Little impact from world fight

Press, Volume CXV, Issue 33885, 3 July 1975, Page 4

Little impact from world fight

As with many other members of the New Zealand male workforce, the inexplicable vagaries of Fate brought us face-to-face with a television set on Tuesday afternoon for the big fight Our conclusion was that by the end of the bout the challenger was absolutely bugnered. Marshall MacLuhan’s assertion that television has turned the world into a global village has become a cliche amongst us upper-class intellectual television critics. We prefer to assert that the world has been transformed into a global suburb. But whichever metaphor one uses, there is something indubitably awesome about the reflection that the spectacle one is watching, even if it is not much of a spectacle, is being watched at the same time by hundreds of millions of other people, most of whom one hardly knows. As satellite broadcasts go, this one was a bit of a fizzer. We much preferred President Nixon’s resignation speech. Not as much boxing but a lot more laughs. « 9 « We waited with bated breath (can anybody tell us how you actually do bate your breath) for "Town Cryer,” and were not disappointed. First up was Sam Hunt, the Fred Dagg of New Zealand poetry, who enjoys living in a creek full of bottles, riding in ambulances, playing pool in public bars, and reading his extremely uninteresting poem “The Last Time I Saw Larry Happy” millions of times up and down the country. The last time we saw Sam happy was Tuesday night, when he was back on television again. He is becoming as übiquitous as Merv Smith. Indeed, one could call Merv Smith, because of his übiquity, the Sam Hunt of New Zealand television advertisements.

The Noel McKay slot was occupied this week by Miss Lee Grant. She had allowed herself to be made up to look like Christopher Lee playing one of the Brides of Dracula. She sang three songs. No doubt there are some songs she can sing. It was a pity she chose none of them for her performance on Tuesday night. She also told a wistful little story about how being an actress is not very glamorous, really, because you have to put out your own Kleensaks. We think it is outrageous that Miss Grant should have to put out her own Kleensaks. What is the Arts Council thinking of? We think that Mr Hamish Keith, Chairman of the Arts Council, should fly to Auckland once a week and put out Miss Grant’s Kleensaks personally. The last guest was Mr Muldoon, who chuckled heartily al! the time, to show how relaxed and at home he was. We felt rather sorry for him. He wasn’t allowed to talk politics' and not many other topics of interest were put to him. He indulged in one outburst of chauvinism, to the effect that not only were New Zealand flowers and footballers the best in the world, but so were New Zealand wines and poetry. Sam Hunt, much to his credit, refused to be drawn on the question of poetry. As far as wine is concerned, we agree with the Leader of the Opposition. There is one New Zealand burgundy on the market which we have awarded the Grand Prix du Plonque Appalling three years in a row. * * « Talking of Fred Dagg, there was an entertaining piece by him of an instructional nature about television aerials on “Tonight at Nine.” Earlier, in the local Television One news there was an equally funny piece by Jim Hopkins about how to beat smogf Hopkins’s character, Cuthbert Hump, is in his own

way just as funny as Fred Dagg. Fred appeals to us partly because *the type of New Zealander he represents is fast becoming extinct. Cuthbert, on the other hand, is more your inventive but dissatisfied immigrant Pom. It it very much to the credit of Television One that they can delight us with both of them on the one night. * * * “Sing” was given back to us by Television Two. Bits of it were very good. Some of the singing and dancing in the “Day at the Races” sequence was worthy of the Black and White Minstrels. But not even at knifepoint would we admit to an appreciation of the insipid talents of Craig Scott and Angela Ayers. Building a television series around that pair is like devising a chocolate which contains at its centre two cold baked beans. — A.K.G.