For years Gwen Davis (of The Pretenders, etc.) has been a kind of poor woman's Jacqueline Susann writing novels with a scene (Hollywood again here), a lot of characters and sluttish sex, and a stringy story connected by lubricious close-ups and Mansonesque murders. L.A. has its Slasher like Boston once had its Strangler and the victims seem to be linked up with a metaphysical group which is into Infinity. Little did they know they'd get there so fast. Then there's a production of a movie expected to gross 70 million and win ten Academy nominations--Atlantis '78 by name--with its producer, screenwriter, director-genius, female star (""a creature of sensual destiny""), the most glamorous male actor since Brando, and a detective who doesn't do much in between the chain killings. People who read Gwen Davis aren't Aristocrats but there are a lot of them.