That does not mean to say Extrav was good. "Sidarella" had the ghost of an idea, and it was flogged to death. The party line, I mean. Unfortunately for the authors, and fortunately for the show, the plot misfired. The propaganda was so blatant the audience didn't believe it was Intended seriously—although there were one or two painful silences when they couldn't see the joke, in most cases it wasn't there to see. The really good jokes, and there were some, were taken with few exceptions from previous Extravs. ("My father went to Marsden" 1948; "Take your cold hands off my ballet," similarly 1948). But I must give due credit for "I'm just wild about Harry!"

Archbishop Over the Edge

It is a strongly held belief by a number who have had acquaintance with them that members of The Party suffer from a deficiency of humour and a superfluity of bad language. This was borne out by "Sidarella." I believe that the men sitting next to me laughed longest and loudest of any of the audience at the crudest of the jokes, yet even they remarked at half-time that some of the lines were over the [unclear: ce]. The political satire was in most.' cases so blunt It could hardly have hacked its way through a pound of Sid's subsidised butter And was it really necessary to make so many sneering remarks at religion and religious, even to the extent of producing the Archbishop of Canterbury on stage?

Good Casting

The cast was, on the whole, as competent as the average Extrav. cast of the past. Dougal McDonald as Sidarella was reasonably capable. Jim Hutcheson (Goosle), I. Landen-Lane (Holysmoke) and especially Roger Harris (Bulgie) were excellent, likewise Conrad Bollinger (McKartho), and Frank Curtin in his dual role—in spite of his apparently-annual sticking-plastered pate. Colleen Rea as Sadie was not unattractive both physically and vocally, and Melda O'Reilly gave one of the best, and quietest, female extrav performances I have seen. Frank Curtin's makeup as Walter, incidentally, was something approaching makeup.

Vocally, most of the cast were not impressive, although that did not detract from the unconsciously funny Dodgie of John Patterson. Part of the trouble lay with the songs chosen for parodying; apart from it being quite unnecessary to parody "God Defend New Zealand," the thing's no good as a chorus anyhow. Most of the songs were not new to Extrav, and quite a lot of the lyrics in some of them were not new either, as witness "Sadie, the Minx of the Sphinx." Ron Meek, whose Extravs are held up as exemplars, relied a great deal on Gilbert and Sullivan music for his shows, and the one Gilbert and Sullivan song in the show proved once again the anomalous fact that mediocre singers can give an impressive sole performance of the intricate G. and S. melodies.

Traditional Spice

The success of the show, and it appears to have been reasonably successful, seems to be due mainly to the fact that the traditional Extravaganza ingredients were there—the male ballet, the one or two rousing choruses, the haka party, the Interval show (such as it was—and it always is), the one or two good jokes, and above all the infectious atmosphere. The male ballet was perhaps less prominent than usual. I saw the show on the last night which may account for the slap-happiness of the ballerinas. One remembers how the magnificent Brownies' Ballet nearly foundered on the last two nights because success (and beer) went to their heads, and everyone decided to act the giddy ass. No, in future, [unclear: ple] deputise one or at most two people, to skylark, and make the rest try and act like ballerinas. Their uniformity makes the clowns appear even funnier, but a ballet with everyone fooling looks like the last dregs of a does breakfast. And please, will the Executive consider a special Blue for Win Stevens for his performances, past and present, as sole danseuse?

As far as the female ballets went the producer seems to have been wise in being restrained. There have been very good female ballets in the past, but there have also been some damn painful ones, and it behoves the producer to cut his cloth according to the talent available.

The production and stage direction were good; none of last year's awkward exits and entrances and straggling choruses, and the direction was unobtrusive. Costumes were well up to standard, and props hands were unusually quiet in shifting scenery.

One last bitter remark. There was more toilet paper on display this year than ever before. And I don't think it is going down as well as it used to—not after the first half dozen times, anyway.

However, the really bright spot of the show was the final chorus. Most of the words were inaudible, but the volume was there, the gaiety was there, and the harmonising [unclear: choru], was there. It sent the audience home happy, it lessened my spleen considerably, and it gave me the impression that it will go down to posterity with the best extrav songs of the past. My compliments to its librettists.

D.E.H.