Extrav Needs Men Clowns, Too

Once again we are faced with our yearly production of the Extravaganza, once again pianos are thumping, hammers will soon be going, tempers becoming frayed and the whole general mad swirl of trying to organise sixty or seventy students into a show that people will pay money to see has commenced.

The script, once it has been brought up to date and made livelier in spots, should be a suitable basis for downing and hilarious misconduct in which this yearly outbreak of neurosis culminates.

The cast is still at that hopeless amorphous stage where no one knows who they are why they are or how they will do anything. To those who find this somewhat alarming, let me say that this is a necessary portion of a student show, which, until the general necessity tor cooperation sinks in is typified by those who say, "I'm afraid I find that I can't take part." "But. I always go to my hairdresser on a Monday." "Rehearse on a Sunday. I wouldn't dream of it." "My mother wouldn't like me to do such things." The man next to me in the chorus has been eating onions, can I be something else, please." and so on. At the end of a fortnight everyone has a rough idea of all the parts, and then the real organisation can take place, and chorus, blimps, commos, wallahs, negroes, sailors, ballets finally fixed.

To those who are not taking part in it, let me say that you are missing one of the experiences of Varsity life. To have passed through Victoria College and not taken part in Extrav, is like saying you once tourned India and didn't see the Taj Mahal. The cast is almost complete but there is still room for a few men; they can find out from their friends when the next rehearsal is and come along to be east. The orchestra also has room for good and competent players—comb and tissue paper artists need not apply

To the producer and property people, costumes, and all those who have to deal with that variable article, the varsity student, give your sympathy, and when you pass them in the corridor or see them nibbling a pathetic meal in the Caff., shed a silent tear and say. "There stands a worried man."