Your eyes do not deceive you. A ‘What I want in a wife’ article is not a natural place you might expect to see either Peter Wyngarde or Ian McKellan’s face, but… this was 1972, so here they are.
As for Oliver Reed? Well, let’s just say I’m not surprised…
“Femininity is important. I hate the bull-dyke Women’s Lib type of bird. The best women for me are those who have plenty of drive but in the end like to be dominated. I like a girl who can understand and then tolerate me and, above all, she must have good knockers.”
Scanned from Cosmopolitan, April 1972.
Yes, it’s that time of year again. St BryanGod Day. Never heard of it? Pah.
While Oliver Reed is my declared rugged-actor-of-choice, I must admit that Alan Bates looks pretty hot in this feature from Vogue, September 1973. Not only are the tweedy, wooly clothes damn sexy, but he’s also got a red setter – my dream dog! Perfection…
Photos by John Vere Brown.
Alan Bates, photographed in his native Derbyshire, wearing the kind of country cashmeres and tweeds that the British do so well. He’s now in his first season with the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford playing Petruchio in The Taming of The Shrew. He had previously completed over two years in the title role of Butley—first in London, when he won the 1971 Evening Standard Best Actor Award, then in New York where he collected a Tony Award, and earlier this year shooting the film version to be released here after its premiere in the States in October.
If you have already looked through the pictures in this feature, picked out your idol, or dwelt lovingly on the reckonable men there, THEN . . . it‘s very likely you‘re immature.
Thats the psychiatrists opinion, anyway. They state the facts, saying that most girls outgrow their attachments to film or pop stars when they become mature, and that these attachments are safety-valves for pent-up emotions.
This is stating facts without criticising. But it‘s worth taking a closer, critical look at just what these attachments can do to one’s life. Basically, we feel, it‘s fun to sigh or scream over a pop star, and harmless to take a fancy to a film star. But a lot of girls don’t leave it at that.
Very soon, the pinning-up and pining becomes an obsession with them. They find it increasingly hard to construct real life doings, because they’re in a glorious never-never world of mental communication with an unattainable, transcendental man. This doesn‘t call for any effort on their part, whereas carving out a real life, and real relationships, does. So they take the soft option. Though, if they stopped to think about it, they’d see which turns up the thumping great bonuses in terms of personality-enrichment, and which keeps one simmering away in a state of negative-thinking infantilism.
So, beware. lf you spend any more than the occasional minute thinking about lover-boy, not only may you be tending dangerously towards obsession, but also you‘re wasting a lot of time, which you might spend making life interesting in reality, instead of only in imagination. ln just one half-hour of idle dreaming, you could be doing, learning, enjoying things, even if they‘re as un-strenuous as Capable-Kating a dress, or experimenting with Meringues Chantilly.
This doesn’t mean we suggest you all take vows never to go near a discothéque or cinema again. Just that you get the pin-up scene in proportion. Pop records and films are meant as an adjunct to life. If you start thinking of them as life itself, then you are, in effect, drugging yourself, distorting reality.
But if you can realise all this and say: okay, but my thinking David Warner is fabulous only adds another interest to an already interest-packed life, then that’s fine. Go ahead. Ahead to our Pick of the Pin-Ups.
Honey Magazine, July 1967
I’m sorry, what were you saying unnamed Honey staff writer? I was too distracted by Terence Stamp’s eyes and Oliver Reed’s exquisitely sexy scars to pay much attention to you…
Down with lurgies and stress! Boo, and may I say, hiss. I haven’t felt much like posting here, or anywhere. I’m lining up some listings when I’m able though, and they should be up and running next week I hope. Until then, or until I have the energy to post properly again, here is a lovely, shiny post with lots of lovely inspirational images I’ve picked up here and there.
The lovely Smashingbird commented on my Diana Rigg birthday post that she’d love to see more pictures of the amazing chain strap black dress. Well, I probably have far too many shots of that dress, and it’s certainly one of my favourites, so I figured a blog post about one dress wasn’t too ridiculous. Not that I’m concerned about ridicule of course, I have done several posts about Doctor Who companions after all.
It also helps that the dress was worn for the Assassination Bureau press junket, and therefore there are a few shots of the dress with Olly Reed wrapped around it. I think all good dresses should come with a complimentary Oliver Reed.
If anyone ever finds out who made this dress, I would be eternally grateful. You’d think I would know, wouldn’t you? Sigh…
….In the “those sadly no longer with us category”.
Clark Gable. Not so much for Gone With the Wind services, but for It Happened One Night which is one of my favourite films of all time. The sexual chemistry between Gable and Claudette Colbert is crackling, and it renders him totally irresistable. I was umming and aahhing between Gable and Gregory Peck for the ‘old school’ filmstar Vintage Bloke, but decided Peck (though gorgeous and wonderful in Roman Holiday particularly) was far too clean and smooth looking for my tastes.
Gareth Hunt in The New Avengers. I’ve had a soft spot for poor Gareth Hunt (poor because the man became rhyming slang for something unrepeatable) for years. But seeing him in his youth more recently in The New Avengers. Rowrrrrrrrrr!! He’s a proper blokey bloke, but very sweet with Purdey (the luminous Jo-Lum) and well, it’s inevitable I’d like him isn’t it? He’s so Seventies it hurts!
Marc Bolan. Le sigh. Pretty pretty pretty!! He wore ladies clothes with great aplomb and had the most phenomenal hair. He’s just indescribable, so I’m not going to try…
George Harrison. Seems I chose the right Beatle for my favourite (John Lennon is the only one who has never been my favourite, I think he’s a bit too prickly for me to love him unconditionally). And now he’s sadly left this world, he can’t ruin it all and taint our view of him like Paul and Ringo regularly do. His songs are also my favourite of all Beatles songs, and I think his solo career has been my favourite too. Soulful eyes, beautiful hair and that mystical, serious, quiet persona. If I can still love him after reading Pattie’s autobiography, which is incredible but so sad it can be very hard to read at times, then it must be true love.
Oliver Reed. If I had known Olly in his youth, or at any point quite frankly, I know I couldn’t have put up with him. I’d have probably thumped him one on a regular basis, if he didn’t thump me first, and knowing that he liked his women to have ‘traditional’ values he probably couldn’t have put up with me either. But the man was a walking chunk of sex. If you’ve never quite ‘got’ the Oliver Reed thing, just watch The Assassination Bureau with Diana Rigg. Trust me. I know I still haven’t ever recovered.