Beer money

Press, 27 August 1980, Page 19

Beer money

I Review I I John Collins I

Things are tough in Canada, judging from an item slipped in among the Ust -of dead and injured yhat made up most of Monday's television news. Because ; of a brewery workers’ strike beer., is short and heartless profiteers j are charging as much as $1.25 for a bottle of imported beer. As - with, most stories that -' mention overseas prices, it is hard to get vsry . upset about that. Overseas items frequently show people hurling them-, selves against lines of policemen in protest against prices we would be de-' lighted to pay. Not one Canadian beer drinker was. shown hurling : : himself in ’,'. protest against even, .one policeman, I but- there were scenes of cars with bowed axles .bringing in a week’s supplies from over the border. If their drivers,who seemed put out by this inconvenience and the price, knew what .sort of beer, we get for $1,25 they’d, be hurling themselves. against any available policemen in a display of gratitude for their comparative good fortune, strike .or not. It would be a good idea if such items could be omitted from the news, at least until bur local breweries decide to augment the hop they are reputed to dangle on a piece of string into the departing wafer tankers. Indeed, a. policy of omitting film that might make the native consumers restless would be welcome. The new system might; well start with coverage of American "destruction derbys” that are sometimes shown on Saturday afternoons. It is disturbing' to see American .' ; stock-car. drivers., cheerfully ,; smashing . to pieces cars that we could onlv dream of owning. “When The Rains Don’t Come” (Two) was- about people who don’t have any water at all to drink neat, let alone dangle a hop in.- The tribes of dr6 u g h t-stricken East Africa. It was a fundraising promotion for World Vision, and one can only hope it works. It was distinguished by one of the daftest questions that has been put in a documentary. John Hawkesby; the reporter, met the leader of the Masai tribe in a bit of scrub that was dry even by the going desert standard. Through an interpreter he asked: ‘‘How does it feel to be chief of the Masai?” The answer was lost in viewer’s snorts of astonishment, but, from the look of the ear-rings that were dragging the chief’s lobes half-way down his back, the answer might have been: "Painful.”

A friend has suggestedan attempt at some sort of. joke about the chief’s being a graduate of Masai . University, but I don’t . think I shall. ’ - Joan Sutherland’s hobbv seems tb be collecting paintings arid photographs of herself, A piece on the Australian prirna* donna in “Kaleidoscope” showed the interior, of her house in Switzerland (where she lives because the. air is better for her .throat, and, presumably because her wallet likes mountain views) to -be some sortof shrine to its chief occupant. For someone possessedof cloth ears who finds opera an Unnatural and ridiculous spectacle, the profile was too long and not very interesting. Opera-lovers might have enjoyed it, but it is hard to imagine even the most ardent opera fan caring about w*hat sort of flowers the singer intends putting round her swimming pool and what . her husband thinks of. Sydney harbour; There was the usual line or two Australian expatriate successes are obliged to emit about this overwhelming urge to return to their homeland that they are only just managing to resist. One day perhaps we will all be together in Wco'.ongong (whose lighthouse, incidentally, Miss Sutherland admired as the Mayor told her and us of important industrial; expansion, t wen t y-five industries sprung up in the blink of an eye). pleasant contrast, the same programme showed a short and sweet profile of Malcolm McNeill, who has a lovely voice and was seen to be, as the Irish say, a lovely man. It was gratifying to hear someone who has clearly thought deeply about what he is doing with his’music and about the strange demands made by television, in which the warmth and sincerity that come through the screen from some performers ate actually synthetic emotions fed to a dead machine, the camera; seeming sincere demands a lack of sincerity. “Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?” . was McNeill’s main song in this piece. It’s about time Television New Zealand spared a singer with so much talent a lot more than just an occasional guest spot on someone else's show.