SMAD. An Organ of Student Opinion. 1937. Volume 8. Number 8.
Pot Shots
Pot Shots
Who Laughs Last?
Dear "Smad,"—
Major Bite.
" Canty."
From the Hole Itself.
Dear "Smad,"
As an ex-Wikitorian, now condemned to spend his days in Christchurch and some of them at C.U.C. it was with righteous indignation that I read the letter from "Canty" in "Smad" of 14th April, 1937.
Dear Editor, don't believe everything you are told. He, she or it (i.e. "Canty") is a snare and a delusion.
Don't you worry about lack of under-grad-tradition. I will let you into a secret. The Students' Executive at Canterbury College goes blue in the face about twice a week begging students to wear their gowns to lectures. The only people who do it are the College House men and that because the President of the Students' Association is Head of the House.
Canterbury College can have its cloisters, the tea-rooms, its magnificent buildings, and the gowns and their tradition, but give me good old V.U.C., stuck up on the top of a hill, the "night-school." with its "Brookie," its dirty Common Room, its hilarity ("Canty" didn't mention that!) and the view from the front steps.
If I write any more I will burst into tears. I'm getting all sentimental.
Yours, etc.,
John Froud
A Sense of Humour Plus.
The following letter has been received by the Secretary of the Building Committee:
The Secretary,
Students Union Building Committee, Victoria CollegeDear, Sir,—I had the pleasure of attending the show "Cappicade" the other night. The excellence of the entertainment prompts me to write and congratulate the writers and performers alike—also to enclose a scrap of something a little less aesthetic than my counterpart might have considered necessary.
With kindest regards,
C. G. Scrimgeour,
(Alias "Scrounger")
(£1 Relief Fund).Premonition.
I know not what I have done.
But this morning, no tree fingers stretch into the sun.
Low clouds scowl and cower like angry dogs.
Flowers stand, carven fragile jade that might break in any breeze
The sea lies shuddering, grey and silver as soulless glass.
Why is it that even the sworded grass drew hastily from dewy hill
And turned its flexing blade on me?
I cannot break this stony silence spilled on everything.
The air is icy chill. God, can move but I
Hear that wild minor music rolling down the evil sky!
—Vesta Emanuel.
More Comfort Campaign.
Dear "Smad,"—A certain creaking of muscles, a soreness round the nether regions, and an uneasy shifting of the body on bare boards are typical symtoms of a student attending a lecture at Victoria College.
The seating accommodation is vile and atrocious! We are listening to 20th century professors (?) under 15th century conditions ? Why should we suffer this torment and agony when other colleges in New Zealand enjoy comfortable seats? Do the powers think that we, of Wellington, are Rougher and hardier than in other parts—of the country.
It is understood from a reliable Source that other colleges even have plush seats.
This matter, which strikes at the very root of the student body, is one that should receive immediate and urgent attention, or else it may have a detrimental effect on the general health and well being of the College. We are going to have a new Student Building—if we don't get more comfortable seats the college will have build New Students!
It is hoped that this voice crying out from the wilderness will be heard and acted upon immediately and that a campaign for the provision of "Softer Seats at Victoria" be started.
P.S.: There are a few comfortable scats. . . .
I remain, etc.,
Bono Endo.
. . . Hope, Charity.
Dear "Smad,"—
So far our leaders on the Executive have given no indication that the Students' Association is going to make a contribution to the Children's Health Camp Fund.
Admittedly, our time has been fully occupied with Tournament and Capping, and it may be said that all that now remains is the wreckage and the annual academic argument with the Prof. Board as to whether students are to get drunk decently, as the P.B. suggests, or indecently, according to the wishes of the students themselves.
To return to the matter in hand, we have a Building Fund which grows very slowly with all our own efforts, and if it is to grow faster we must have the sympathy and support of the people of Wellington. One obvious way of doing this is to stop thinking of ourselves for a while, to "he big." Charity if it begins at home, as in our case, usually ends there.
There are two things to be done. The Executive must give a substantial donation to the general fund, and the permission of the City Council must be obtained to hold a collection in town one day during lunch hour. This collection could be carried out in fancy dress, various small "stunts" could be arranged, and it would do far more for the College than our procession ever did. If the Executive moves quickly, for very little are ranging will be needed, the appeal could be made on Capping Day, and would provide a fitting conclusion to the fine impression made by the Extravaganza, but even if the notice is too short for that, there is no need to shelve the proposal.
I am, etc.,
Donald Currie.
Winterset.
From Maxwell Anderson's play, "Winterset" has been made a film of most unusual merit, a film that has in it something far transcending mere entertainment, it has a quality of artistry, of dramatic power, that makes it a memorable, rare picture. It is the tale of a modern Hamlet, convincingly translated to our times by the use of the Sacco-Vanzetti case as the plot foundation.
When we were very young. Sacco and Canzetti, peaceable radicals, were convicted of a hold-up and murder. Flimsy circumstantial evidence and mob-hysteria condemned them. In "Winterset" so is it with Bartolomio Romagne, dreamer and idealist.
"Mio" Romanga grows up; possessed, like Hamlet, with a fierce desire for vengeance, for justice to his murdered father. Penniless and bitter, he comes to New York seeking Garth Esdras, an accomplice in the crime for which his father died, and the one man from whom he hopes to discover the truth. The "bright ironic gods" let him fall in love with Mirimne. Garth's sister, before he knows who she is.
His subsequent conflicting emotions make difficult acting, but Burgess Meredith shows himself capable of interpreting the most sensitive roles. Finer acting than that of Miriamne and Mio has never come to the screen.
The character pursue their separate ways, converging in the basement room where Garth Esdras, his father, and Miriamne live, for a climax that leave Mio triumphant but still in danger of his life. Trock Estrella, the man responsible for the sixteen-year-old crime, lies in ambush ready to silence such a menace to himself as Mio Romagne.
Mio and Miriamne outwit Estrella, in a sequence that leaves the audience silent and pensive. They move in a fatal and uneasy atmosphere, caught by the camera in scenes that are masterpieces, of excitement without sensationalism. of suspense without anticlimax.
"Winterset" deserves a place on anybody's list of truly great films.
—A.G.H.
Anzac Day.
It was not clear
Midst sweat and fear
What filthy lies
Rent family ties
Wrenched them away.
To sweat and pray,
Spend futile hours
In shrapnel showers
Midst blood, and cuts,
Hot steel and guts;
And lingering breath,
And hurried death,
The nun that told
Had missiles sold,
And bodies cold
Were burnished gold.
You bloody fools,
You're simply tools,
And soon they'll want
Their purile cant.
Preserve Democracy!
(Uphold snobocracy),
And if you heed
They'll soon you need,
As cannon feed.
D.S.
Bottle Ho!
Dear, "Smad."
A thought for the week: There is a difference between drinking and getting drunk, and also between drinking and telling the world about it.
Yours, etc.,
Watermelon.