Word: niven
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SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE MOVIES (NBC, 9-11:25 p.m.). Please Don't Eat the Daisies, the winceable film version of Jean Kerr's bestselling book about elf-life in Larchmont. Doris Day and David Niven manage to turn sweetness and light to Sucaryl and glare...
...Lady L to a spotty end. Her confession story, plucked from Romain Gary's novel by protean Writer-Director Peter Ustinov (who also spills out of a minor role as an addled Bavarian prince), describes how a scrumptious Parisian laundress rises to greatness as the wife of David Niven, one of England's most debonair lords. En route to her destiny. Sophia is delayed briefly in a bordello, which has chambers designed for train buffs or Arabian Knights. There she meets Paul Newman, who performs behind a large mustache, possibly to conceal the fact that he is hopelessly...
London last week, Director John Huston gave the go-ahead. The clapstick snapped: The David Niven Story. The cameras began rolling, and there, logically enough, was Niven, clad in an Edwardian velvet dinner jacket, lolling around the banqueting hall of a Scottish castle. Yet, illogically enough, at numerous other sound stages and locations around Great Britain, the same picture is also in the works under four other directors, and starring, variously, Peter Sellers, Woody Allen and a mesomorphic unknown called Terence Cooper. Even more implausible, the name Niven is never mentioned in any of the scripts. What's even...
...Niven Story title, it turns out, is just a cover. What is really shooting is Ian Fleming's first 007 book, Casino Royale. And from the looks of what's happening, shooting may be too good for it. This is the one Fleming property that got away from United Artists and into the hands of Producer Charles Feldman. But because he was unable to land Sean Connery for the lead, Feldman decided to make Casino Royale the Bond movie to end all Bond movies. That is, if it doesn't end Charlie Feldman first. The film...
Where the Spies Are, true to formula, dares the challenge of trying to keep its tongue in James Bond's cheek. The setting is Beirut this time, and the man of the Are is David Niven, droll indeed as a middle-aged physician and reckless driver. Photoflash rings, trick fountain pens and the transistor in his lower left molar rather embarrass him. Bribed by British intelligence (running short of certified spies, understandably) with the promise of a Cord Le Baron, Niven flies off to run interference for an oil sheik whose assassination is pending. Among the double-dealers...