Conjury and hypnosis are ancient Hollywood trades, and they have made many a local citizen rich. Small wonder, then, that Hollywood royalty steals reverently these nights to the cave of an Amazonian blonde who has, with a glare of her Nefertiti eyes, stretched Steve Allen and Linda Christian board-rigid across chairs in cataleptic trances. "Nobody can follow her," says Screenwriter Stanley (Pillow Talk) Shapiro reverently. "Not even Frank Sinatra."
This sorceress is named Pat Collins, and for practicing her hypnotic arts on the screenland patrons of The Interlude on Sunset Strip, she is paid a hypnotic $3,000 a week. Her two-hour act is as varied as the volunteers who participate, but the formula is always the same. Hypnoteuse Collins, rigged out in plunging neckline, black mesh stockings and assorted bangles, summons volunteers to the stage, where she addresses them in a staccato chant: "Your arms are getting very heavy, every muscle in your body is relaxed ..." Most of her customers go under like sounding marlins, but occasionally one balks. "What's your name?" Pat asked an actor-in-training recently. His answer was "Toby." No, he did not believe he was hypnotized and no, he did not stutter. "What's your name?" asked Pat. "T—T—T—T—Oh, God!" said the actor.
Reedy Renditions. When her subjects are well marinated, Hypnoteuse Collins sets them to dancing, singing, acting or mimicking one another. She convinced Actress Jill St. John that she was Dinah Shore and launched her into a reedy rendition of See the U.S.A. in Your Chevrolet. At Hypnoteuse Collins' suggestion, Lloyd Bridges went swimming through the audience with a plastic lung on his back. She suggested to Steve Allen that he was viewing one of the saddest movies ever filmed—and watched with approval while her subject dissolved soggily into tears. In one more practical demonstration of her art, she cut Pitcher Sandy Koufax down from one and a half packs to a mere three cigarettes a day.
In general, Collins finds that celebrities are more reserved than most customers, but there are exceptions. Shelley Winters, for instance, stared deep into Collins' double-isosceles-shaped eyeglasses and recreated a scene from Lolita, using "her own words" so recklessly that she had to be put to sleep.
Inadvertent Trances. Detroit-born Hypnoteuse Collins, who admits to 28, lays claim to a background that smacks more of pressagentry than fact. She claims that she contracted "hysterical paralysis" several years ago, was cured by hypnosis, and enrolled in the Illinois Institute of Hypnosis, a place of learning that leading Illinois hypnotists have never heard of. In any event, she launched her hypnotic act in small clubs, is now booked a year and a half ahead. Last week her first album—misleadingly titled Sleep with Pat Collins—appeared on the record racks.