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No More Clyde. It seems an odd role for a fellow who was supposed to end his days as a careless carouser and muscular seducer. But then times have changed. The celebrated Rat Pack has dispersed and left its leader not much the worse for wear, and maybe just a little bit better. Even the widely publicized vocabulary that once catered to the smallest lingual group on the globe has changed; gone with the wind are "Dullsville," "Spooksville," and "Clyde." Sinatra's new lingo consists largely of a single all-purpose noun—"bird"—that has a thousand meanings. Sinatra loves them all, last week inquired of a friend, "Did you grow any orchids in your bird over the weekend?" and said of a bumbling Hollywood producer, "He does have a way of stepping on his bird."
He has a rented $2,000-a-month beach-front house, which the owner had decorated (for $20,000) in orange. The draperies, ashtrays, towels and dishes are orange. And so are the silk pajamas Sinatra sits around in, drinking Jack Daniels whisky, which is reddish-brown, but which goes well with what the new pack calls the "national color."
* In the film, English subtitles will do it for them.