BRA-BANG! BRA-BANG! goes Ursula Andress, 29. And in about as fast a transition as anyone's emotions are ever likely to undergo, the hapless fellow is dead--gunned down by the twin pistols hidden in the girl's brassiere. Playing a Jane Bond out to earn her diploma in legal killing from the Central World Government circa 2000 A.D., Ursula straps on the sexshooter and goes hunting for Marcello Mastroianni, 40, in a homicidal fantasy called The Tenth Victim, now being filmed in Rome. Studio technicians ad mit they're still trying to figure out how she's supposed to fire a double-barreled bra. Other ordnance for the film: a boomerang Beretta, a "poodle pistol," and possibly a "tummy gun."

Born in the Siberian seaport of Vladivostok, but persistent in thinking of himself as a Mongolian gypsy born mysteriously on an island off Japan, he further complicates matters by playing Siamese kings, saturnine Russians, Maya chieftains and other outlandish types. To untangle things--some--the real Yul Brynner, 45, stood up and went to the U.S. embassy in Berne, Switzerland, where he formally renounced the U.S. citizenship he has held since he was naturalized in 1947. He retains Swiss citizenship now, with his wife Doris and daughter Victoria, who do not qualify to become U.S. citizens since they live abroad. Some people thought the shift would ease his tax burden, but Yul said that he gave up U.S. nationality merely to normalize his family life.

Somebody once asked Jack Sharkey which of the two men was the greatest heavyweight champion since he had fought them both. Said Sharkey: "Jack Dempsey. If you put him and Joe Louis in a telephone booth to settle it, the guy who'd come out would be Dempsey." The Manassa Mauler is 27 Ibs. over his 188-lb. fighting weight these days. But he walks with the same alert, catlike grace, and he still looks fit to fight his way out of a telephone booth --or most any place else. As Dempsey celebrated his 70th birthday in his Manhattan restaurant last week, they brought out a cake ablaze with a candle for each year. Jack got them all with one blow.

Among other things, the late Composer Arnold Schoenberg called for camels, donkeys, onstage animal butchery and sex orgies with naked virgins to complement his twelve-tone melodies in 1932's Moses and Aaron. Schoenberg himself once said that the opera is "undoable," but now a plucky band of Britons led by Royal Shakespeare Theater Director Peter Hall, 34, has decided to stage it at London's Covent Garden. First off, Sheena the camel smashed one set in rehearsal, put her foot through another, had to be dropped from the cast. That left the donkeys, etc. Then the censors in the Lord Chamberlain's office warned against indecencies of dance and dress. The naked are "more and more clothed," and Director Hall is treading gingerly. Said he: "We shall do the orgy as tactfully as possible. I don't want to direct the first dirty opera."

"I would think of those bones at bed time. We all became kind of fond of him," said Lynda Bird Johnson, 21, after spending ten days pecking away with trowel, whisk broom and dental pick to unearth a fragile, 700-year-old skeleton in a kiva (chamber) of an ancient Pueblo Indian settlement in wildest Arizona. Lynda roughed it with a team from the University of Arizona excavating near a place called Grasshopper. And while she was rolling that wheelbarrow around, guess what Sister Luci Baines was doing for wheels back in Washington: varooming through town in a new 350-h.p. Corvette Sting Ray, a high-school graduation birthday present (she turns 18 July 2) from her parents. "How do you like your new car?" asked an imaginative newsman as she sat revving the engine. Cooed Luci: "How would you like it?"

After two years in the ideological doghouse, Russia's declamatory bard, Evgeny Evtushenko, 31, got back his traveling papers and poetic license, took off for a month's poetry-recital tour of Italy. And who should he find in Rome but Ballerina Anastasia Stevens, 22, whom he met in 1962 while she was the only American ever to dance with Moscow's Bolshoi Ballet. So off they waded into the Via Veneto's Dolce Vita, having a capital time dining at George's where no gentleman is allowed without a coat (an exception was made for Evgeny), doing a "slow twist" at the Club 84, and closing the swank Cafe de Paris at 3:30 a.m. Gossips buzzed that the poet was resuming a romance. "No, we are only old friends," said she. "He's aged a lot--life hasn't been easy for him these past two years."

The idea was "to allow the women se mettre en valeur"--meaning to show off a bit--explained French Perfume Queen Helene Rochas after her My Fair Lady ball in the Bois de Boulogne. A bit! Mme. Rochas herself wore $250,000 worth of diamonds to decorate her egret-plumed Guy Laroche gown. The Duke and Duchess of Windsor, the Begum Aga Khan, the Duke and Duchess of Bedford and all the other jet-set guests showed up in ascots, ostrich feathers and grey top hats. "There was not an egret plume or a false moustache to be had in Paris that evening," purred Mme. Rochas happily. Celebrating a sort of Eliza Doolittle Night in La Grande Cascade Restaurant in the Bois, the glittering Edwardians could have danced all night--and did, until 7 a.m.

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