Marsha Boulton April 14 1980


Marsha Boulton April 14 1980


Acid guru Timothy Leary no longer believes that the future lies in LSD. Instead, he’s looking forward to “pharmaceutical advances” in the ’80s that will abolish human illness. “The biggest gas of all would be to immunize people against stupidity,” says 60-year-old Leary, who believes the humanitarian drug boom will tie in nicely with his Space Migration Intelligence Increase

and Life Extension (SMILE) program. The former Harvard professor and psychologist is communicating his spacedout message through a stand-up comedy routine which he prefers to call “standup philosophy.” As the featured act at Yuk Yuk’s Komedy Kabarets in Toronto and Montreal this week, Leary plans to dole out humor and insights along with a slide show. “I give the same lecture at colleges as I give in nightclubs,” laughs Leary, who claims to “come from a long tradition of frontier iconoclast satirists” including Mark Twain and Lenny Bruce.

íí^eople are born insignificant—you ■ have to work to become great,” said Père Athol Murray, a chain-smoking, whisky-drinking Catholic priest who settled in Wilcox, Saskatchewan, in the 1920s. Murray became “great” by establishing Notre Dame College (renamed Athol Murray College of Notre Dame). The feisty father also managed to rail heavily against the CCF party and the socialist principles of Tommy Douglas, sometimes using language that would make a Protestant blush. Today, the people of Wilcox (population 180) are having a chance to relive the Murray

days through the filming of The Hounds of Notre Dame, a $l-million movie about 36 hours in Murray’s life and a hockey game that was crucial to the college. Thomas Peacocke, 47, chairman of the University of Alberta drama department, takes his first film role as Murray. “We pray for blizzards here,” advises Peacocke reverently, since the production requires consistent snow. “God is sometimes on our side.”

The long-awaited film debut of Deborah (Blondie) Harry will take place next month at the Cannes Film Festival. In Union City, Harry, 35, plays a sexually frustrated New Jersey housewife with an accountant husband obsessed with finding out who is stealing the family milk bottles. Though almost any

film featuring Harry would be sure to generate a faithful rock audience, City has been made as a low-budget labor of love and art. The director of photography is Edward Lachman, praised for his work as a cameraman with new wave German director Werner Herzog, and the art direction has been handled by George Stavrinos, a top American illustrator. Director Mark Reichert, an artist himself, hopes that the film will succeed and enable him to resume work on Wings of Ash, a film biography of surrealist playwright Antonin Artaud starring Mick Jagger. Following her “art” debut, Harry will be seen in Roadie, along with Meat Loaf, Art Carney and

Alice Cooper. This time she plays what she is—a woman with a band. After that her film career becomes even more bizarre, as she teams up with Cheech and Chong in a sequel to their 1979 effort, Up in Smoke.

Much to the consternation of ABC-TV, the all-American athlete it has been seeking in its World Superstars series has turned out to be Canada’s Brian Budd for the third time in three years. “I think I’m driving them crazy,” chortled Budd, 28, after he served up his hat trick at Freeport in the Bahamas, vanquishing Heisman trophy winner Charles White. Budd earned $42,500 for his victory, bringing his grand total for Canadian and over-all championships to $175,000. The six-foot-one forward for the Toronto Blizzard soccer team says the network is thinking of implementing “the Budd Rule” next year. That would prohibit three-time winners

from trying for a fourth run in the pentathlon-styled events. “They’re trying to give me the elbow, there’s not much doubt,” says Budd. “I can’t believe the reaction. Everybody is getting his shorts in a knot over it.”

Ifldon’t want to succeed ‘at any cost.’ 11 don’t want to be a star. I want to be an actress—a very good actress,” says Louise Portal, 29, a French Canadian whose luminous performance in Cordélia is winning her critical kudos. The film is based on a true story involving a nonconformist woman in rural Quebec who was falsely accused in 1895 of dallying with the hired hand and

murdering her husband. Cordélia paid for her “sins” at the gallows. “This

woman’s life was destroyed almost a hundred years ago, and through the film we’re giving her back her life,” says Portal, a gamine whose mien is reminiscent of Geneviève Bujold. Portal has re-

turned to the 20th century by opening her own one-woman boogie-blues ’n’ rock show in Montreal, but film remains her first love, especially Canadian film. “I have no desire to end up in France or the U.S. with my suitcase in my hand like a beginner,” she says.

Long before Kiss learned to use lipstick, five young men calling themselves The New York Dolls were wearing the latest in pancake makeup and mini-

skirts. “We kinked it up and had fun with it,” explains ex-Doll guitarist Sylvain Sylvain. After the Dolls’ demise in the mid-’70s, Cairo-born Sylvain played with The Criminals and is now soloing with an album featuring his doublebarrelled name. “Kids today are into the Eagles,” laments prewaver Sylvain, who now prefers cowboy chaps to fishnet stockings. “Kids are into having a show. They want bombs. They want you to spit on them.” Sylvain contends that the real enemy of rock is teen-age complacency. “Kids feel they have nothing to rebel against,” explains Sylvain. “They have their cars in the garage, their stereos, their color TVs and their

dads who let them smoke pot in the house. There’s nothing left to fight for.”

Throughout the Juno Awards, former ambassador to Iran Kenneth Taylor bobbed his head up and down to the tune of performers as diverse as Carole Pope and Frank Mills. It was a pleasant diversion for Taylor, who told Maclean's that he hadn’t been able to keep abreast of the Canadian music scene while in Tehran. “The ayatollah doesn’t like it,” says Taylor. “He has his own hit parade.”

Not a ship that sails the seven seas will be able to compete with the newly outfitted fleet of the Royal Saudi Arabian Navy—especially at dinnertime. There are 10,000 men in the Saudi navy and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is the contracting agent for a $2billion expansion program which includes such niceties as $4.5 million worth of Limoges china, Steuben glass and Christofle silver. While it costs King K¿iHlid $450 a sailor before food, senior naval officers are being treated to four-piece silver place settings which retail for $911. “Why should they buy junk?” says Tom Zumwalt, head of the U.S. team assigned to the Saudi expansion project. “They really do appreciate quality, so they’ll pay for it.” Admiral Thomas B. Hayward, chief of U.S. naval operations, doesn’t fare so well. He is issued with standard hotel/motel-grade tableware and his salad fork, for example, costs 99 cents.

Without a doubt the pride of North Turkey Creek, Colorado, is 30year-old Eugene Fodor, who has been wowing classical music lovers since 1974 when the virtuoso violinist won the coveted top honors in the International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. “A violin is merely a string and a hollow box, touched by a horse’s tail, with resin to grip,” explains Fodor, who calls his 244-year-old, $300,000 instrument a “fiddle.” Fodor’s good looks have led critics to wax over his sex appeal as well as his consummate bowing. He has been described as “an Adonis who plays like young Paganini and one of the few contemporary classical musicians who has the power to make women swoon.” The sexual praise doesn’t upset Fodor. “Maybe it’s my phrasing,” he says. “I’m very glad that I’m found attractive in certain women’s eyes. Whatever brings people into the concert hall for the first time, so be it. Even if the reasons aren’t musical.”

Marsha Boulton