National Post from Toronto, Ontario, Canada • 49

a no 2)7 MONDAY, MARCH 20, 2000 NATIONAL POST, ZJ The real West A European film crew in Alberta tries for a non-Hollywood view of the 1860s. Page D12 Head games Princess Dianas therapist turns the couches on her profession. Page D3 DIET DIARY Shania Twain's Come on Over was declared last week as America's best-selling album ever by a woman. How did the pride of Timmins, become country music Michael Jackson? Twain explained She's gotta have it The prices are outrageous. The place is packed NICK DIDUCK NATIONAL POST Julia McKinnell: ready to go How to diet in a French restaurant or to working with and then marrying Twain, Lange was best known for his hard-edged, polished production work with Def Leppardand Bryan Adams.

It's exactly his "Nashville outsider" status that has allowed him to think outside of the box in relation to Twain, and he has drawn on his non-country experience to colour her down-home songs with non-country sounds. Honey, I'm Home, a thematic echo of Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 and one of the many hit singles on Come on Over, may be part country hoedown (a la Thank God I'm A Country Boy), but it's also part Southern rocker (a la Sweet Home Alabama), fist-pumping anthem (a la We Will Rock You) and rootsy come-on (a la Something to Talk About). The fact that one Twain song can conjure artists as disparate as John Denver, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Queen and Bonnie Raitt begins to account for her mass appeal. Elsewhere on the album you'll hear echoes of both Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Want to Have Fun and Norman Greenbaum's Spririt in the Sky (in Man! I Feel Like a Woman), and new stylistic intermin-glings like the "bubblegum zydeco" of the album's title track. See TWAIN on Page D4 part contrivance, part fluke an MTV-ready icon with an uncanny knack for straddling radio formats and demographic segments.

She is country music's Michael Jackson, and amazingly, The Woman in Me, a commercial marvel in its own right with more than 12 million units sold, has turned out to be a mere primer Twain's Off the Wall. Its successor, Come on Over, was announced last week as America's best-selling album ever by a female artist. It's the real story Twain's Thriller. How has this happened? As with Jackson's Thriller, it's pointless to isolate one single factor in attempting to account for the success of Come on Over. You can't sell more than 28 million albums worldwide on the strength of a good voice or a good producer or even a nice belly button.

No, to explain Twain, it's necessary to look at the whole picture, and within that, to search out the key elements that have contributed to her pan-demographic appeal. The Marriage: Twain's music is a diabolical fusion of traditional country music elements, pop hooks and rock riffs a by-design pastiche concocted in the studio by Twain and her savvy co-writer-producer-husband, Robert John "Mutt" Lange. Pri By Jf.i'f Brf.ithaupt I remember the first time I heard about Shania Twain. It was just before she started simultaneously beguiling the mainstream and offending the Nashville establishment by showing her belly button, just before she started selling albums by the truck load. I was having dinner at the home of my best friend.

In high school, we had camped out all night for concert tickets; we had seen Genesis and 10CC, Springsteen and Su-pertramp. We had held our lighters aloft, marvelling at flashpots, laser lights and rear projection. Like everyone else we knew, we "hated country." Yet here he was, 13 years after graduation, enthusing about someone name "ShuNyAh" and highlighting tracks from an album called The Woman in Me, tracks with titles like Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? and If You're Not in It for Love) I'm Outta Here! Something was wrong, very wrong. Since then, of course, the pride of Timmins, has proven herself to be a crossover miracle, a right-moves-at-the-right-time pop culture phenomenon Anne Kingston on Modern Life Today is Day One of The Post's spring diet project. Tomorrow: The first progress report Julia McKinnell on Slimming Down A blond comes out of the change room modelling a Thierry Mugler suit for her teenage daughter.

"You have to love it," she instructs her, twirling round. "I've already bought it." "It" is bright white cotton with a red collar and trim at the sleeves. The jacket is tightly fitted and flared. The skirt is pinned short for alterations. It's a stunningly impractical number, which is part of its charm for its designated audience.

Only .0001 of the population could get away with it. Or not find its three-thou-plus price tag outrageous. "Oohs" and "ahhs" ensue. The blond's sister-in-law appears and marvels over the suit. "I've lost 11 pounds," its wearer boasts, attributing the loss to a well-known Toronto nutritionist.

Her cellphone rings. It's her husband, wondering where the hell she is. "He's been with the children since 10," she frets. "He's not used to it. I've really got to go." The sister-in-law stays to browse.

It's Saturday afternoon, early March, 2000, at the Hugo Nicholson boutique in Toronto's upscale Hazelton Lanes shopping mall. The day before, the TSE closed at 9487.14, up 73 points. The NASDAQ index closed at an all-time high. A record price, more than $10-million, was paid recently for a Toronto house. All-time high pretty much sums up the mood of a certain echelon in Toronto these days, despite a creeping nervousness.

Hugo Nicholson, a bonbon of a shop filled with feminine confectionery, is emblematic of the ethos. It's what's known in the trade as "special occasion," the place to go to find something splashy to wear to the opening of a hospital wing named after your husband. Something like that $4,490 ice-blue silk suit with pastel crystals down the jacket front by New York society designer Carolina Herrera. Or for a stop-traffic entrance-maker for the upcoming Brazilian Ball, something such as Herve Leger's signature black bandage dress, an elasticized sheer nylon concoction that clocks in at over $10,000. For more casual occasions, there's a $3,490 white-, brown- and or How exciting.

After one quick call I was sharing foie gras over red wine with Monsieur Montignac, the European weight-loss maverick in whose basket I've decided to place my eggs. Monsieur Montignac is touring Canada with his best-selling diet book Eat Yourself Slim. The book has sold ten million copies overseas. It's no wonder, reading the back cover. The claims are fantastic.

"This book will explain how: to forget about calorie counting; to indulge your craving for chocolate and still maintain your weight; to enjoy a glass of wine with your meals; to eat the right foods without restriction." I was thrilled when Monsieur Montignac agreed to my invitation, and more so when he chose Le Crocodile, a French restaurant in Vancouver I'd been dying to try. As of today, and for the next four weeks, I am committed to his program, but I had hoped, regardless, that he and I could meet. I had some questions and with my eggs in his basket some concerns. His promises sound wonderful, but in practice, the menus still scare me. Tonight, for instance, I'm having a "Phase One" dish, Turkey Scallops with Herbs and Sour Cream.

He divides his method into two phases. One is weight loss. Two is maintenance. The turkey sounds pretty good. That's not the problem.

It's that if I've had sour cream in the last 15 years, it's been four times, and never without me thinking I'd gone bananas. I require a leap of faith, I guess. His prescription for weight loss is so contrary to anything I've heard, or believe, I don't know how to trust it. The cream, the butter, the wine this is like all of a sudden finding out that if you behave abominably Santa Claus JJrj '40 Saw I I W'T JPiiK will double your presents. I had some questions, yes, but I also wanted to meet the madman behind the claims.

Let me start by telling you what Monsieur Madman ordered, and what we ate on the Eat Yourself Slim weight-loss program. We each had two appetizers: one, pan-fried foie gras with port wine sauce and grilled Alaska scallop with mango vinaigrette; two a gift from the chef chanterelle mushrooms, scallops and shrimp in Sauce Calvados. For the main course, Margret de Canard, Barbary duck breast with green olives in a duck reduction with asparagus spears and spinach. A sorbet cleared the palate and the banquet wound down with dark chocolate (brought forth by Monsieur Madman's publicist, Joanne) and finally the coup de gruce, creme brulee a l'orange. Three of us split a bottle of Australian Shiraz.

See DIET on Page 1)2 ange-striped sequined tank top and a matching short orange suede skirt with a little ruffle at the hem. There's definitely an '80s redux vibe at work here. Ivana Trump swept through when she was in town and picked up a few things. Kim Basinger sent her stylist for an evening dress. Anne-Marie Sten shopped here for slinky gowns when she was Mrs.

mbanx. The place is packed. A few men sit on the fake Louis the Whatever chairsj bored silly, punching out numbers on their cells. Eleanore Rosenstein, attired in sensible black and comfortable flats, presides over the mise en scene like a den mother. Rosenstein owns the shop with her sister Carole; the pair opened the first Hugo Nicholson in Montreal in 1991- Mila Mulroney is a loyal patron.

They opened the Toronto shop in 1996 and since then, fuelled by the economic boom, have added space. See. NICHOLSON on Page D3 I i i A', l.i 'f'M.