played for laughs. What did you think of it?

[A] Welch: I haven't seen I Am Curious--Yellow, although it's been described to me in graphic detail. But there's always some little underground movie where someone's copulating or masturbating or practicing various positions of sodomy. Since only a minority of people actually involve themselves in this kind of behavior, producers can put it on the screen and still reach those to whom it's unique. But I'm tired of everyone airing their dirty laundry in front of me, and that's why I haven't gone to see many of these films. They make me feel uncomfortable; they threaten me in some way.

[Q] Playboy: Why?

[A] Welch: Because I'm sitting there as an actress and thinking: "If someone asked me, would I do that?" I just wonder what effect it's going to have on me and my work. Will I have to do a nude scene in every picture with some man who means nothing to me? Someday, I'm going to have to make that kind of decision and maybe lose a great part.

[Q] Playboy: Will you eventually capitulate?

[A] Welch: I couldn't begin to answer such a question, because I just don't know. But the idea of getting into bed with a man I don't know is terrifying to me.

[Q] Playboy: You're not afraid that perhaps you'd lose all your inhibitions?

[A] Welch: No, I just don't do those things for money, and I prefer to get my kicks off camera.

[Q] Playboy: How do you get your kicks?

[A] Welch: I don't think I have any new tricks. I'm not a contortionist. I've never swung from a trapeze or anything like that. In fact, I definitely have a mid-Victorian streak that runs through me. Queen Victoria had quite a sexy little mind, but she thought that a woman should handle her private life discreetly. She thought a woman should embody the old axiom: a whore in the bedroom and the absolute epitome of a lady at all other times. It's this duality that makes any woman an attractive mystery. So I don't intend to share my private relations with the entire world. This facet of my life is definitely personal and I will not exchange notes about it.

Besides, I could never understand why people think it's necessary to impress others with tales of their sexual exploits. A guy goes out and gets himself three girls, then comes back from a weekend and says: "I had such a scene down at the beach house. First we had a little pot and then everyone took off their clothes. And there was this one chick; wow, was she ever great. And then there was another one and then another. I don't know what's the matter with chicks lately, but they just love me to death." Well, Warren Beatty, to name one grown-up man, does not discuss his sexual exploits, nor does anyone else who's confident of his sexuality. They don't run around declaring their potency like it was a banner worn on their sleeves or like they had a new trophy to show. I would never dream of telling any of my friends what my husband and I do in the bedroom. That's nobody's business but ours, and my enjoyment of it isn't increased by telling it to Mabel while we're chatting over the back-yard fence.

[Q] Playboy: Considering your mid-Victorian bent, does prudishness inhibit your sex life? How do you feel about making love with the lights on, for example?

[A] Welch: You're prying; but as far as I'm concerned, you can see better with the lights on. There are some people, of course, who can fantasize better with the lights off, and others like darkness because it protects them from facing what's there--as if it weren't really happening. But that's all right, too. Some people jump off a diving board with their eyes closed, but they still hit the water. There are degrees of light--different intensities for different moods--just as there are different strokes for different folks. If a girl's got a great face and a terrible body, she should turn out the lights entirely and just go to bed. If she's got a great body, on the other hand, and she thinks he's pleased with it, then there's no reason for her to do a cover-up number. In fact, she's probably the sort of woman that many men enjoy displaying in public while they think to themselves: "Look, everybody, this is a reflection of what kind of man I am. All you have to do is look at her." But that's where it ends. He doesn't really want everyone's hands all over her. At least my husband surely doesn't. And I personally don't want anyone's hands on me, either. One set is enough.

[Q] Playboy: As long as we're on the subject, have you ever attended an orgy?

[A] Welch: I don't know, what is an orgy? Is an orgy more than one, more than two people? Or what? I've never been involved in any group efforts. I guess the opportunity just never arose. I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

[Q] Playboy: Do the prospects seem appealing to you?

[A] Welch: Depends on who the participants were. If an invitation were delivered, I'd have to consider it; but orgies really have no great appeal to me, even if the participants were Steve McQueen, Warren Beatty and Paul Newman, all together in the altogether. I'm just not particularly enchanted by the idea of simultaneous sexual relationships, although I suppose that some people could function very well in an orgy situation.

[Q] Playboy: Helen Gurley Brown, editor of Cosmopolitan, recently conducted an editorial survey among her female staff members to determine how they liked their breasts fondled. Is a man's technique in this area important to you?

[A] Welch: Well, tactile stimulation of the breasts is as important as anything else, and I suppose many people fall short of their purely technical responsibilities in lovemaking. There are a lot of bad lovers around. But apparently, most women don't know how to tell their men that they're performing badly. So maybe Helen Gurley Brown thinks that all a girl has to do is leave the magazine open to the right page for her husband, and that he'll read it and realize his mistakes. I don't know why people demand pat solutions to sexual problems. There aren't any pat answers for anything else in life. But everyone has such overly romantic ideas about sex--that it's always supposed to be perfect, that it can't ever fail. Ultimately, they grow intolerant of anything that falls short of their erotic expectations. It's like being told a thousand times how great a particular movie is, and then, when you finally get to see it, you're disappointed because it isn't as good as you were told. But you still sit there, wondering if it's the film or your taste that's deficient.

[Q] Playboy: Do you have sexual failures, like everyone else?

[A] WELCH: I have had, yes. I wasn't very happy with my first husband. I was wildly attracted to him physically; he had lots of curly hair, his eyes tilted just right, his teeth were white and he was always beautifully tanned. But in spite of having a fair amount of elegance and charm, he was hardly the Prince Charming type. In fact, he was the kind of guy who treats women terribly. He was always late, never very nice and he couldn't care less about anything I had to say. But he was gorgeous and I was terribly unhappy every minute we were apart. I had married him solely on the basis of my emotions--on impulse. Neither of us had reached our full development as people, and I learned that it's impossible to match two people purely on their mutual physical attraction and expect the relationship to last. The physical aspects, therefore, soon became secondary to our emotional difficulties and sex didn't work out too well for us; it was very clumsy and awkward in every respect. In fact, it was just boring.

[Q] Playboy: How often do you meet a man whom you'd consider a suitable sex partner?

[A] Welch: Well, when it comes to truly personal relationships, I can't get turned on by just any guy I happen to bump into on the street. It's not that easy. But because I can't be turned on by just anybody, that doesn't make it a universal truth for all women. For much too long, women have been brainwashed into believing that a full-scale relationship is required to make the sexual experience acceptable or enjoyable. Now they realize that they can have sex without the relationship, because the widespread use of female contraceptives has given them the freedom. A woman no longer has to think of her bed partner as someone she'll have to spend her life with or as the guy who may be the father of her child. But personally, I don't think I could get any kind of real sexual satisfaction from a relationship if it was such a throwaway thing. I don't believe that one brief moment--or even lots of brief moments--can make up for the lack of a deeper relationship with another person.

[Q] Playboy: Doris Lessing, an acknowledged heroine of the feminist movement who writes extensively about the emancipated woman, recently noted: "The only reason to get married is having children. Otherwise, men and women should just live together." Do you agree?

[A] Welch: Marriage is still good for some people, but I no longer think we have to be so dogmatic about it. I think it ought to be an option in our society. Some relationships may last only a very short time, while others--those in which the partners complement each other and grow together--may last a lifetime. In either case, why must such a relationship be officially documented with a piece of paper? It's this compulsory piece of paper that destroys people. I like it for myself, but it can take all the magic out of a personal relationship for many people. Personally, I wouldn't want to grab anybody by the neck and say, "You have to stay with me or else I'll sue you for every cent you have." If I thought I needed that kind of guarantee, then the whole thing would be shot right from the start. The marriage contract was necessary in the past to protect women who were incapable of making their own way in the world. But today, the situation has changed for most women, though I can still sympathize with women who have children by a man who later walks out on them.

[Q] Playboy: In a recent Gallup Poll, two out of three college students interviewed condoned premarital sex. Do you?

[A] Welch: I have no objections, but I do think the doctrine of sexual permissiveness is being forced upon many young girls today. Too often, because a girl wants to be with it, she thinks it's necessary to lose her virginity. That's just as stupid as keeping it in order to remain innocent.

[Q] Playboy: Were you a virgin when you were married the first time?

[A] Welch: Yes. At that point, my decency syndrome was a thread that ran through my entire character. I was just a 16-year-old ding-a-ling determined not to debauch myself. I never even considered having an affair, because at that time, if you slept with someone, you married him. And that was that.

[Q] Playboy: How do you feel about living with someone before getting married?

[A] Welch: For one thing, it gives you some idea of what you're getting into. In living together, you have an opportunity to learn much more about your partner. When your sexual appetites are satisfied right from the beginning, you begin to discover more important things about a person--what he's really like as a person and what it's like to be around him. After all, it takes real talent and genius to make a marriage work. Cohabitation and premarital sex give you some indication of whether or not the relationship can succeed as a marriage. If not, you haven't lost anything and, as a well-adjusted modern lady, you can just hop into your two-plus-two with the top down and drive away into the sunset. People must learn to admit and allow for the possibility of human failure in personal relationships.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think marriage as a legal contract may be supplanted by cohabitation in our society?

[A] Welch: I don't know, but many young people are beginning to recognize the hypocrisy of their parents' marriages. The kids see their parents struggling to sustain a bad relationship and say to themselves: "Why should I waste twenty or twenty-five years of my life, my energies and my talent on a relationship that, day in and day out, breeds nothing but hate and discontent? I won't do it." As I said earlier, the birth-control pill allows them to live together without the inevitable consequence of parenthood. Having a baby could make a bad scene even worse; but with effective birth control, a couple is less likely to be forced into choosing between keeping the baby or having an abortion. Nowadays, one can have an affair without the fear of pregnancy, but that in itself presents other problems--like promiscuity.

However permissive and enlightened a man may profess to be, I think he eventually loses respect for a promiscuous woman; and she's bound to lose respect for herself. It's just not a very realistic pattern of life. She can do whatever she pleases as a young woman, but what happens when she gets to be 36 and she's no longer interested in carving notches on her gun? When you get down to the nitty-gritty--inside somebody's guts--gun notching can't go on forever. When she examines herself seriously, she sees that her promiscuity has been nothing but an attempt to escape from the frustration of not knowing who she is or why she's alive. Because she's failed to establish a set of values for herself, she lacks self-esteem and compensates for her inadequacies and aimlessness with a series of indiscriminate sexual escapades. I think it's fine for a girl to have a number of sexual experiences, but that's different from promiscuity, which I consider to be indiscriminate fucking with everybody in sight. Promiscuity isn't a viable life style; it's an attempt to deal with insecurity by going through the motions that are usually associated with love and affection.

[Q] Playboy: Are you equally opposed to extramarital sex?

[A] Welch: I don't think that it's necessarily bad behavior for a man to break away once in a while. But while I can certainly understand it in his nature, the woman's gut reaction is still to hate it with a passion. But I would try to be tolerant and understanding. An emancipated woman accepts the fact that her husband might like to fool around now and then, because she knows that she is still the only woman in his life who's tuned in to what he feels and thinks, and is capable of catering to those things. I would only ask that if extracurricular activities were going on with the man in my life. I'd just as soon he not let me know about them. If it was flaunted in my face, I couldn't take it. Nor could I reciprocate, just to show him.

[Q] Playboy: Aren't you ever tempted to pursue extramarital affairs when you're separated from your husband by professional commitments?

[A] Welch: On 100 Rifles, it was obvious that members of the crew were pairing off. In fact, it seemed as if they'd just discovered fucking when they got to Spain. But when I'm working 16 hours a day on location, I don't lie awake pining for romance--I just work hard. And, frankly, Patrick and I haven't been apart from each other for very long periods of time. He always comes and visits. I think Elizabeth Taylor has stipulated that she won't make a picture unless Richard Burton is going to be nearby, and I can't blame her. You're really asking for it the other way. If you're separated from a dishy guy or a dishy lady for three months or more, he might really fall for somebody else. And if that happens, it's the ball game. He may come home when the picture's over and say, "I want a divorce."

[Q] Playboy: Despite your fidelity, why do rumors circulate in Hollywood indicating otherwise?

[A] Welch: It's an expression of jealousy directed at people who look like they have more than their share of the goodies in life: beauty, fame or money. People can't bear the fact that Liz Taylor has so much, can they? They really sock it to her, as if to say: "How dare she be that wealthy and that beautiful and, on top of that, have love, children and a happy marriage?" Obviously, I'm also going to be suspect, so they say that I'm promiscuous and that I'm doing various numbers. No one believes that an attractive man and an attractive woman can get together on location or on a sound stage for the time it takes to make a movie, without having all hell break loose sexually. Considering the number of people who are playing around, the skeptics can't fathom that someone else's head may be in a different place than theirs. It's taken for granted by the public that because you do a love scene with someone, you're balling him offscreen. To them, all actresses get screwed left, right and center, front and back--all the way to the top and then all the way back to the bottom. That may be the way a lot of actresses play it, and I don't really give a damn, but I hate to get junked in with all the rest. These girls get the mistaken idea that the only way to succeed in this town is to ball the right people; to me, that seems like a pretty bleak way to live. Is it really worth it to bang a bunch of people you're not interested in, just to get your face on the screen? An actress might chart a path to the top, marking the way with people she ought to sleep with; but if she's that cold and calculating about sex, she's not really having sex; she's just doing business. I see it happening all around me--people prostituting their minds and their bodies just to get ahead. But it really has nothing to do with me. I couldn't ever bring myself to ball someone for a job. It would be too demeaning.

[Q] Playboy: But many people think this custom is as much a part of Hollywood as the footprints at Grauman's Chinese Theater.

[A] Welch: Perhaps. But I don't think Hollywood is all that dirty. It has its share of lechers, but no more than any other place of extreme wealth and glamor. You find the same thing going on at any number of resort areas, probably in most major industries and undoubtedly in politics, too. There are simply a lot of important men in high places knocking off a lot of ladies, and you can't blame them. It's not their fault that women are throwing themselves at their feet every minute. The Hollywood lecher is no different from any other. I should know. I've had three separate experiences with some of the biggest people in the industry. Before I came to this town, my mother said: "You're going to Hollywood? Take this copy of The Carpetbaggers. You'll see what you're letting yourself in for." So when I arrived here in 1964. I was traumatized by my fears: How would I act? Would I turn into the slut of all time? Would I become neurotic? Would I end up committing suicide? I took all these hypothetical situations and built a solid philosophy around them.

The first time I was tested, I stuck by my guns. A well-known producer saw me on The Hollywood Palace when I was just getting started and said: "Kid, you've got a certain quality. Why don't you come to my office on Monday?" I was really excited by the prospect, so I fixed myself up, wondering all the time what part it might be. I went through my photos and picked out the ones that I thought might apply and I walked into his office with a little briefcase under my arm. He greeted me, shut the door and whispered: "I think we should go to my house. Do you want to take your car or mine?" I said, "I just have a Volkswagen." He said, "Well, we'll take my car."

Meanwhile, I thought he was whispering because he had some secret television project he didn't want anybody else to know about. So, as we walked out the door, I said, "You know, ever since you talked to me three days ago, I've been thinking about what this big, mysterious thing could be. Why are you keeping it such a secret?" He said, "Oh, come on now. From the way you look, I know you've been propositioned before." I really hadn't expected that. I just hadn't been around long enough to know. I said, "No, I haven't. I thought you had a part for me." He said, "Well, we can write you a little part. I'm going to be producing a television show this season, and I also have a night-club act." I said, "Well, thank you very much, but I'm not interested." At that point, the tears started rolling down my cheeks.

"Don't cry," he pleaded. "For God's sake, don't cry. And don't tell anybody. Do you need some money? Here, take some." "You think I'd tell anybody that I was stupid enough to come up to your office on a deal like this," I told him, "thinking all the time that it was for a job? You know, when I was a little girl, I used to watch you on television--and I used to laugh at you. I just can't believe this is really happening." As he opened my car door, he said, "I didn't know. You're just a young kid. I didn't mean it. The way you were dressed on that show, with your legs showing and everything, and the kind of face you have--you looked so sensuous. Just don't tell anybody. I'm awful sorry."

Several months later, I did an expensive Cinemascope studio screen test. For part of the test, I wore a bikini and, for another part, only a towel. I guess this studio executive found me attractive, because after he saw the test, he called and invited me to have dinner and screen a film with him and a producer. I went there thinking it might be some kind of an opportunity; but in the middle of the screening, the producer got a mysterious phone call from his wife--something drastic had happened--and he left. So there I was, alone with the studio executive; it was an obvious setup. Since Patrick had dropped me off, I didn't have a car and I wanted to call him and tell him to come take me home. But no, this guy wouldn't let me make the call. He insisted on driving me home himself--after he "checked a couple of things in his office." So we went into his office, he looked at me and said, "You are the most fantastically exciting creature I've ever seen." He also said he'd seen my test and thought I was a good actress.

Then he started. He took me into a room adjoining his office that contained a sofa and a television set and suddenly remembered a program he had to watch. So he laid down, started patting the sofa and said, "Let's watch television." I said, "I can see fine from here." Naturally, I spent the next three hours fighting him, using every ounce of agility and physical dexterity I had to ward him off. I also had to exercise some pretty good mental gymnastics to protect myself without getting him mad at me. Rather than insult him, I figured the best thing to do was to laugh it off. "You don't trust me," he said. "That's not true at all," I said, running around the table. "I just think you're trying to take advantage of the situation, and I want you to know how I feel, so there won't be any unnecessary gropings and disappointments."

Then I went into a real filibuster, knowing that if I stopped talking, I'd have to physically fight him off. I really wanted to take off my shoe and hit him or start screaming, but one doesn't do that to a studio executive. I kept trying to stress the fact that we'd have to have either a business relationship or none at all. I told him that I wanted a part in his film not because I was a good lay but because I could do the job. Finally I told him, "I'm very flattered by your interest in me, because I think you're an attractive person. But even though you've got a lot of power and prestige, I can't compromise myself. I'm not interested in making it on your terms, only on mine."

Eventually, he drove me home and apologized just like a child. But when I closed the door, so help me God, I burst into tears, thinking that I'd just ruined my entire career. I knew that if I'd hurt his feelings, he could see to it that I didn't work again in Hollywood. You see, his ego problems were complicated by the fact that he was a tiny man in stature and that he was also trying hard to prove himself in the business. But three weeks later, I was working for him in another film; I suppose even though I'd refused to make it with him, he must have thought I was worth something.

[Q] Playboy: You mentioned a third encounter. Did you manage to escape that one, too?

[A] Welch: You're damn right. I was doing a one-day job at a studio and this producer saw me outside his office. He came to the set and talked to me for hours about "rebuilding my image," based on what he called my "inner glow." Since, at the time, I was just somebody who wanted to be a film star, that sounded all right to me, so I accepted his offer to start by doing some sunset shots in silhouette as a stand-in for this big star in a picture he was making. He told me, "We're going to shoot this up at Big Sur and, while we're up there, we'll have a photographer take some pictures of you against that beautiful countryside, so I can find your real soul." And all that time, he kept assuring me that he wasn't interested in my body.

Of course, when we got there, the entire crew that had flown up there with us seemed to vanish. But the room I had was a single, with no connecting door, and I trusted him enough to accept his invitation to dinner. Unfortunately, he got sidetracked while we were driving to the restaurant and his next line was, "I've got this marvelous cabin and you've just got to see it." "This is the last straw," I said to myself. "I'm the stupidest girl alive." But what could I do? Jump out of the car, into the ocean? We finally came to the cabin, which was out on a cliff, and it really was lovely. I enjoyed the sound of the surf and the sight of the mist rolling in; but when I finally realized that it was three o'clock in the morning, I told him that I was awfully hungry and that we should be getting back. But he insisted that we have dinner there, so I opened some cans and cooked, knowing that it could have been a very bad scene if he decided to get rough with me.

I started reminding him about his wife, but, like everybody else in Hollywood, he claimed that they had an understanding. Since we had to get up early for the shooting the next day, I told him that I absolutely had to get back, and that's when he suggested that I sleep there. Predictably, there was only one bed in the place, so when he retired to the bedroom, I started climbing the ladder to the hayloft. "What're you doing up there?" he asked. "I'm going to sleep up here. Good night." "That's ridiculous," he said. "You don't trust me." "That's right, I don't. I'm not going to pay you for a contract in bed. Either I'm going to do this job tomorrow morning or I'm going back to Los Angeles." Well, he said every ugly word in the book, and I really expected him to get rough, but he finally took me back to the motel. He kept calling me, even after I got back to Los Angeles, but I swore then that I'd never again walk into that man's office alone. He's just too hung up. He's a crude, vulgar, despicable man--the all-time letch. Each of these men I've described was like a high school kid begging for a piece of ass. It amazes me that men of their stature could get down and beg like that. They suddenly became so puny that it almost made me sick to my stomach. And they seemed surprised by the fact that I had the common sense not to capitulate to them. I suppose they usually get what they want, but I stood up to these guys and they still wanted to hire me.

[Q] Playboy: Why? Since you've had little or no opportunity to display your acting ability, isn't your success so far attributable almost entirely to publicity ballyhoo about your face and figure?

[A] Welch: Well, I've had enough attention to last me for a century, but I'm not responsible for most of that publicity. Reporters say that I own 23 cantilevered bikinis, each in a different color, and that at the click of a flashbulb, I do any of 39 different stock poses. I hate the girl they're writing about. She's rinky-dink, shallow and horrible, and if I didn't have a sense of humor about it, I'd go insane. The skeptics have always said that I was Mrs. Shrewd and that my husband and I just walked in with a lot of know-how and enough good old-fashioned dollars to buy off the entire world. That's not true. Maybe we knew a few things about this business, but we didn't know all the right people and we certainly didn't have a lot of money behind us. It might have been partly timing--being in the right place at the right moment--but it was also because I'm slightly out of the ordinary, even in Hollywood. Still, I'm mystified to this day how and why it happened.

Four years ago, I was having a very difficult time in Hollywood. I was just a nonentity--a dot in a sea of dots. Before that, I had tried to make it in modeling, but they thought I was just too much in every way. Patrick and I were trying to generate interest in me, but what happened to me eventually was completely beyond our efforts--or even our daydreams. After things started rolling, I did five pictures in one year, most of them on location in Europe; and, in addition to working six days a week, I spent every single Sunday for 18 months on publicity photo layouts. Everybody wanted to see me and everybody had to have exclusive pictures. I appeared in tons and tons of magazines, with names I can't remember, and I was on the cover of every one of them. It seemed very important for me at that moment, but it became incredibly tedious, terribly boring and very taxing for me.

What really got me started was the remake of One Million Years B. C., shot off the coast of Africa, on top of a volcano in the Canary Islands. There we were in this really Godforsaken place called Tenerife. There was only one building, a government-run pension, located on the very top of this volcano, and there was no telephone or post office. According to the natives, it hadn't rained there in 37 years, but the minute we got to the Canary Islands, it snowed. Then it started raining and it never stopped. During the shooting, I was practically naked, while everybody behind the cameras stood around their fires, wearing big warm coats. I had just recovered from a bout with tonsillitis, but I sort of dragged myself out of bed and went up onto the roof of this pension to have a couple of pictures taken. I was a blonde at the time and I was wearing a doeskin bikini that I helped design. It was the photographs in that bikini that generated all the interest. It was one of those pictures that really did it. One was sent to every theater owner and film distributor in the world.

Meanwhile, a few photographers had gone down the mountain and said, "Hey, there's this girl up there on top of the volcano and she's so extraordinary you won't believe it." By that time, we had moved to Lanzarote, another Godforsaken island, and, all of a sudden, thousands of photographers came out to see this girl. "I must haf de exclusive," they were all saying. It was obvious that something was happening, but I wasn't quite sure what it meant. It was truly a spontaneous thing, a lot more real than something contrived. Everybody was saying, "Who is this girl?" and I kept gaining momentum. When I got back to London--pow!--all the newspapers and magazines were running pictures of me every day. And then the interviews began. I hated them. I was hanged for many of the innocent things I said, the things that weren't properly guarded.

[Q] Playboy: What kind of questions were you asked?

[A] Welch: The question that really stumped me was: "What's it like to be a sex goddess?" Suddenly, everyone was saying I was a sex goddess. I really don't know what it's like. I'm not that person.

[Q] Playboy: To the public, nevertheless, that remains your image. What do you think that label means to the man in the street, to those who see your movies?

[A] Welch: I suppose the word goddess implies some power over men; in real terms, that means I'm someone most men would very much like to go to bed with. Unfortunately, all sex goddesses end up being one-dimensional comic-strip characters whom people lust after but never really get to know as a human being. Not only was I stifled by this image but I thought I was misunderstood. Nobody took me seriously. I wanted desperately to get away from it, but to do that seemed to be an impossibility. Regardless of what I did, I knew I was going to look like Raquel Welch doing it. With or without my help, a monster had been created, and I'm still trying to find out how to escape it.

[Q] Playboy: Is being a sex goddess really as traumatic as all that?

[A] Welch: Well, it does have its advantages. It's better than being labeled a washerwoman. I was also tagged the most beautiful woman in the world, and how can any woman resist that kind of flattery? But the disadvantages far outweigh the advantages. The label sex goddess somehow eclipses everything else about you. A sex goddess isn't a real living thing. She's a plastic lady. She's Superwoman. But she has no intellect, no emotions, no anything. She's just a man-eater, the dominant woman. I don't happen to be any of those things, especially not the new contemporary woman who verges on dominance. No one can tell her what to do. She gets everything she wants by being as aggressive as her male counterpart. Women are becoming so dominant now that I wonder if a lot of men are up to the challenge.

[Q] Playboy: Some people think the American male actually is in danger of being emasculated.

[A] Welch: Absolutely. The times have caught up with men and really done away with many of the things that were once regarded as exclusively masculine. The man used to be the head of the household; but now, with so many women working, he's often not the sole provider anymore. That's a difficult thing for many men to handle. He has to be very secure in his own manhood to be able to live with that. Another threat to the male sexual role is that women are waking up to new kinds of realities. Traditionally, a woman was a delicate creature, who sat home doing embroidery, having children and generally making a home for her husband as a cook and helpmate--but not as an equal. She had no way to divorce herself from those duties to carry on an extramarital affair. It took all of her energy and creativity just to keep her husband happy when he came home. The man, meanwhile, was out in the world, with the freedom to go out and experiment. He had a broad spectrum of experience, and when he came home, his wife couldn't communicate with him, because she knew nothing about his life. Yet she was supposed to sit there and take it, sacrificing her own interests for her home and family.

Then she began feeling jealous because many men took advantage of this self-sacrificing attitude, and, little by little, she became increasingly involved in the outside world. Soon she found that other people could take care of her children and house. Then she discovered that she had the time to work and earn money. She became independent and free--to dress the way she pleased, smoke a man's cigarette, get on a horse, handle a gun, do the whole thing. The logical conclusion was that the woman told her husband, "Look, you have a double standard, Buster. You can go out and screw around if you like, but don't expect me to sit home and be happy about it anymore. If you screw around, I screw around." A lot of women are turning to that and, as a result of this new aggressiveness, I think their lovers are beginning to say, "Wait a minute! All my life I wanted an easy lay, but now I wish she'd just leave her clothes on and let me take them off of her. For Christ's sake, I'm not even the instigator! She's balling me!" In all areas, somehow she's become the aggressor.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think many women are suited to handle that role?

[A] Welch: No. There's no one who's liberated to the point the American woman is and yet handles it worse. She holds her freedom like a club and beats the guy over the head with it until he's absolutely got stars coming out of his head. She's become so overdominant that she's passed the point of equality and is now sledge-hammering the poor American male into the pavement. I can't imagine why women want to do that, particularly radical groups like S. C. U. M.--the Society for Cutting Up Men. These women are a bunch of real hags. They literally hate men to the point of physical violence. S. C. U. M.--that's a perfect name, isn't it? They're trying to tell us that females don't have a sex drive at all, that we don't need men, that sex is just an inconvenience--a chore that we're obliged to perform, in order to keep the rent paid and a roof over our heads. They think they've been mistreated and want to retaliate by socking someone in the teeth. It's lunacy.

[Q] Playboy: This question of sexual dominance figures prominently in Myra Breckinridge--your next starring role. How did you feel about competing with the several transvestites who were also being considered for the part?

[A] Welch: I was frightened to death. Knowing that they tested all those transvestites made me feel really creepy. But when I tested for the part, I played the character as a woman, even though Myra is actually a man who's undergone a sex-change operation. I think of Myra in terms of how a girl would act if she had a lot of balls and could use them to get what she wanted. Let's face it, the kind of a man who'd change himself into a woman is already thinking like a female. So why should I screw my head up by trying to think like a man? The test was a five-minute dialog in the office of Buck Loner, the old-time movie idol who runs a talent school for children.

Carrying a black briefcase, I kicked open the door and said, "Stand up when a lady comes into the office, you son of a bitch!" And then I asked him why he cheated those poor provincial children, bleeding them white for a chance at immortal stardom, when he knew they were all doomed to an eternity of dishwashing. I tell him that I've got a certificate that proves I'm one of his partners and that I want exactly $500,000 for my share of the school. Myra comes on very strong and butch; then she turns quite coy, but you know she's just being coy so that she can crown it with the next tough blow. And yet there's a certain fragility about it all. What comes across is a very desirable creature--a really gutsy, ballsy chick. But she tosses so many numbers at him that he doesn't know which end is up. By the time she leaves, she's done him up and down. She's made him both fancy and fear her. And she's in control. That's the main thing. She uses every device at her command and she's so blatant about it that it's camp.

[Q] Playboy: How were you able to identify with this manipulative character?

[A] Welch: I didn't ever think about it in terms of this guy being a freak. I thought of Myra as a person who lives in a kind of fantasy world, and he/she wants desperately to make that fantasy come true. It will be great fun for me to play her--as well as a great opportunity for me as an actress--as long as she's having a good time. She wants to make celluloid come alive in her own life, to play one part after another, but she's looking for something that can never be real. Consequently, she's plagued by terrible insecurities.

[Q] Playboy: Couldn't that description of Myra also be applied to Raquel Welch --a woman committed to competing in the fantasy world of the actress and subject to the same insecurities that plague so many in show business?

[A] Welch: Yes. I obviously operate from great insecurity. We all do. If you didn't admit that, you'd be in worse trouble. If I were completely right in the head, if I were really well adjusted, I wouldn't be an actress. But I'm really not equipped to do anything else.

[Q] Playboy: There are those who insist you're not even equipped to do that; they claim that your beauty is all you have to offer.

[A] Welch: If it is, I'm in pretty bad shape, aren't I? But if I'm not capable of doing anything more substantial than displaying myself, I'd like to find out about it now, rather than continue to function at what I consider to be 40 percent of my ability. I can't negate the fact that I'm physically attractive, but I don't want to be pigeonholed by it. I have a need to express myself. I want to be an actress.

[Q] Playboy: Isn't the public getting tired of hearing that cliché?

[A] Welch: Yes, but it happens to be the truth. I haven't said these things for a long time, because they do sound like an embarrassing cliché. I realize that after attaining stardom, most actresses suddenly pull this serious-actress bit and renounce their image. Well, I'm very grateful for the success my attributes have brought me, but I can't be a decorative phenomenon for the rest of my career. It's a terribly destructive image; I know, because at one point, I began believing in it myself. I was totally convinced that I was a complete nit, that everyone else was far more cultured than I. If enough people tell you that you don't have any ability or creativity or that your work has no artistic merit, you begin to believe them. To counteract that impression, I vowed to broaden my artistic sensibilities. Marilyn Monroe went through the same process. She married Arthur Miller and studied with Lee Strasberg, thinking these people could give her what she needed. But you can't get it from other people, really. It has to come from yourself. When I began to realize that, I decided that I'm just not going to commit my entire life to the shit I've been doing.

[Q] Playboy: If you want to be appreciated for your acting ability, rather than for your anatomy, why don't you wear clothes that conceal rather than reveal?

[A] Welch: The reason you don't see me in Mother Hubbards is that I'm just not given those kinds of parts. I'm obviously cast for certain roles because I have a nice body and photograph well, and my presence on the screen adds some flavor to a movie. Of course, I'd like to play better roles, but most directors and producers don't believe I have the ability to put the nuances of warmth or depth into a character. They associate my image with a lack of intelligence and skill. It's definitely a struggle, and I'm trying very hard to convince industry people that I have the ability, but it's almost impossible to distinguish oneself in a very shallow part. How do you tread water and at the same time accomplish something? Though I have to give them what they expect, I try to elaborate on the part as much as possible--but I've yet to prove myself. Maybe I never will, but I think I have emotions and experiences to bring to a characterization that Hollywood has yet to tap. One of my problems is that I've been badly directed and I've had bad scripts to begin with.

[Q] Playboy: How did you respond to reviews of One Million Years B. C. that said such things as, "Her acting conveys all the emotions of Mt. Rushmore"?

[A] Welch: Neither the producers nor I ever pretended that One Million Years B. C. was going to be an art film. The audience bought a very lovely girl, a great-looking guy and a lot of prehistoric monsters. Furthermore, I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to appear in the film, because that was the real beginning of my career. Without the status it brought me, I'd be in no position now to stand up and say, "I want to be an actress."

[Q] Playboy: Did you attempt a credible performance in the film?

[A] Welch: What do you want from me? The dialog consisted of words like "Tumak," "Aquita" and "Seron." Tumak was my lover's name; we had a giant bird we called Seron; and "Aquita!" was supposed to mean help. "Aquita!" was my big word. The producers also dubbed in a number of grunts and groans for me. The rest of the picture I spent running away from monsters. When I see myself in movies like that, I see that my characters aren't projecting the things I have inside me. Perhaps in the beginning, I was too scared and inept to bring some kind of warmth or reality to a film.

[Q] Playboy: That may be true, but your reviews were little better for 100 Rifles, released only a year ago.

[A] Welch: I agree that it was one of the worst films ever made. When I saw 100 Rifles, it threw me into a depression that lasted for a couple of weeks. It seemed to me that all the good moments in my performance had been edited out. During the sneak preview at a local theater, I just kept sinking lower in my seat. No one even knew I was there. I wore a wig, so that people wouldn't look at me. The whole movie turned out to be high camp. But it was a huge commercial success, anyway.

[Q] Playboy: As your husband once put it, the studio hard-sell emphasized the cataclysmic meeting of "Superwoman" and "Superspade." Do you consider this campaign another example of the way you've been exploited?

[A] Welch: No doubt about it. I can't tell you how much I hated that whole campaign. It undermined every bit of self-respect I have. Even while we were filming, the publicity mill was turning it into a circus because somebody tastelessly suggested to the press that the relationship between Jim Brown and myself was akin to "the mating of two beautiful animals." I pleaded with the producers and the publicists: "Don't make it a big deal. Just portray us as two people who are attracted to each other, so that when we eventually get into the sack together on film, it will be real, natural and believable. Don't turn it into a freaky deal just because he's black and I'm white." But, no! The next thing I knew, the press started asking questions about what it's like doing a love scene with a black man. And that's what the public responded to. I never got any dirty mail before I did 100 Rifles. Then I received one letter that really devastated me--a very nasty, terrible letter. It said that I was a filthy little tart because I was acting in a film with a black man. Enclosed in the letter was a nice little-prop--a wooden ruler.

[Q] Playboy: Why did this particular letter upset you so much?

[A] Welch: Because I couldn't believe that some people still consider contact between the races dirty. Things like that hurt me deeply. But it gets to a point where you've got to stop crying. I can't change some people's attitudes, so fuck it. That's not my problem anymore. I've got tomorrow to look, forward to and I've got my self-respect to think of. I began to learn how to deal with my identity problem after I returned from Europe two years ago. But that whole period was very distressing for me, because I had just been married in Paris and the wedding was an incredible side show. It really left me shaken.

[Q] Playboy: From the newspaper accounts, one would assume that your wedding was staged for the publicity. Is that true?

[A] Welch: No, I didn't plan it. I didn't go there as a press gimmick, I went there to get married. Why should I be criticized just because it turned out to be a fantastic, chaotic, horrible thing? We just never had a moment to ourselves from the time we got off that plane. Photographers and reporters followed us every place we went. They even had walkie-talkies. They trailed us to our hotel and waited outside the door until we came out. They slept in their cars in front of the hotel. They went to every restaurant we went to. They went to the Lido with us. Patrick had to rent three different cars to decoy them. We would drive down the Champs Élysées, change cars at a given point and then drive off in the opposite direction. It was like a military operation with complicated plans--but none of it worked. I went into Yves Saint Laurent's salon to buy a wedding dress and 25 photographers poked their lenses through the curtain in the changing room. There was no way to satisfy them. I bought a white crocheted wedding dress that caused even more of a flurry when we arrived for the ceremony. There were 300 photographers waiting at the mayor's office and we could hardly get through the door. They were pushing and shoving and grabbing us, yelling, "Turn around, Miss Welch," and "This way, Miss Welch," and forcing us against the wall. I was terrified. It was like a bad movie.

[Q] Playboy: After that, was it a relief to return to the U.S.?

[A] Welch: Far from it. We'd been away so long that we literally had no home to come back to. On top of that, I wasn't satisfied with my career. I'd been to Europe and made five movies, yet I knew nothing about the countries I'd visited or the people I'd worked with. It was all just nothing to me. I felt not like a human being but like a puppet who'd just been manipulated. Then, too, I was frightened about married life and about my whole identity. That's when paranoia took over. I felt that people were after me, that they were standing around corners with their stilettos, just aching to slit my throat, that everybody was trying to choke me to death because they didn't like me--that whole scene. I couldn't deal with it. I thought I was being victimized by all the people who propagated my sex-goddess image; that people in the industry considered me a substandard actress; that I was trapped inside this terrible plastic lady, screaming to get out. I obviously wasn't prepared for the kinds of pressures and responsibilities that were being forced on me. The inhuman aspect of show business is that even though the pressures have pushed you over the border of sanity, you must continue to function and deliver. It's a mental crippler.

[Q] Playboy: Did you see an analyst at that time?

[A] Welch: No, I didn't. I've never been to an analyst, but I've considered it. I suppose I've been my own analyst in many ways. Soon after that paranoiac interlude, I realized that I felt a lot of animosity toward people, which led to the discovery that it wasn't that people didn't like me but that I didn't like myself. Finally, I decided to stop judging myself every minute. I realized that if I didn't like who I was, I'd better start making a few changes. Supposedly, I was this indestructible six-foot Barbie doll; but I finally comprehended that there was no way to be that mythical lady in real life. I am five foot, six, symmetrically built, analytical in mind, passionate in impulse. I'm not a female John Wayne. Most of the men I know were truly relieved when they found out that I'm not a man-eater. So was I.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think the public will accept the real Raquel Welch?

[A] Welch: Today, we can and do accept real people on the screen--people with normal dimensions of personality--because an audience can relate to them. The Thirties and Forties are gone now and the public isn't as turned on by glamor as it used to be. No one goes around today singing, "Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you." The old film stars had a certain kind of charisma, but they rarely went before the public off camera, lest they damage their carefully constructed images. Stars today are far more down to earth and often say very provocative things in public; they don't confine their relationship with the audience to signing autographs or answering fan mail.

What's happening is that creative people in the film industry are being forced to explore their imaginations more and more, and producers and directors are discovering that they can often make a better film for less money, using unknown actors. Take Dustin Hoffman or Woody Allen. They're not your everyday, garden-variety matinee idols, but they've got fabulous heads and I personally find such comedic minds very erotic. Both Hoffman and Allen are making big box-office movies, yet neither has the romantic appeal of the past. Obviously, what they've got comes from within and, unlike superficial glamor, that's not likely to diminish with age.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think your own romantic appeal is likely to endure as the years pass, even if you're successful in establishing yourself as an actress rather than a sex star?

[A] Welch: I don't think real beauty can ever wither. I've never believed somebody's bone structure or anatomy makes him what he is. Physical equipment is secondary to something that comes from inside. I don't believe the face and figure have anything to do with being an enduring artist in films. Look at Barbara Stanwyck and Katharine Hepburn, who were great beauties in their day. Jeanne Moreau is an older woman who appears to know everything about life and love. She looks slightly dissipated, but still comes off as very attractive. There's also the tremendous spirit and valiant quality of Marlene Dietrich, who has taken great care to preserve herself. I don't know how they do it, but I've seen too many attractive women between the ages of 40 and 60 to believe that getting old is such a hard rap.

[Q] Playboy: You feel, then, that you're only at the beginning of a long career.

[A] Welch: Well, I'm not as frightened or pressured by the pace of things as I was when I first began. I understand now that I'm my own worst enemy and that when I do something wrong or stupid, I mustn't knock myself down for it. I know that I can't bat 1000 all the time and that I'm bound to do and say some dumb things, but that's not the end of the world. If I keep working hard enough and if I'm able to reveal myself in my work, then I'm bound to start getting what I want from acting.

[Q] Playboy: And what's that?

[A] Welch: I don't know yet. I haven't found the single aspect within me that suits me best or that I'm most happy with. I'm still in a quandary as to which lady I want to be. But when I find that out, people will realize that I deserve to be regarded as an actress of stature--and longevity. I've been exploited in the past for the way I look, but I won't be tricked into that again and I'm not about to apologize for being attractive and for getting started that way. What really matters to me now is having the determination to be myself. But it takes a considerable amount of experience to find out who you really are, and I just haven't been able to get that yet. I know that I'm on the right track, though. My name is a household word; everybody knows who I am and they stand in line to see my movies. Now, if only the people in the industry would stop maligning me, stop typecasting me as Hollywood's giant mammary gland and give me a chance to assert myself, they may not see a Duse or a Bernhardt, but they'll discover a damn good actress.