Sex Stars of 1978

We had a hint of it last year, with the emergence of the Farrah Fawcett-Majors phenomenon, but in 1978, for the first time in memory, almost as many of America's reigning sex stars came from the small screen of television as from the big one of the movie theater. This in spite of the fact that what TV offers is mainly titillation; not soft-core sex, let alone hard-core, but mush-core sex--in abundance. What began with Charlie's Angels has spread around the dial until there are more handsome men and more beautiful women suggesting more and doing less in prime time than ever before in history.

To join Charlie's three beautiful detectives and those two girls and a guy living together Platonically--with never a good solid kiss among the bunch of them--this season introduced three airline stew-ardesses, two beautiful investigative reporters, Vegas showgirls and beautiful ladies from outer space and a wide assortment of other ventures designed to fit or imitate program planner Fred Silverman's ideas of a passionate evening. But the public, as they used to say in pulp novels, showed a visible excitement nonetheless.

Without question, John Travolta emerged as the year's certifiable sex superstar in films such as Grease and Saturday Night Fever, (text continued on page 248) to which he could transpose essentially the same lovable thug the TV audience worships on Welcome Back, Kotter. In Fever, Travolta propelled the disco look straight into pop culture, in much the same way that Diane Keaton's oddly put-together outfits resulted in a parade of Annie Hall look-alikes issuing out of every fashionable boutique in the country.

Travolta's success has been an interesting contrast to the fate of television's other popular hood, Henry Winkler, who twice tried to play a far different character in films and twice bombed. If rumor be true, Travolta was having some of the same trouble shifting character during the filming of his next picture, Moment by Moment, a drama with Lily Tomlin. On film so far, though, Travolta has been hot to trot in ways he could never get by with on Kotter, even though he does more dancing than romancing in his two hit pictures.

In contrast, this year's female sex stars were an odd lot--deliciously desirable but strangely out of reach and out of focus, leaving the mind to fill in where the libido can't quite reach. Television cranked out two more blondes, Cheryl Ladd and Suzanne Somers, to rival last year's queen, Farrah. Even more two-dimensionally, Cheryl Tiegs suddenly seized the public's imagination with nought but a poster. (Pinup posters, in fact, suddenly boomed into a billion-dollar business for all the sex stars, decorating the most bedroom walls since America fought World War Two to keep Betty Grable safe from the enemy.)

Strangely, though, every one of this year's new sexy ladies kept interrupting her fans' fantasies with constant reminders that she was personally happily married and extremely faithful. And, as usual with the best of ladies, if they aren't already attached, they're probably too young. The year's other fresh excitement was 13-year-old Brooke Shields, a blossoming beauty whose nude debut in Pretty Baby was shocking in the least--and illegal in some parts of the world, where the film was banned. Still, pretty as she is, Brooke is nobody older guys can admit to being aroused by without consulting their lawyers.

For all its antiseptic sex, however, television has matured amazingly fast as it searches for something to show besides violence. With a leer and a lurch, TV this past season moved out of the Forties and into the Sixties, now showing more skin (but no nipples or pubes) and discussing more sexual kinks than anybody ever thought would get past the censors. Who knows? If the trend continues, TV may catch up to the Seventies sometime in the Eighties. And then we'll get some real sex stars in the living room.

In the meantime, movies seem uninterested in new sexual frontiers, pushing fantasy and music instead. With a couple of R-rated exceptions such as Coming Home and An Unmarried Woman, the new sex stars emerged in plainly PG pictures aiming for young audiences and big, big record sales. Although never bedded down together in the picture, Travolta and fetching Olivia Newton-John, in her first film, let the sparks fly on a single and an album that were certified hits before Grease was released. (In Hollywood, where sex is always basically a business, that is known as protecting the downside risk; in other words, make enough money off the advance record sales to shelter the production costs of the film.)

Similarly, Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees were lured out of the recording studios into their first film, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and wound up with another platinum record for their walls. Robbie Robertson of The Band was also larger than life in the cinéma vérité concert film The Last Waltz; while Donna Summer set hearts atripping with her disco set in Thank God It's Friday.

In Turning Point, the music softened but the sex sizzled in the pas de deux between Mikhail Baryshnikov and Leslie Browne. Hailed offscreen as the "Travolta of high culture," the handsome young Russian was romantically linked with half of New York City, including Browne, Liza Minnelli and ballerina Gelsey Kirkland.

But it was left to another singer, Linda Ronstadt, to tease the public with the most glamorous real-life romance of all, hand in hand at the hot spots with California's good-looking bachelor governor, Jerry Brown. Naturally, smoke-room gossip made much of the fact that the romance surfaced after a major magazine reported that some of the governor's backers were fearful of a whispered homosexual issue, no matter how untrue, in his re-election campaign. But others insisted the romance was real and that Linda might be rock's first first lady.

Warren Beatty--the successful, rich, handsome, carefree heartbreaker--again disappointed that segment of Hollywood wishing he would fall on his ass just once. Back with his first film since Shampoo, Beatty co-wrote, produced, co-directed and starred in Heaven Can Wait, an instant box-office and critical hit. He was even brave enough to co-star a former ladylove, Julie Christie, and get away with it.

Biggest comeback of the year, though, was registered by Jon Voight, who has had his share of clunkers since his debut in Midnight Cowboy. But in Coming Home, he not only re-established his dramatic talents but pinned down the year's most talked-about sex scene: As a crippled Vietnam veteran, Voight fully demonstrated that sex doesn't exist merely below a man's waist. Stopping just short of an X, Voight made quite clear what was on his mind as he slipped his lips down Jane Fonda's excited body.

Speaking of comebacks, Ali McGraw turned up again--unfortunately, in the year's biggest turkey, Convoy. But the film got her permanently out of the house of Steve McQueen, for whom she had dumped producer Robert Evans several years ago, during the shooting of The Getaway. So, after Convoy, who signs her for his next picture? Evans, of course. But while the tongues clucked, they also remarked that McGraw is looking lovelier than ever and are awaiting the result of the Evans picture, Players, in which Ali stars with handsome Dean Paul Martin (Dean's son).

McQueen, incidentally, not only lost a wife but his first picture in many years, An Enemy of the People, is dangerously moribund. Warner Bros. urged him not to make the heavy-handed, artsy adaptation of the Henrik Ibsen drama, but McQueen insisted. After a few test screenings, W.B. decided it had been right in the beginning and has all but shelved the movie. But all was not a loss. McQueen did manage to gain enough pounds to make himself unrecognizable on the lot.

He wasn't the only superstar to suffer this year. Charles Bronson tested his waning popularity with Telefon and found it had waned more than he feared. Jimmy Caan couldn't come up with a winner (though he has high hopes for the forthcoming Hide in Plain Sight, his first directorial outing) and neither could Dustin Hoffman. It's now been nearly three years since Robert Redford appeared in a leading role, in All the President's Men (not counting his cameo in A Bridge Too Far). Paul Newman and Marlon Brando have also been coasting this year, along with Barbra Streisand. But at several million bucks per picture, who needs to work much?

Burt Reynolds, however, refused to rest. After Smokey and the Bandit, he followed with Semi-Tough and The End. In two of those, he co-starred with the former Flying Nun, Sally Field, adding fuel to their offscreen romance. While the affair was still running hot, the two knocked off another picture, Hooper, directed by Burt's bachelor buddy and roommate, Hal Needham, a handsome wild man himself. Needham, who got very rich directing his first picture, Smokey, says, "Burt let me direct Smokey 'cause he thought if I made a million bucks, I'd (continued on page 369)Sex Stars(continued from page 248) move out of the house. But I didn't." Maybe Needham's second million on Hooper will gain Burt some privacy.

"Why haven't we ever fucked?" Jill Clayburgh asked Reynolds in Semi-Tough, a question that Scarlett would never have asked Rhett. But it's the kind of interrogation--tough, slightly bawdy but vulnerable, too--that has become Clayburgh's trademark in a rapid career rise, starting with the universally panned Gable and Lombard, moving on to the comic relief of Silver Streak and capped this year with a marvelous performance in An Unmarried Woman. She'll next be seen in Bernardo Bertolucci's The Moon and bets are it will be another interesting outing for Jill, who just may be the single best actress among all the beautiful women on the list.

Jacqueline Bisset was also busy this year, finishing her 30th picture in the past decade. Although audiences didn't exactly go wild over her ersatz Jackie Kennedy role in The Greek Tycoon, the rebuff didn't slow her down. She quickly turned to a comedy, Someone Is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe, then jumped from that into I Love You, I Love You Not, assuring Bisset fans of a steady supply.

In F.I.S.T.,Sylvester Stallone's first film after his smash Rocky, the moody muscleman was still smoldering, but the ashes had cooled off. There were lots of troubles both at home and behind the scenes on that second picture, as Stallone wrestled with ego problems. But he seemed to settle down some on his third film, Paradise Alley, and was getting into shape for Rocky 11. So it's far from a ten count on Sly's career, but his chin's plenty sore from this year's poundings.

Tough guy Clint Eastwood showed no signs of weakening after another hit, The Gauntlet. But the monogamous married man of 24 years was looking for somebody to slug after repeated rumors of an on-location romance with Gauntlet co-star Sondra Locke. Denying any romantic interest, Eastwood signed her on again for his next picture, Every Which Way but Loose, a comedy about him and an orangutan. Warning to fan-mag editors: Avoid any scoops about Clint's affair with the ape.

And so it goes with the superstars. After so many years with the same ones, however, the excitement dims. Fortunately, there are fresher loves. Or, in other words, what's happening with the golden Farrah? Alas, she of the teeth and the hair insisted upon maintaining undying devotion to hubby Lee Majors, even though his career flattened as hers soared. While she quit Charlie's Angels voluntarily, his Six Million Dollar Man ran out of spare change. Thus, for different reasons, they both went into the movies. But his first starring film, The Norseman, was quickly unhelmeted while her Somebody Killed Her Husband was still in preparation. What's worse, he had to listen to the usual bullshit rumors that she was fooling around with co-star Jeff Bridges, but nobody seemed to care what he might--or might not--be doing many miles away on the Norseman set with his co-star, Susie Coelho, except maybe her boyfriend, Sonny Bono.

Whatever her future, Farrah already has her heiresses, or, as some would say, her clones. The most obvious candidate was Cheryl Ladd, who inherited her role as the third angel. But Cheryl is a relatively modest and demure in-law of an important Hollywood family (she's the sister-in-law of 20th Century-Fox chief Alan Ladd, Jr., son of the late actor), so she has allowed the publicity to go only so far. And, as Farrah proved, these days you get ahead on pure hype.

Enter Suzanne Somers. A longtime bit player whose film career peaked as the silent, mysterious Thunderbird blonde in American Graffiti, Somers finally hit it big as the daffy part of the trio on Three's Company. But she also did something smarter. No sooner did she have the role than she went straight to Farrah's press agent/manager and asked him to make her a star, too. And, via talk shows and magazine covers, he did, only momentarily stumped by one mag's sudden revelation that Suzanne had once been arrested for a bad check: She's so photogenic she even looked good in the mug shots.

That, in fact, was about as close as a Hollywood star came to scandal, though the bigwigs in the executive suites were dodging the law from all directions. Except for a few drug busts, you can't stir up a good celebrity scandal anymore, especially when it comes to sex. Even Cher has settled down, forgoing her marriages to and divorces from Gregg Allman in favor of a steady fling with the masked rocker, Gene Simmons of Kiss.

Monogamy is running rampant among celebrities, though not always with benefit of clergy. Even one of the town's most eligible and bon vivant bachelors, Marjoe Gortner, surprised everyone by slipping across the border to marry Candy Clark while the two were filming When You Comin Back, Red Ryder?Kate Jackson, another Charlie's Angel, and Andrew Stevens, son of Stella and star of The Bastard on TV, flew to the Martha's Vineyard home of rock singer James Taylor to wed, with Farrah as matron of honor. As. previously mentioned, Stallone had some marital problems while shooting F.I.S.T., but they were settled. And so did Chevy Chase while filming Foul Play, but the split wasn't permanent. Richard Dreyfuss did split with his longtime lady, Lucinda Vallez, to run free for a while, but he was about the only major star to rejoin the eligible list. Despite the adoration heaped upon him, Travolta couldn't find a real-life love to replace the late Diana Hyland.

Oh, yes, there was the bitter breakup of Marisa Berenson and businessman Jim Randall, who, she complained, kept her a virtual prisoner in their mansion and piled dirty dishes outside her door. She finally got out but lost the title role in Vivien Leigh, which Randall is producing. So she went off to Rio to do Greed and was seriously injured in an auto accident. All in all, a messy year for Marisa.

For most of Hollywood, though, the business of make-believe--even the enticement of sexual fantasy--remains very much a business, a job that starts too early in the morning and ends too late at night. When they're working, they're generally too tired for much else. As a matter of fact, if you believe their complaints in private, the sex stars themselves aren't getting all that much and neither are the lovers living with them. Ah, well, things are tough all over.