Since transplanting themselves last November from east end London, Eng., to a home base in Vancouver, The Villains have stormed the country with an up-tempo cockney calypso version of ska, the musical predecessor to Jamaica’s reggae beat. “We came for the adventure of it, really,” explains Villain vocalist Count Steve. “Canada seems to be ready for us.” The group is drawing critical praise and packed halls on its current tour, which has included a stop at the Esterhazy, Sask., legion hall. Dressed in plaid and pleated trousers, their skulls shaved to a brush-cut bristle, the skinheads took the small prairie town by surprise. “They asked us what planet we were from but they soon came around,” says the Count. “Everyone was dancin’; even some ’50s-style jivin’.” He dismisses the notion that skinheads are the instigators of the current rioting in Britain. “Skinheads are into fun, not fighting. Trouble’s been brewing for a long time. Anyway, we’re reformed villains—but then we’re no angels. Knowor-I-mean?”

Her arm in a cast propped at right angles by a steel brace—a painful souvenir of a gunman’s May 17 attempt on her life—JoAnn Wilson last week ended what has been one of the longest and most bitter child custody battles in Saskatchewan. Wilson, 41, assembled reporters in Regina to announce she had consented to give custody of her 12year-old son, Regan, to her former husband, Colin Thatcher, 42, provincial MLA and son of Ross Thatcher, former premier. Adding to detailed media and court reports of the couple’s divorce and ensuing custody battle, Wilson said she had been “personally terrorized” over the past eight months and cited numer-

ous cases of vandalism and telephone harassment in addition to being shot as she stood in her kitchen. Speaking of her seven-year-old daughter, she said, “Stephanie needs a healthy mother to care for her.”

Her legs have caused a Betty Grablelike sensation but her face is not familiar to thousands of James Bond fans enticed into seeing For Your Eyes Only by the lower half of poster girl Joyce Bartle. “Models often work anonymously but it’s a funny feeling to know that people see only my legs,” says the 22-year-old New Yorker whose work for top modelling agency Wilhelmina

earned her a hefty six-figure income and her own limousine before Bond. “I never dreamed there would be such a reaction,” says the willowy blonde whose current love is a Wall Street stockbroker. “It’s all very flattering.”

It was love at first sight when Jasper, Alta., art dealer Galal Helmy, 39, spotted radiant Soviet actress Toma Ahmedova, 21, in a Central U.S.S.R. hotel lobby last year. When Helmy asked the black-haired beauty if she was married, a friend translated the English question into a Russian marriage proposal. Ahmedova was shocked but charmed and eight months later the pair exchanged vows in the Soviet Union. Then Helmy had to return home and endure another eight-month wait, while the Soviet government pondered whether to let Ahmedova come to the West. Persistence overcame paperwork, and the couple was finally reunited in Edmonton last month. “No other woman would be such a loss . . .” he says of the overnight Soviet sensation. “If they let her go, they might let others go, too.” The

happy couple is postponing a honeymoon until Jasper’s summer tourist rush is over and Helmy has finished planning his next feat—a $5-million European exhibition of Canada’s Eskimo and Indian art, scheduled to open next October in Holland.

After telling all and then baring it in the pages of Playboy, Rita Jenrette is about to leave off discussing husband John’s conviction in the U.S. Abscam scandal and go before the movie cameras in a women’s prison epic called Concrete Jungle. “But it’s not an exploitation film,” claims Jenrette. “I don’t have to do anything like that.” While admitting the part may have come to her because of her recent notoriety, Jenrette maintains, “The bottom line is talent.” The top line we already know about.

ruel and brutal violence ^throughout; explicit sex scenes. Depiction of childbirth,” reads the B.C. censors’ warning on advertisements for Penthouse publisher Bob Guccione’s film odyssey of Roman decadence, Cali-

gula. In spite of (or perhaps because of) the warning, the critically savaged 2V2 -hour film took in nearly $100,000 in the first 12 days it played in Vancouver’s revitalized Granville Street. Not surprisingly, the city’s self-appointed moral watchdogs, the United Citizens for Integrity, are livid. Led by former alderman Rev. Bernice Gerard, 57, who last made headlines when she walked

fully clothed amidst nude sunbathers on Wreck Beach, the group has been picketing the theatre trying to cause public outrage and police action. “We went in a committee to see the film, the childbirth comes as a breath of fresh air,” says Gerard. “To be frank, I just about upchucked three times.” As yet, no one else has complained.

Adding a dash of sophistication to the rugged land that inspired the Group of Seven, Parry Sound, Ont., pianist Anton Kuerti is gathering together 28 of his musical colleagues on the shores of Georgian Bay next week for the 17-day-long second annual Festival of the Sound. Tantalizing the eclectic palates of holiday seekers and townsfolk will be imports such as baritone Louis Quilico and son,Gino,soprano Rosemarie Landry and Toronto Symphony harpist Judy Loman. For a splash of local color, Kuerti has persuaded Charlie Farquharson, alias Don Harron, to grace “Parry Hoot” for the first time since he made it infamous 29 years ago. Organizer Kuerti is optimistic about the festival’s success and not at all fazed by the cost of big-name talent: “We pay them partly in money and partly in scenery.”

There’s no rest for the weary, especially if they are weary and famous. Last week, while in New York to promote his new soccer movie, Victory, Sylvester Stallone was harassed on

Fifth Avenue by a man demanding money. “If they pay $5 to see you,” he moaned, “they think they own stock in you.” He blames his continuing character, Rocky, which he now refers to as “my own little Dorian Gray thing.” Nonetheless, Stallone will return to the screen next summer in Rocky III, but there will be no Rocky IV, he says. Instead, Stallone has written a comedy called Pals based on the friendship between Marlon Brando and comedian Wally Cox which he calls “a younger generation version of The Odd Couple.” He’s hoping to sign Woody Allen to play Cox to his own Brando.

During the seven-year reign of Mayor Janet Gray Hayes, the city of San Jose, Calif., has become known as the “feminist capital of the world,” with seven women politicians out of 11 on its city council. Even so, the recent strike by municipal employees over the issue of wage parity between men and women was seen as cheeky by the city mothers. San Jose’s ruling spokespersons firmly believed that “most of the pickets were militant feminists____” Union represen-

tative Prudence Saalthaug saw it otherwise. “The problem does not lie with the workers but with women in leadership positions who are inexperienced,” she says. Although the strike was settled in the ladies’ favor last week, a rocky reunion isexpected.Whileplacardsreading: IF THE MAYOR SAYS THIS IS THE FEMINIST CAPITAL OF THE WORLD ONCE MORE, I’LL PUKE, are gone, their sentiments have not been forgotten. Vows Saalthaug: “Come next election, we’ll be removing certain people from office.”

hy don’t we just hire him to write us some jokes. He’s been making up better lines than these all afternoon,” grumbled Ronnie Hawkins last week on the set of CTV’s new half-hour variety series, Honky Tonk. Hawkins was huddled with his quipping guest, actor-singer Hoyt Axton, during taping of the fall show that may transform the 45-year-old rockabilly king into a cowboy star complete with a live studio rodeo. The mountainous Axton, 43, has become something of a recent star himself after his well-received movie outing last year in The Black Stallion. Previously known only as the songwriter behind the hits The Pusher and Joy to the World, Axton’s second profession is keeping him busy in upcoming films such as Cloud Dancer, with David Carradine. Acting is “fairly simple,” he explains. “They hand you the words, they tell you where to move and then they pay you a whole lot of money. I like it.”