Uncovering Soviet Women and Real Eddie Murphy

With the Berlin Wall down, Western magazines are charging in to give Americans their first good peek behind the Iron Curtain.

The most revealing uncoverage to date may be “The Women of Russia,” in the February Playboy.

An accompanying article by photo editor Jeff Cohen details the relatively ho-hum derring-do that went into capturing the naked truth about the evil empire on film.

But if glasnost has taught us anything, it’s that folks are all pretty much alike underneath, right? Take away the backdrop of St. Basil’s Cathedral and the Lenin props, and you couldn’t tell this layout from “The Girls of the PAC 10.”

Elsewhere in the magazine, Eddie Murphy also reveals himself, in a sometimes hilarious, frequently obscene, always intriguing interview with editor David Rensin.

Astutely noting that “the press builds you up and tears you down; I’m in the tear-down stage right now,” Murphy remains in control of the interview. The comedian turned multimillionaire mogul rather enjoys being feared by Hollywood, he says.

Murphy repeatedly states that he wants to keep their conversations superficial. But Rensin coaxes psychological revelations from the self-defined “matinee idol.”

Perhaps the most peculiar personality quirk unearthed is that Murphy--who lives in a Graceland-like New Jersey estate called Bubble Hill, who choked director John Landis on the set of “Coming to America” and who sometimes cruises through impoverished crack neighborhoods trying to talk users out of their habit--thinks of himself as normal.

Murphy comes across as a complex blend of sometimes conflicting traits. He’s bright, morally conservative (except for a decided lustfulness to which Jerry Falwell might object), naively sexist, apolitical, socially conscious, surprisingly humble, and a bit solipsistic.

But few readers are likely to find him normal. How normal, after all, is someone who thinks that singer Michael Jackson’s only abnormality is that “he doesn’t use profanity?”

The Brighter Side of the Greenhouse Effect

Next to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev and other celebs, the greenhouse effect is about the most popular subject in magazine-dom these days. Most mainstream magazines accept that this projected global warming, attributed to the burning of fossil fuels, is real, and to be avoided at all costs. A few, mainly conservative publications, have dismissed it as another paranoid fantasy of worrywart environmentalists.

Then, there is the libertarian monthly Reason, which believes that the greenhouse threat is real all right, but says, “Hey, we can live with that.”

Entitled “Keep Your Cool,” the Reason article presents a clear paraphrase of the scientists who argue that the 18 billion tons of carbon dioxide humanity’s cars and factories are pumping into the atmosphere is enough to tip the natural balance and cause temperatures on the planet to rise 5 to 9 degrees Fahrenheit over the next century (or two or three).

Author T. A. Heppenheimer, also agrees with scientists’ assessment of the problems this twist of the global thermostat will bring: hot weather, regional droughts, major changes to ecosystems, and flooding of low-lying lands due to the melting of Antarctic ice sheets.

But Heppenheimer’s reaction to these “unpleasant” problems is markedly different than the reaction of most.

Some environmentalists have suggested that we could stop the buildup of carbon dioxides by halving worldwide consumption of fossil fuels, by halting deforestation (trees make oxygen) and by replanting the clear-cuts.

With true libertarian sang-froid, Heppenheimer argues that such measures would be intolerable, resulting in a worldwide economic collapse--after all, “carbon dioxide is a byproduct of industrial growth and of a prosperous economy.”

Rather, he suggests we look on the bright side--the greenhouse will slow the next Ice Age, and places such as Siberia will become Sunbelt hot spots.

The article’s approach seems quite reasonable. Still, readers may find it hard not to envision Heppenheimer in Bermuda shorts and flowered shirt, sipping a tropical drink and listening to Bobby McFerrin as he spells out his solutions: Don’t worry--the heat’s going to take a long time to peak; be happy--we’ll build more air conditioners and persuade the populations of New Orleans, Sacramento, and dozens of other cities to move to higher ground.

A Reputation of Getting Smarter

Well into its second year, Smart magazine is beginning to live up to its title. The January-February issue packs between its covers an array of copy that is both intelligent and--to fit the more elusive definition of the word--brisk and stylish.

In one article, Loren Jenkins treats readers to a glimpse of the brave and buffoonish exploits of Hunter S. Thompson. Bullets fly, peacocks squeal, trout go belly up and tigers prowl as the father of gonzo journalism battles the “greedhead “ developers (one in particular) he thinks are trying to turn his beloved Woody Creek, Colo., into a garish clone of neighboring Aspen.

Elsewhere, Adam Begley provides an interesting look at cult novelist Thomas Pynchon’s obsessively reclusive life; Spy magazine editor E. Graydon Carter writes a surprisingly un-snide profile of “Saturday Night Live’s” Gatsby-esque producer, Lorne Michaels; and Robert Knafo presents a “demystification of Jackson Pollock,” titled “Sex, Lies, and Abstract Expressionism.” (Magazine editors: no more plays on that movie title, please).

And there’s more: A slightly leering but entertaining look at Meg Ryan titled “The Mysteries of the Orgasm”; an excerpt from journalist Rian Malan’s new book on returning to his native South Africa (a book that would seem to deserve all the excerpting in magazines it has received); and a novella by author Jim Harrison.

In his opening remarks, editor Terry McDonell quotes composer Gustav Mahler: “If you think you’re boring your audience, go slower, not faster.” And there’s a sense that the editors--unlike their more cynical comrades at so many of the established publications with which Smart competes--have stepped back, taken a deep breath, and decided to actually care about everything that goes into their book.

Even the short features and columns, by the likes of Bruce Jay Friedman, Eve Babitz, and Tony Hendra, say something worth saying.

About the only item in the whole issue that smacks of the lazy pretentiousness so prevalent in slick, hip magazines is a photo layout by German photo-artiste Jaschi Klein. Featuring bleak landscapes littered with expressionless models, it has all the clever imagination of an ad for Obsession perfume.