A night for everyone lacked one thing

Press, Volume CXIV, Issue 33612, 14 August 1974, Page 4

A night for everyone lacked one thing

Monday >vas a night with something on television for everyone — magic, astronomy, comedy, stage nostalgia, trade, drama, sociology. The sort of night when the viewer finally reeled away from his set with a feeling of utter repletion, and realised that he could remember almost nothing of what he had seen (unless he had taken notes).

It was a night of uniform excellence; a totally forgettable night. The reason for this sense of having glided uninterrruptedly down the long valley of the evening is not hard to find: it was the absence of advertisements.

Those abrasive, compulsive, Infuriating advertisements were not there to abrade, compel, or infuriate. This meant that in the whole course of the evening there was never occasion to throw oneself from the chair to seek a nibble or a draught.

As a result of persistent lack of movement over a number of hours the oxygen level in the body receded. Anoxia set in. One’s thumb became macerated through sucking. It was a worth-while experience to discover how much is owed to television advertisements. It can be said without fear of contradiction that television would not be the same without them.

Not that the young man from America on "Nationwide” did much for the cause. This hard-sell, advertising firebrand, whose name was Jon Firestone, was billed as a “media planner.”

His voice was somewhat hard to follow, but he appeared to be advocating much more advertising by i political parties in New Zealand at election time. He seemed to say (if this was not a phantasy induced by shortage of oxygen) that Mr ; Nixon got in because of “a very effective advertising campaign.” It is conceded that the United States is a long way from New Zealand and that ii Mr Firestone had to sail round Cape Horn to reach these shores it would have taken him some weeks, but,

:he should have made an [effort to inform himself of ! recent events. As New Zea- [ landers understand it, advertising was the least of Mr 'Nixon’s re-election instruments.

If Mr Firestone is seriously suggesting that what is good for America in electioneering practices is also good for New Zealand he had better watch his step. * « #

A much more welcome and sensible American on Monday night’s television was Bob Newhart, a comic of infinite control and impressive power. In the series he is a psychologist; and his wife, played by the delicious Suzanne Pleshette, decided to take him on in an argument about their married life.

How does one possibly argue with a psychologist, who presumably has the professional insight to foresee how his interlocutor will behave? But Newhart was only, a male psychologist, and in the end the thing was a drawn battle. # « #

Much nearer home was “The Golden Years of Music Hall,” recorded at the Theatre Royal, Christchurch, when the English group was touring. Well, like those fancy cheque forms, it’s not for everyone. On their own terms the work of these troupers was probably very good. It is still surprising, though, that they were granted enough general appeal to go on national television. The strenuous bonhomie of the master of ceremonies did its traditional best; and after that the spoken word was marginally better than the singing, and the dancing a relief from both.

No doubt there were quite a number who couldn’t get along to the Theatre Royal, and no doubt the N.Z.B.C. owed the broadcast to a past era. ❖

An extraordinary little programme was built around the British-born people who are living in South Africa. Certainly something was extraordinary — it might have been the people. The subjects ranged from the extremist who saw any election of the United Party as the thin edge of the wedge towards a multi-racial

State and upheaval, who [said that apartheid was “the [greatest thing ever thought 'of” and that communism was after world government; to Ann Ziegler and Webster Booth who very much wanted to go back home except that he feared the climate.

There was the complete Royal Air Force couple who had transported their world of Suffolk entire to the South African bush, and who stayed for what they called the freedom.

This pair tvas probably the most patronising towards the native population, and they had plenty of competition in this. One man was satisfied that he was a direct descendant of King George 111, living a curious Royal dream of his own.

But living in the past seemed to be the common denominator of this pocket of Britons. They numbered about a million but they believed that they were not accepted in South Africa.

They spoke of the bitterness still remaining from the Boer War; the Afrikaners, they said, could never forget what the British had done to the farmers and their families. Yet these expatriates seemed determined never to get off their high horse and really find out where they were living. — D.M.