When the overdressed Pontiac convertible pulled up to the studio gate one morning last week, the guard waved it in without a moment's hesitation. Philippine water-buffalo horns, 30 inches wide, arced away from the radiator; door handles, gearshift and fender ornaments were all pearl-handled Colt six-shooters, and silver-plated rifles were mounted on the trunk lid. Chromed horse heads studded the I dashboard, and the bucket seats were up holstered in the soft white leather of unborn calf. The chunky, grey-thatched driver was dressed to match. Inside the lot, he braked to a...
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