Not the Town Hall

Press, 23 September 1983, Page 15

Not the Town Hall

r Reviewl

Ken Strongman

The Michael Fowler Centre, or Wellington Town Hall, as it will never be known, is well and truly opened. In becoming open it has given us some remarkable television ranging from a genuine sense of occasion to boring tastelessness.

The opening itself was stylish and elegant, a sort of muted magnificence, even from the howitzers of 22D Battery. The choice of music was vibrant and zestful although a trifle bitty and was preyed over by William Southgate like a happily frenzied mantis. Certainly, the finale demonstrated the increasing maturity of New Zealand — the 1812, composed by a Russian, possibly homosexual, who wouldn’t have known one end of a gumboot from the other.

There were other oddities. Some TV cameras were carefully positioned to look up the instruments. This had the effect that they also looked up the musicians’ noses. But the real piece de resistance came from the interviewer who put to Sir Michael Fowler a question worthy of Benny Hill. “Sir Michael, did it ever occur to you, knockers may prevail?” Personally, I hope that they

always do. It has to be the question of the year.

To have the opening address at the new centre delivered by Edward Heath was a terrific coup. What a polished and accomplished speaker he is. It was good to see him again, to dispel that lingering image of an ageing boy scout with shaking shoulders.

It was a privilege to listen to a politician with a genuine world view expressed in a properly statesmanlike manner. Local contrasts sprang to mind fast and furious. It was simply refreshing to see and hear knowledge, judgment, vision and intelligence rather than the prim inhibition or the cowboy-like shooting from the hip to which it is easy to become complacently accustomed.

From two tasteful, wellorchestrated occasions, by Tuesday the new stage had

descended to the more dubious quality of the “New Zealand Showcase Spectacular.” It is to be hoped that this is not sold abroad as a showcase to the world.

From the lively music and the first-rate lecture of the week-end we were plummeted into a predictable set of performers surrounded by enough horribly flashing lights to look like a stylised air-raid. It was all tasteless brashness. Thinking of which, the Michael Fowler Centre, although impressive from within when viewed floodlit from the air is strongly reminiscent of half a set of dentures, although it is difficult to determine whether it is tops or bottoms.

The acts were introduced by the übiquitous Peter Sinclair as “the cream of New Zealand’s performing artists.” One’s heart sank, stomach dropped and liver spotted. If this is the cream what must the milk be like?

It was mainly tedious singers, indistinguishable from each other. All had that half-American drawl which predisposes them to sing of “mah prahd” and the like. The main relief from this cream came from the

Wellington Pipe Band with blue bagpipes, the New Zealand Army Band, nearly as übiquitous as Peter Sinclair, and Howard Lawnmower. By which time, the big S on “Spectacular” appeared to have slipped into drunken disarray, thus providing one of the few high spots.

The only worth-while moments came from Lynn of Tawa, who has managed to refine tastelessness into an art form. She becomes more tellingly accurate with each performance and seems to be our only standup comedian. Other than Lynn, the week-end’s Town Hall programmes would have sufficed, without Tuesday’s unspectacular.