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At last we have seen the eagerly awaited debut of New Zealand's first completely professional theatrical company. Unfortunately when I saw "The Young Elizabeth" I had no intention of reviewing anything, so I can only give you with confidence, my most vivid impressions and points which were borne out by subsequent discussion.
My impression after the first of the twelve scenes was one of disappointment. However the feeling did not last and once the players warmed to their parts these were few lapses, and I came away feeling satisfied and full of confidence in our National Theatre. Perhaps it is a little unfair of me to demand a standard as high as that set by the Stratford Players, for example, but the New Zealand Players have set themselves up as a professional theatre and I can see no alternative but to judge them by the exacting standards required of professionals.
The production, costumes, and de cor left Little to be desired and I was particularly impressed by the speed of the scene changes. More dramatic effect could have been achieved, however, with better pointing of climaxes. In the moving final scene, for example, when Elizabeth was awaiting the portentious news from London, the required tension was not maintained. The acting, particularly at the start had a staccato character with did not help the continuity of the play.
The outstanding performance was that of Rilla Stephens as Mary Tudor. She portrayed with true sincerity the passionately serious minded girl and her development into the distracted queen whose religious frenzy finally ended in her death.
Edith Campion as Elizabeth Tudor had the most difficult of tasks. She had to portray the metamorphosis of a torn boyish girl into a dignified mature woman, destined to be one of England's greatest monarchs. She certainly did not make her task any easier in her characterisation of child Elizabeth: when she was young, Elizabeth, though a hoyden, was a supremely graceful one. Edith Campion, in the opening scenes, moved with the grace of a carthorse, it was brilliantly histrionically, but bad historically.
Gay Dean played Catherine Parr very beautifully, and was sadly mourned after her untimely death in an early scene. She was too good for Roy Patrick as Thomas Seymour, who was competent but about as Interesting as a wet Sunday morning, in spite of his physical attributes Patrick lacks colour and stage presence.
Perhaps one of our female acquaintances summed him up rather well when she said, "He was not sexy enough!"
A Wellington amateur group recently tried very hard to entertain us with John Webster's tragedy "The White Devil." One of the few redeeming features of this presentation was the excellent portrayal of Duke Bracciano by Michael Cotterill. I half expected to see the name of this young actor in the list of The New Zealand Players, and was very pleased when I did. The high standard of his previous performance was maintained. Indeed bettered, in his interpretation of the repulsive Lord Tyrwhitt. With more professional experience he will hold his own on any stage.
Bernard Kearns gave a convincing performance of William Cecil and John Carson-Parker played probably the best of the smaller parts as Robert Dudley. One of the highlights of the play was his tense scene with Elizabeth in the Tower. Barry Line-han is a born comedian. Nevertheless his charactersation of the elderly Thomas Parry was not overdone. Deime Hope needs to learn economy of gesture. She insisted on rocking backwards and forwards in an exaggerated manner white speaking her lines. Apart from this defect she gave a satisfying performance of Catherine Ashley. The minor parts were all well handled. A pretty little thing that fluttered on and off the stage occasionally was Diane Rhodes, as the servant girl Amy.
I was disappointed in "Dandy Dick." I think the person mostly to blame was Gay Dean. She was trying so hard to be "in character" as the jovial Georgiana Tidman that she sacrificed the dialogue to that end. She slapped backs, she poked people in the pylorus with her
But her voice lacked inflection and she pointed the wrong words thus losing the subtlety of them, it seemed she had studied Georgiana so well, but the dialogue, so little, it may be that she is no comedienne, but in a play as brilliantly written as this of Pinero's burlesqueing, though it may be appropriate, even demanded in some parts, is dangerous and can be overdone.
Edith Campion was unhappily cast as Salome, the Dean's daughter, and though she tried hard and did all that could be expected of her, she had neither the voice nor the appearance for the part. She is perhaps unfortunate in having such a distinctive voice, as one tends to detect Edith Campion in every part she plays
Diane Rhodes. I was pleased to sec, was given a bigger part in this production and she filled it exceedingly well. As Salome's sister, Sheba, she was sweet, simpering and coquettish. Her acting has not yet the polish of Edith Campion's but lam quite confident that that will come.
The Dean himself, played by John Gordon, was a very lovable character. Though his voice was at times a little loo soft for the Opera House, and the piano, most of the lines that I had difficulty in hearing were not vital ones, if any but a superlative actor had been in his place, the production would have fallen quite flat.
I can say nothing about Roy Patrick, as Sir Tristram Mardon, that I have not already said about him as Lord Seymour.
Michael Cotterill was somewhat overshadowed by John Carson-Parker. These two managed to make complete asses of themselves as Major Tarver and Lieutenant Darbey, as was expected of them.
As anyone who had acted in comedy will know it is often very difficult to draw the line between acting a funny part so that the audience laugh at the character of the person the artist portays, and overburles-queing so that if they laugh at all they only laugh at the actor for being such a fool. Bernard Kearns came close to that line at times, but he got away with his caricature of Blore the butler exceeding well.
The best comedian on the stage, however, I thought, was Barry Lineham, as the boorish policeman, Noah Topping. Pinero has drawn another delightful caricature (I hope I am not prejudiced by recent events in the city) and though his dialect did make him a little incoherent at times. Lineham rendered it hilariously.
Keith Bracey as the stable boy Hatcham made the most of his small, though important part.
Rilla Stephens again was a joy to behold us living Hannah Topping, providing a perfect contrast to her ponderous, slow witted husband.
Once again the settings were well done, especially the Deanery parlour scene. The costumes, as in "The Young Elizabeth," were excellent. In fact the only notable technical fault was the piano which was too obtrusive and at times almost engulfed the dialogue At the matinee performances in particular there was some bad fumbling of lines, particularly by the Dean.
The New Zealand Players are, potentially, a good company. I
Marsqueraid—the monicker of Extravaganza
Descending late from their daily terrors, the weary and bleary have of late detected something of a minor scismological disturbance epi-centred near the Gym. Close investigation has revealed that once sombre edifice is in the apparent throes of chronic diarrhoea, pulsating violently to the rhythm of varied and eerie sounds emitted at intervals through shattered windows and splintered weather boards. But only the men of steel who have penetrated the fog and grog, the mist and the schist of the upper floor will realise the brutal truth—rehearsals are on.
Veteran of Extravaganzas and producer of former shows. Jeff Stewart, foaming at the larynx and blasting from the lungs, when interviewed had this to say: "Quiet please!"
Confusion, chaos, it is obvious that the process of panic has begun. But when did Extrav Itself begin. It may be Interesting to glance back over the years, so with our time-machine in reverse, off we go.
Back in
The farce disappears from the scene until
Now, strangely enough, in
By
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At the end of Work! War I a full length show is presented in the Town Hall, "Dor Tag" or "The Path of Progress." with a caste including Harold Miller and A. J. Mazengarb.
Now we come to the modern era;
The Thirties—"G.G." in
The late nineteen-thirties produced another set of brilliant and "prolific script writers—the Seven Pillars of Wisdom and Ron Meek. Of the Pilars efforts the best were probably "Hell's Bells" (
Next come John Carrad's delightful variety shows with their inconsequential nonsense and catchy songs, "Daze Bay Nights," "Port Nick Iniquity" and "The Dinkum Oil."
Then in
The "Corny Combines" took over in
Jubilee year was
Last year,
So here we are up to
(Greateful thanks must go to Haddy Williamson for his valuable help in the writing of this article.)
was very pleased to see young players like Michael Cotterill. Diana Rhodes and Rilla Stephens being trusted with important parts and using their opportunities so well, Judging by what I have seen of the amateur theatre in Dunedin and Wellington, and other parts of the country, there seems to be an ample reservoir of talent available. The amateur players of New Zealand are of a higher standard the many people think, as has been shown in recent years by such competent producers as John V. Trevor, Ngaio Marsh and Richard Campion. This, in spite of the rampant cultural snobbery such as was illustrated by the difference in size of the audiences seen at the Stratford Players performances and these efforts by New Zealanders to show that the greatest of all arts is very much alive at home. They are a long way from perfection yet, though they are good, and if they obtain the public backing they deserve, we who wish the future of the Arts in New Zealand well, need have no fears.
Name and address supplied.
The year in films has been a good one apart from the acute shortage of original stories There have been too many adaptions from successful plays on always risky process,
Acting, under the direction of Ford and Renoir, has become naturalistic but somehow, mainly with Renoir, less dynamic. Otherwise, the standard and type of acting has remained much the same, with some excellent performances from not only people like Marlon Brando, Clair Bloom, Chaplin, Bogart, Wayne and Kirk Douglas, but also from supporting players like Anthony Quinn and Gloria Grahame. There has been more care taken with the supporting cast, a fact that backs up my belief that there has been on aim at greater unity.
What do I think are the best films of the year? And how have I Judged them? I said in an article at the beginning of the year, that I have three main considerations when assessing the value of a film:—
With these headings in mind I shall discuss the five best films and the best of the rest.
"Limelight" by a fair margin heads the list. From the pathos and the comedy to the simple tolling of this story of the ageing musical hall comedian very anxious to make a comeback, "Limelight" is the full-flowering of Chaplin as an artist and technician. We have not Chaplin, the fighter against Fascism and the defender of the underdog: but Chaplin, the sympathetic and tolerant observer of human beings. This is reflected in the great acting in the part of Calvero. He gives the drink-sodden comic something of Charlie the Tramp, his goodness, compassion and chivalry, but also some of the elements of the real Chaplin. I have already reviewed thin film, but I cannot do so again. "Limelight" has countless subjeties and beauties; I would take a whole page. Nothing else could possibly do it Justice.
"La Ronde" is next because of its cynical, mocking, romantic revelation of the deceptions of love. Max Ophuis is the supreme figure of the film. He, with Anton Walbrook as assistant guide, shows us around the merry-go-round of love with a commentary that is witty and wise, penetrating and polished. His actors, apart from Gerald Philips as the Count and Isa Miranda as the actress, support him with delicate and apprehensive performances. Some may have been disgusted with what they portrayed, but for me such feelings were dispelled by the gaiety and tenderness of the observation. And after all, is not the main element of the film be much a part of our everyday lives?
"The River" is Renoir's lyrical, lovely film of India, with the people's colourful ceremonies emphasising the markings of the River of Time, which brings all and takes all. We are shown how time and experience affects the child of an English family in Bengal, which has the Indian ceremonies and rituals he much interwoven into its life. Renoir
In "The Quiet Man" John Ford leaves the Wild West to go to Idle Inesfree. He is at home there and knows the characters like brothers and sister. As with "The River," Ford's story of a woman striving for independence is told with warmth and sympathy, but, unlike "The River" there is a touch of satire. Again, like "The River" and "Limelight." the presentation is simple but poetic, with moments of symbolism and suggestion. The public of Wellington have recognised '"The Quiet Man" as grand entertainment, but the film also bears witness that Ford, over and above the sincere sentimentality, has Joined Chaplin and Renoir in their, search for truth rather than technical Ingenuity.
The choice for fifth place is difficult "Los Enfants du Paradis" is disqualified because it is a return, while "A Place in the Sun" and "A Streetcar Named Desire" are too technique conscious. "Miss Julie," I think, has the best qualifications, mainly because of its almost perfect combination of technical brilliance, insight into psychology of motives and social comment, it is pictorially beautiful, well acted and directed, and because it sticks faithfully to the original story has enough "guts" to carry it to the top five best films. But "Miss Julie" cannot go any higher, because there are too many times when it lapses into mere melodrama.
Now to the best of the rest.
"Detective Story." "A Streetcar Named Desire." "Born Yesterday" and "Cyrano de Bergerac" are all adapted plays and remain essentially works of the stage. Pure cinema, being primarily a visual art, cannot come from "words, words, words," which are the narrative means of a play. Although well directed and acted, "Detective Story" is too static and retains the emptiness of the original; "Born Yesterday" drags because of too much talk of books, learning and democratic government. "Cyrano do Bergerac" apart from shabby and unimaginative direction has too much wit of the verbal type. The best of these "A Streetcar Named Desire" seldom moves from the Kowaiski's flat, being content to remain there to project Tennessee Williams's characterisation and social comment through his dialogue alone.
Adapting books is a far easier process, as can be seen from Steven's
So much has been done to the show in the past four weeks that it is now no longer to say with any certainty just who it was who wrote it, it has been added to, deleted from, and rewritten by the producers, the typistes, the cast, and the Department of Agriculture. The original plot was devised by Patricia Burns, Gill Lescher and Frank Curtin. The Forest Scene was added later by the producers working in collaboration with Conrad Bollinger, Dave Cohen and others. The Hospital Bored Scene remains as it always was and is always likely to be ....
The rest is silence.
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Interval
Choruses: Jill Kaken, Eric Lamb, Marjorie Munro. Marg. McClellan, Thomas Ord, Michael Edwards, G. Paris, Graeme Gemmell, Norma Ledgerwood, Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
Male Ballet: Peter Ronnie, Dick Hopkirk. Colin Gordon, Gerald Aitkon, David Somerset,. Merv Saunders, Bryce Evans, Max Donnellan, Graham McFarlane, Carl McCann, Trevor Hill.
Properties: P. Andrews. P. Brockie, W. Harris, B. Hillyard. Gill Lescher, J. Marchant, C. Patchett, R. Read, D. Bridges, B. Evans, P. Hampton, Guisseppi Mozzetti, R. O'Rourke, G. Powles, T. Schroeder, Ian Rich.
Wardrobe: Margaret Hunt, Jan Martin, Judith Goodwin, Anno Shields-Brown, Shirley Robson, Bobby Petersen. Elaine Rapson, Peggy Thom.
Publicity: Bill Sheat, Dave Mummery, Guy Powles.
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It was the other Friday that I met him—this man from Auckland I mean. The fellow sat down at my table.
"May I rest here and partake of Home victuals with you?" he said, flopping, with a benevolent sort of air, into the chair opposite before I could make any sort of protest.
I became scathing: "Yes. but would you mind removing my hat drat!" He guffawed horribly, like a dinosaur choking on a tough cave man.
"Oh most original eh: Oh very good!" I began to dislike the man "Humour is one of the features which you Wellington tans (he stumbled with the word) have so much more of than us. Haw-haw-ha. . . ." Crash! and he disappeared over the back of the chair. I helped him to his feet. The hat looked very weary.
"Hurt yourself?" hopefully.
"No. no. No—don't worry old man we Aucklanders are always falling down about something." I began to suspect him as well. "My name is Wetherby. Roger Wetherby. Come from Auckland." That was quite obvious. With a name like that as well he was impossible. No-one can call me a one-eyed. parochialist, but there are limits to what I will stand from an Aucklander—especially one who sits on hats. His unused hand dropped back—one must have a little self-respect after all!
"I think it must be your climate that gives you people a surface of gay jocularity." I could see the magistrate giving me three months. "Those light, purifying zephyrs from the cool south sweep the mental soot away. While the odd showers give the keen Wellington minds scope for eveready banter on Arks and the Weather office."
I looked at him sharply: he seemed serious.
The waitress came and went with our order. He remarked on the beauty of the Wellington girls: somehow he related it to the pure minerals in our soils. We heeded one of the finer things at another table and he developed the subject further, Later he spoke earnestly on our smart dressing.
"You did say Auckland was your home town, didn't you?" For a moment I thought he might have said Orkney or something.
"Ah . . . yes, I must; admit It." He sighed sadly. I felt a bond rise between us. "Bad luck Wetherby." A brave little smile faultered below his moustache.
The steaks came. He spoke on their excellence, then on the excellence of our food in general. I began to feel like a proud father. The finer thing left, with our eyes on a short leash; he compared Wellington men with fifty million Frenchmen. We won easily.
"Men here learn the basic quantities of a woman from their youth." I sprang to the defence. "I will admit they pick things up quickly, but all the. . . ." He had collapsed Into laughter again, burbling into his coffee about "that sense of humour." "that instant appreciation of subtleties." Noel Coward appeared to have something on me. At the door he insisted on paving both bills.
We stepped out, the strong and the weak, into the light, pure southerly. Some wretched woman's hat bounced towards us; I put my foot on it. As she bent to pick it up. Wetherby looked at me admiringly. "Such a thing would never happen in Queen Street. And hear how nicely she thanks you in her native tongue.
"Nothing Roger, nothing at all. Any Wellington man would do the same." I strode recklessly towards James Smiths, knocking old ladies and cripple! to either side with characteristic abandon, across "Death Valley." mockingly tempting a three ton truck, and so, on down to Courtenay Place with Wetherby fighting a sort of relaying action in the rear. The man seemed to be having some trouble with his mouth; it Kept twitching into a leering grin. I put it down to the place I'd set.
We flat watching the happy scene. People playing a sort of tag with the cavalier drivers, using the white-crossings as the danger areas; listening to the gay taunts of the tram-men as the odd person fell out; smiling as the schoolboys bunged potatoes into exhaust pipes with shrill erica of Joy—as "Nark it Snowy—the coppers are comin'." Reading the romances in the tram-shelters "Mabel loves Joe" or "Roll on the Revolution;" watching the odd student going fearfully
"What such haven has my city. murmured Wetherby. I could see he was touched.
A dog with bent ears and a thoughtful mouth drooled towards us. "Dogs are not allowed to walk our streets," he said wistfully, "here they are equals." What perception the man had. He patted the animal's head; it bit him quite severely. On behalf of the city I apologised, but he waved it aside.
"So typical of the spirit of the place," he explained, showing once again his clear mind. "Besides the beast is allowed one bite."
His mood had become somewhat grimmer during the last few lines, but he brightened again suddenly.
"Let me take you for a ride . . . I mean a drive." he said. As we passed through Te Aro he remarked on the ancient atmosphere of the place. I could see it affected him deeply. "Ah but remember you have Freeman's Bay.'"
This cheered him a little. "Yes, we have our pale imitations."
At Newtown he commented on the eminently suitable climate we had for polar bears, and of the difficulty they had keeping theirs cool. From Victoria Heights Somes Island received lavish praise for "its fine, sensitive lines" at the expense of Rangltoto—"a monotonous, practical Joke of Nature!" One Tree Hill fell before the "unsullied Nature on Tinakori Hill;" the museum reminded him of the Parthenon; the diagonal crossing at Manners Street was a "remarkable innovation" tit was new to me; also, it seemed, to some delirious traffic-officers). Several times I found myself defending Auckland. Once I praised the Ferry Service—a fanatical flame came into his eyes, but he said nothing. On the Petone road he got a speed ticket.
"Most efficient fellows—very scientific. Quite nice about the thing weren't they?" I saw them in a new light. At Petone" he foresaw a glowing future for "the Ruhr of Wellington," speaking of it as the industrial capital. I mentioned Penrose, he gave a hollow laugh. Passing Parliament, he said what a wise chap Grey had been.
Back in Courtenay Place he parked the car. It was obvious that he was thinking deeply; now and then that leer twitched back.
"I say old man this is hardly the thing I know—but would you lend me a fiver?" he said.
"But of course, Roger old chap," I had no hesitation. "Sure you wouldn't rather have a tenner?"
Once again he fell into the ghastly laughter. "Haw, haw. No ... I want more than that . . . I'm going to use the same line, haw, haw, haw ... on your city council . . . and get a loan for our bridge! We've planned it all out. ... I was testing it on you ... if it worked on one of you .... it will work on the whole town . . haw, haw . . . you're all the same . . . we're wizards at borrowing . . . haw, haw, . . have been for years ... so you could say ... we have the 'professional touch'."
Because the Psychology Department's survey of the opinions of Newtown and Wadestown about Victoria College weren't collated by capping week, and because the question of our relations with the city has been worrying the editor of this Journal for the past three weeks, we very kindly offered to carry out a survey of our own.
We surveyed several people of diverse appearance and activities, but the only one who said anything worthy of being printed was our own landlady, on whom we worked throughout an entire roast dinner. She is a lady of a fairly high standard of intelligence, and, besides, she did not have the opportunity to walk away.
We therefore had the chance of working through our systematic questionnaire. We started err with the initial advantage of not having to ask her ago, because it is stated on her marriage licence, which, framed, hangs above the dining room mantelpiece, and thus we were able to get right into the first question, "What do you think of Victoria College?"
Our landlady said. "Those young men who nearly hit me with a fish-head the other day was not what you'd call class." We conceded that point, and repeated the question, but all we achieved was a series of references to the young gentleman who threw the meat bone, and the young gentleman who sprayed her with D.D.T., and the young lady with the hair; and from this we evolved our first great maxim: that on an occasion when the citizens of Wellington should think of Victoria College, they think of undergraduates.
The reason is simple enough: the university as a community of teachers and pupils has no occasion to come before the public, nor have the professors and lecturers in their official capacity. The college docs not hold public disputations or lectures, nor does it appoint disciplinary officers to observe the conduct of undergraduates in the city. Extracurricular activities are controlled by student clubs, from skiing to philosophical discussion. Inter-college activities such as tournaments or congresses are run by student associations, and so are any other functions held in the city or open to the public, such as Plunket Medal or capping. The most well known of these is the series of celebrations which begins early on the morning of capping day and ends early the following morning.
To all intents and purposes, that is the sole occasion on which we appear as a community of teachers and pupils, or of a student group as such, as distinguished from groups devoted to specialised affairs like debating or Rugby.
Whether we think it a satisfactory state of affairs or not, it is a fact which we should recognise that we go into town one day in the year; that when the assorted citizenry thins of the college, they consider the activities round the railway station, the selling of "Cappicade," the procession, the ceremony in the Town Hull, and the Extrav., which celebrate each year's capping. And at present, when they think of that conglomeration of activities, the majority of the assorted citizenry don't think very much of thorn.
The main reason, according to our landlady and other experts, is that where the citizenry look for wit from a seat of higher learning they find bombast, and where they look for humour they find that the chief kind we offer is the cheapest variety of the double entendre, or, worse and more frequently, a single dirty entendre.
The noise and the dirty Joke we substitute for wit and humour do not get us very far, it is merely being unreasonable to say that that is what the public expects from us, for we have conditioned them to expect to see very little else, it is a comparatively recent phenomena at Victoria, for 20 years back Extrav. and the rest of the activities were recognised as being witty.
One of the chief reasons, I am inclined to think, is laziness. All these activities come at once, and they are left to a very email proportion of the student body, who, with a great deal to do in a short time, take the easy way out and decide that if a laugh is too hard to work for, it's simple enough to raise a snigger. This is true for every aspect of the capping celebrations, of course—those in which we ourselves were involved were notable for their ingenuity and sparkling wit—but on the whole the proceedings at present are characterised by noise and the aforementioned dirty Jokes.
It is time that we considered this question seriously. Student activities in the city are at a fairly low ebb at present, and unless more time and trouble is spent on them, and a higher standard aimed at, we will find that we have a reputation for shoddiness which will stick for a long time. Would you yourself, if you had graduated in another city, consider our capping activities worth going any distance to see?
Our landlady certainly doesn't. We said to her, "You think they're ad captandum vulgus?" And she said. "You betcha."
"A Place in the Sun." Much of the story is told in pictures, with the use of long dissolves and "objective" camera work to add to the dramatic effect. From the acting to the use made of music, "A Place in the Sun" is a brilliant piece of pure cinema. But it falls because of the lamentable "watering down" of Theodore Dreiser's original book. What could have been a film of great significance becomes merely a good love story. "The African Queen" also adapted from a book, is directed with skill by John Huston but does not know whether to enter the realms of fantasy or realism. Conrad's "An Outcast of the Islands" is directed by Carol Reed who makes it into a powerful movie, but as a story it is altogether too cruel and it misses the whole significance of Willem's degradation.
"Singin' in the Ruin" was the best musical of the second half of
The year has not brought many disappointments. Powell and Press-burger's 'Tales of Hoffman" was to speak frankly, a vulgar mess; Asquith's "The Importance of Being Earnest" was unimaginative and too diverse in acting style. Terence Rattigan's script for "The Sound Barrier" blemished an otherwise very good film. As I saw in a previous review, "the spirit of exploration and adventure has enthused Lean, the director, to produce an adventurous and exciting film—that la when he is well away from Rattigan's script."
I have given briefly my Impressions of the more important films of the past year. Technique has become highly polished, but has there been a corresponding desire on the part of film-makers for truth, for moving? I hope so, for I feel that in future sincere films will be the only films that will drag the public away from their T.V. sets. Will these lesser directors that I have mentioned follow the examples of Ford, Renoir and Chaplin? if they are artists they will not be able to stop themselves, but if they are not they will not succeed in stopping the film industry from being pushed very much into the background.
A startling statement, but this is the opinion of an ex-manager of the All Blacks, Mr. Parker. What would cause a man so-learned in the ways of Rugby football to make such a statement about the present Victoria University College senior fifteen? What does this team possess that makes it so vastly superior to other club teams in N.Z.?
Glance at an Athletic Park programme. The back line of the University team reads like a Who's Who in New Zealand football. Savage. Fitzgerald, Jarden are all All Blacks. Muller has represented Wellington but finds it difficult to retain his place in the side. The forwards make less impressive reading from the point of view of predominant personalities. But here we find the essence of great Rugby—Indeed of all great team sports. The individual has become subordinate to the playing unit—in this case the forward pack.
This material has been moulded by two of the most successful coaches in Wellington. Dr. Uttley and Mr. Burke are firmly convinced that the only football to play is the bright free-moving game where attack is the keyword. How well they have imbued this spirit into the play is easily seen from the team's performances. The forwards are there to obtain possesion for the main scoring unit—the back line. This is the dominating principle. But hero again we see the wisdom of the coaches. To follow this principle regardless of conditions is nothing less than bad Rugby. When the state of the ground demands a different type of play to adhere to this principle is sheer folly. You must alter your play to suit the prevailing conditions. Who, after watching the games this season has not been impressed by the manner in which University have adapted their play to the heavy waterlogged ground and slippery' snap like ball? in this University has been fortunate in possessing the best wet weather half back in New Zealand—Laurie Savage. For an exhibition of wet weather football by a half-back the game against Hutt must stand as a model. When to pass, how to pass, when to kick, how to kick and when to run with the ball, all were illustrated by Savage on this day.
The captain and leader of the forward Ivan Stuart must first attract our attention. Little is seen of him in open play—the "limelight" for the forward. And because of this his true worth is often underestimated. Chance has smiled again on University in giving her a man of Stuart's type. To bring the team to its present all-round proficiency a forward leader was needed to counteract the tendency of too loose a typo of play by the forward. Stuart was the man for the Job. He works hard in the tight and has given the front row that element of steel it must have if the forwards are to secure possession of the ball from scrums, lineouts and nicks.
McHallick, the hooker, has Improved greatly over the last season. Their close game with Onslow both last and this year showed that Achilles heel of the team would be possesion of the ball. But of late this has been overcome. McHallick, with the aid of a closely-knit scrum, has boon able to more than break even with any hooker in Wellington, with the possible exception of Judd.
McLean and Hill, who have occupied the other prop positions, have been sound forwards, their main sphere of activity being the tight piny. They have above all been those nameless forwards who have conscientiously each Saturday been content to concentrate on working harmoniously with the rest of the, team.
The side row forwards Clark and Fisher have been more prominent in the public eyes. Their position is such that this is not only possible but inevitable. Clark's speed and safe handling have made him an out-standing example of the most predominant characteristic the University forwards have shown. Their ceaseless and speedy backing up, This has resulted in two very beneficial results, Added confidence on the part of the backs and a greater share of the ball from loose play.
Fisher, who is, of course, the other flanker, has combined similar qualities to Clark with something all too rare in Wellington, forward football brains. Last season he was somewhat overawed by Murray in this sphere, who with a few more yards speed could have been another Todd.
The heavy guns of the pack—Smith and Hutchinson—have stabilised the pack. They also have been the main factor in University's securing possession from the lineuots. Both Smith and Hutchinson have played their last games for Victoria and Victoria is weaker through their departure. Smith especially included in his play a touch of opportunism which made him a great danger when near the opponents' line. All have helped make the pack extremely mobile and a potential scoring force in loose passing rushes.
The tactician of the team Savage has fortunately fulfilled the most important position in the team from this respect. Savage has an unfailing instinct as when to attack either by running himself or by feeding his backs or to close up play by kicking or going back into his forwards. Parker, who has substiuted for Savage, has a well-directed long pass as docs Savage, but lacks Savage's experience, it is unfortunate that Parker has not been given the opportunities to gain this experience.
Henley at five-eights has shown himself one of the best wet weather inside backs in Wellington. His penetrating runs have added punch to the backline in a position where it is essential on days on which chain passing is dangerous. It will be interesting to see how he fares on a dry ground where his judgment as when to run and when to pass will be extremely important.
The main penetrating section of the backline, centre and second five-eights have been the key to the scoring of the University team. Fitzgerald has shown conclusively that he is in All Black class. A side step, prop, change of speed, reliable hands and a sure boot can all be found in this player. Add to this a football brain and you have Fitzgerald. Fitz-patrick has all those attributes but has a flair for the unexpected. He is slightly less reliable in set play but in loose play he has no equal—remember the try against Athletic. This is the man to have when the side is three points down and only five minutes to go. His daring makes University a hard team to defeat. In fact they are never beaten when Fitzpatrick is on the field.
Jarden this year has had few opportunities. He is an All Black through and through and on his day there is no better wing in New Zealand. He has an individual approach to positional play which sometimes draws criticism—mainly the way in which he stands so far away from the halfback when on the blind-side.
Battell is a most promising three-quarter and more will be seen and said of him in the future.
The full-back berth has found an occupant well up to the standard of the remainder of the team. Osborne has overcome completely his lack of confidence arising from his injuries and is becoming a leading contender for the representative team. Naturally a left-footer he has of late increased his control and power in his right foot kicking. He tackles solidly and is very cool and on occasions has shown qualities which place him in high class.
Surely hero we have found the reasons for Mr. Parker's statement. His, as can be seen, is not an unfounded exaggerated statement but one which was made after considerable thought and appreciation of the team's true place.