Marsha Boulton April 7 1980


Marsha Boulton April 7 1980


Teen teasing is not Andy Thoma’s style. The 23-year-old Vancouver vocalist may resemble a cross between pube-throbbers Rex Smith and Leif Garrett, but his sights are set on Frank Sinatra’s style when he sings. Thoma’s first band, the ill-fated rock ’n’ rolling Aces, folded when he was 14. Putting aside childish ways he headed for Los Angeles and one of 01’ Blue Eyes’ arrangers, Phil Moore. “I like the classy romantic stuff, with a big orchestra,

strings, horns and girls in the audience,” he says. Later this month Canadians will have a chance to see Thoma compete with 17 other semifinalists in the third annual du Maurier Search for Stars talent hunt. Rock ’n’ roll may not be “intimate enough” for Thoma, but that doesn’t mean he shies away from adventure. His hobbies are broncbusting and hotdog skiing.

((As long as the party is controlled #%by a Vancouver Club establishment to whom I am anathema, I’m not

interested,” responded former Liberal fitness and amateur sport minister Iona Campagnolo when provincial Liberals in British Columbia approached her recently about leading them out of the political wilderness. Campagnolo, 47, claims that the Vancouver Club contingency “pulls all the strings and makes all the decisions” and that they think she is “too left wing.” According to her, it would take a “living wage” of between $30,000 and $40,000, a pension and a guarantee that Liberal members of the Vancouver Club be removed from power positions, for anyone to take on the thankless position. Campagnolo estimates it would cost $1 million a year for five years just to get the party back on its feet and elect a few members. In the meantime, Our Lady of Skeena may be quite happy to remain in her media role as host of CBC’s One of a Kind. She still bears a grudge against provincial Liberals who stood by and did nothing while ferry service to her riding was eliminated. “Now they ask me to rebuild their party,” she snorts. “Why should I throw myself onto the funeral pyre?”

i((| never have a problem getting my I agent on the phone, but I have a hard time getting my husband off the phone,” says Helen Shaver, who married her agent Steven Reuther, the heir apparent to the throne of the powerful William Morris Agency. Shaver is currently “hot” because of her starring role in TV’s United States, in which she costars with Beau Bridges. U.S. focuses on the “one out of two marriages that doesn’t end in divorce,” and 29-year-old Shaver says the show’s creative approach to marital problems has given her “the chance to integrate its ideas into my own marriage.” Aside from television, Shaver is also working in director Norman Jewison’s latest opus, Dogs of War, and next year she hopes to turn producer of her own feature film — a $6.2-million project called Airlift to Wounded Knee. The script by Canadians Ben Barzman and Jeffrey Friskin is due to go before the camera next spring in Alberta. “There’s a great role in it that Jane Fonda is too old for,” laughs Shaver. Understandably, that’s the role Shaver wants for herself.

By now North Americans have probably swallowed the final chocolate sarcophagus remaining in the wake of King Tut’s triumphal infiltration of the continent. Now comes the movie, The 'Uifrse of King Tut, which was shot on location in the Valley of the Monkeys about a mile from Tut’s tomb on the west bank of the Nile. The legendary curse, “May the cobra on my head spit

flames of fire into thy face .... Such a curse is the vengeance which is hidden in my body throughout all eternity,” first gained credence when archeologist/discoverer Howard Carter’s pet canary died at the fangs of a cobra days after the 1922 unearthing. The curse also struck the film company. British actress Joan Collins cancelled on the advice of her astrologer and, on the first day of filming, the star of the show, Ian McShane, was put out of commission by a broken leg. Expatriate Canadian actor Raymond Burr, who plays a crazed Arab art collector, also fell victim to cursory mischief. After three afternoons before the cameras, Burr, 62, suddenly collapsed and his 280-pound frame was carted off to a company doctor. The verdict: “Mild concussion.”

iiEvery woman is dying in the movies Ethese days, right?” sighs Marthe Keller. She should know—cast in more than a dozen films as “the Sunshine Girl, always healthy and romantic,” her North American career has included her being blown away in a blimp in Black Sunday, gunned down as a double agent in Marathon Man and dying of cancer in Bobby Deerfield. Keller, 35, was also the lead in Billy Wilder’s 1977 critically praised box-office bomb, Fe-

dora. Since then she has been playing in a Paris stage version of Anton Chekhov’s The Three Sisters, which will be filmed this spring. And she is currently starring with Marlon Brando and George C. Scott, on-screen together for the first time, in a thriller called The Formula. Her string of mystery-lady roles continues as she plays a German fashion model who joins Scott in the search for a missing secret recipe for a synthetic fuel used in Adolf Hitler’s Germany. The plot line has her entangled with Scott, but her off-screen consort since Deerfield days is AI Pacino, who has been cruising her set locations in Germany and Switzerland.

After nine seasons of proving that mean guys often finish first, New Westminster Bruins coach Ernie (Punch) McLean last week announced he was benching himself. McLean, 47, led the team to four consecutive Western Hockey League titles and two Memorial Cups, and gave the world such stickwielding wonders as the New York Rangers’ Barry Beck and Vancouver Canucks’ Stan Smyl. “I’ve worn out my welcome,” he says after a struggle to the top and back down—the team broke or tied three league-loss records last season—that was highlighted by such

antics as dumping trash cans on the ice, letting his players pummel the opposition and scalping a linesman of his toupee. Hopes for the future undaunted, McLean says: “There’s no doubt in my mind that I can coach in the NHL. I’m one of the most knowledgeable guys in hockey from the grassroots up.”

Ringleted Shirley Temple made a great $10 IOU in the 1934 film version of Damon Runyon’s story Little Miss Marker, about a post-Pablum female who is put up as collateral for a bet. This year’s IOU in the fourth remake of the film is straight-haired Sara Stimson, who was selected from 5,000 short, dimpled aspirants to play the role opposite Walter Matthau. Marker is sevenyear-old Stimson’s first role, but she plans to make a career out of acting. The next role she would like to play is “a princess, a rabbit or, failing that, a mouse.”

Comedian George Carlin has gone from the uptight monologist of the 1960s’ Kraft Summer Music Hall, through the spaced-out, hippy-dippy ’70s and arrived in the ’80s—one heart attack later and a lot less angry. Though his act still centres around things like the expletives that can’t be said on TV and his fantasies about life on The Tonight Show, which involve Ed McMahon breaking wind in Johnny Carson’s general direction, Carlin, 41, has mellowed around the edges. “I’ve given up the heavy stuff,” he says about his drug-related humor. “I still do heroin, speed and acid—you know, the recreational drugs.”

The Victorian age may not have been ready for a Rocky-sized rags-toriches hero, but Little Lord Fauntleroy

was an easy champion. This July, the mini-lord goes mod as a boy soprano in the musical Fauntleroy, which opens at the Charlottetown Festival. L.L.F. has not been staged in nearly a century, but Canada Council Chairman and Renaissance pay-TV decrier Mavor Moore decided to adapt the story after he became intrigued with the possibilities of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s 1886 novel. Seventy pubescent Fauntleroys auditioned for the role and the most faultless was 11-year-old Duane Woods of Kitchener, Ontario. The Charlottetown version of Fauntleroy promises to be serious family fare in short pants. The score consists of 18 songs, including such classics as Pennies From Heaven and Pocketful of Dreams. Librettist Moore, 61, has added an original song of his own—I Hate Little Boys.

Marsha Boulton