Too much is too much is too much . . .

Press, 13 June 1978, Page 15

Too much is too much is too much . . .

The “Listener” claims that the ability of the “Beachboys” to combine the “perfect teen-age images of sun, sea, girls and motor-cars in bright clean songs is as evident now as it was 15 years ago, and, although their singing. may not be what it was, the atmosphere of a live ‘Beachboys’ outdoor concert is all there.” Well, there was certainly plenty of atmosphere in the concert transmitted on Television One as “Show of the Week” on Sunday night. Or rather, there was plenty in the atmosphere:

the concert appeared to take place in a dense fog, rather ill-suited to the image of clean, empty Californian beaches against which the long Pacific breakers endlessly crash, which is what we are supposed to see in our mind’s eye as we listen to the “Beachboys.” And nowadays, the “Beachboys” themselves are rather unsuited to this image, with their windbreakers, woollen caps and beards, looking more like a rather ill-equipped Polar expedition than the apostles of sun-drenched oceanic hedonism they are claimed to be. What’s more, they should change their name to the “Foreshore Forties,” since most of them appear to be nearing that age. Some of their songs are quite pleasant, but 50 minutes of them is too much. And when I say too much, I mean too much, rather than too much. After a while, all their sonje start to sound the same.

“The same as what?” you ask, to which I reply: The same as all the other “Beachboys” songs which sound just like them.

Still, some of the crowd appeared to be enjoying themselves. There were chaps jigging about with girls on their shoulders. I thought of trying this with my wife, but we have rather low ceilings at our place, and the thought of a concussed spouse was off-putting.

And so to “The Norman Conquests,” which ended rather predictably with Norman abandoned by his three conquests and bleating about only having

tried to make them happy. The fact that there was a fair amount of self-grat-ification inherent in this programme was something he tended to igonore. Still, it was impossible not feel fond of him as he drunkenly screeched to Reg that he loved him, and that they should feel earth together. And one of the best moments in the whole series came as the deluded Tom tried to grapple with the concept o.“ Ruth impelled to dance naked in front of him, wearing only her glasses, and then endeavoured to

explain all this to an incredulous Annie. A word here for Fiona Walker, whose playing of the acidulous Ruth was one of the best things about the programme. She got dead right the weary refusal to be outraged by anything Norman did, partly because she was as entertained and charmed by him as anybody else. Will Annie marry Tom? I hope not, but we shall never know. Presumably the only person who does know is Alan Ayckboume. Should we present him with a monster petition, urging him to come clean? Or are there clues in the text which we have missed?

By

A. K. GRANT

POINTS OF VIEWING

Anyway, “The Norman Conquests” is a landmark in English drama, a play which makes “King Lear,” the only other work of comparable stature, seem, like a tragedy.