Wherever Lindsay Wagner went while working on the $6-million adventure film High Risk, hordes of fans followed in search of “La Mujer Biónica.” In fact, Wagner hasn’t played the role of Jamie Sommers in TV’s Bionic Woman for more than two years, but in Mexico the series is a current hit. “It’s mainly the children who remember you,” says 31-year-old Wagner, who found the autograph hounds charming until she learned that most of them didn’t own television sets.
In Resurrection, Ellen Burstyn plays a woman healer and it seems to have gone to her hands. She claims that after studying the healing process she can now do it, although she has limits. “I can occasionally take away a headache,” she says, “but I was told if I really wanted to develop the power I would have to give up being an actress.”
Margaret Trudeau may be noted for her penchant for telling all; but the same could never be said for her estranged husband, Pierre, who for more than 30 years has hidden the fact that he was jilted in a former engagement. “He kept it a secret all through the courtship and marriage. Margaret only found out when someone told her after they were separated,” says Ottawa col-
umnist Richard Gwyn, who pieces together the romantic interlude in his upcoming Trudeau study The Northern Magus. Gwyn says Trudeau was engaged for about six months in the late 1940s to an Outremont socialite he identifies only as Thérèse, who is now married and teaching at a Montreal university. “The people I talked to were quite open. The prime minister is the only one who has declined to be interviewed for the book.”
It’s getting difficult to be a public figure in Britain these days because chances are that if you do something public a punk rock group will make you a song. At the silly forefront of what has been dubbed “la punk pathétique” are The Notsensibles, whose I'm in Love With Margaret Thatcher was a recent hit. Now, culling their material from a magazine interview, a Manchester quintet called Smack has set to music the words of actor Edward Fox, who found respectability in the BBC series Edward and Mrs. Simpson, though his
personal beliefs wouldn’t rate a royal nod. “Anarchy should be a joyous thing. Vandalism is poetic,” sing the Smacks, interpreting Fox’s politics in his own words. “I think human beings are incredibly tolerant, but they’re so dull. If they talked about how they’re mistreated, there really would be a revolution.” No comment from Fox on his namesake record, but Smack insists: “We’re serious.”
if If most of the provincial premiers ■were to get their way, the result would leave a fractionalized, unmanageable, bickering group of 10 states, whose sum was far less than the citizens of Canada could ever imagine, and far less than is required to preserve a nation.” So opined Edmonton publisher
and bon vivant nationalist Mel Hurtig, 48, when he had an honorary degree of doctor of laws conferred on him by York University Chancellor John Robarts and Vice-Chancellor H. Ian Macdonald. “This honor is unexpected and, as trite as it sounds, I really feel humble,” admitted Hurtig, who used his podium time to argue eloquently for national unity, self-confidence and a restructuring of oil pricing and development. “I see great dangers in this country in the next few months.” Hurtig says he has thought about running for prime minister, but he couldn’t bear to leave Edmonton.
One thing Salvador Dali has never been is publicity-shy, so when he disappeared from the public eye three months ago after his psychiatrist died in his villa, rumors began to spread that the master of surrealism was experiencing severe health problems. “All lies,” says Dali, 76, who surfaced intact last month with his wife, Gala, after suffering exhaustion and depression. The
only physical change in Dali is that his famous curled moustache has turned white. Dali says he will continue to paint and plans to finish a tragic play he has been working on for eight years. Although the Spanish tax man is rumored to be interested in some assets he keeps forgetting to declare, Dali’s chief anxiety is immortality. He admits to a fear of death, but adds: “I hope that if someday I die—something which perhaps will never happen—the people in the cafés of Figueras [his home town] will say, ‘Dali has died, but not totally.’ ”
Ever since wily populist Mayor Stephen Juba quit the job in 1977, the Winnipeg civic scene has been about as exciting as a dead goldfish. Present Mayor Bill Norrie, a corporation lawyer,
is low-key and generally viewed as a “nice guy.” With an election due Oct. 22, some sparkle has been added—primarily from the diamond-ringed fingers of AI Golden, a 33-year-old Juba protégé who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and ended up a millionaire via trucking and real estate. “I met Mayor Juba when I used to deliver his newspaper at city hall,” recalls Golden. “That man was my surrogate father. I worship him.” Ex-worship Juba is delighted by Golden’s attacks on the city hall establishment. If elected, Golden says he’ll donate his mayor’s salary to the Big Brothers, sell all his property and live on the interest. He also hopes to cut
taxes by persuading the able-bodied on welfare to assist themselves. “Mayor Norrie is the king of the establishment and I’m a servant of the people,” crows Golden. As the election nears, Winnipeggers are fast learning that silence may be golden—but Golden is rarely silent.
Amidst busts of Samuel Coleridge and
Robbie Burns, the movement for a worldwide Poetry Olympics was launched in London, England, last month. Nine laureates from around the world gathered in Westminster Abbey’s Poet’s Corner, but Canada’s lone representative, Governor-General’s Awardwinner Dennis Lee, saw it as “more Broadway than substance.” Punk rockers, reggae and beat poets could ani-
mate the audience of 1,000, but Lee says
he could endorse only a more general
world meeting of poets—“where individuals could share their discoveries and see that they’re not working alone.” When the energetic evening ended, no firm Olympic plans had been formulated for the event characterized as “the
first gathering of language, in its special sense, since Babel.”
U.S. Secretary of Defense Harold Brown had his hands full last week. Not only did he have to deal with emergency U.S. defence plans related to the ongoing Iraq-Iran war, but he was also faced with first reports on the problemplagued F-18 fighter plane. Ottawa has ordered 137 F-18s and, at the expected cost of $4 billion, Canada will be basing its defence strategy for the next 20 years on those 274 wing tips. Though first reports on the review are top secret, the aircraft is known to have serious design, cost and performance problems—leaving Brown the decision on whether to scrap, cut back or carry on.
Officials at the manufacturers, McDonnell Douglas, refuse to discuss the potential impact in the U.S. of a cutback or cancellation of the Canadian deal. One person who has never been afraid to talk about the F-18 is outspoken congressman Bruce Vento, whose investigators say the public won’t know anything until Nov. 6, two days after the U.S. election. They say that since President Jimmy Carter is already under Republican fire for letting military needs slip, there is no way he’d cancel any weapon system before the ballots are cast.
i álcali it rock ‘n’ roll-jazz from the ■ ghettos of Europe,” says violinist Ben Mink, describing his first solo album. Called Foreign Exchange, it is a departure from the rock he usually plays with the Toronto-based band FM to modern interpretations of ethnic music from all over Canada. Mink, 29, who plays
a stripped-down electric violin, its interior decorated with beach beauties and miniature cows, put the record together with a little help from the Canada Council after years of studying ethnic styles. “I guess it’s the kind of music you come up with when you watch Don Messer, sleep with a radio under your pillow and hear your father singing Russian folk-songs in the shower.”
Branching out from singer-songwriter to actor-screenwriter in the film One-Trick Pony may have been a new trick for Paul Simon, but it could have become a painful necessity. “With the combination of playing a lot of racket sports and the guitar all the time, I developed a calcium deposit in my index finger,” says Rhymin’ Simon. “I could hardly move it at all.” Simon’s simple solution was a change of diet recommended by a nutritionist friend of Yoko Ono’s. Simon’s certain that’s what cured him. “Up till then I’d tried everything, even witch doctors.”
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