A happy celebration

Press, 13 November 1985, Page 19

A happy celebration

[ Review I I lan Hutchison j

If you missed it, back luck. If it screens again, don’t. Friday night’s edition of “Kaleidoscope” was, to say the least, one out of the bag. To say the most, it was superb.

Dedicated mainly to a little-known New Zealand expressionist painter called Dean Buchanan (now very well known) it showed that not all artists are angry, angst driven demons and that not all art is preoccupied with the world’s ills and injustices.

Not that Buchanan is not aware of ills and injustices. He is. It is just that he believes there is so much of it around that he would rather contribute to a happier world by painting happy paintings.

And happy they are. Lush, colourful, sensuous and luxurious, his canvases are an exuberant celebration of life. Through them, one shares in this celebration. Through them, one becomes happy.

Buchanan himself is as bright and vital as his paintings. Thirty-three going on 10, he has a childlike zest for life which leaves one exhausted and not a little envious. He works hard at his painting, throwing all his energy and vision into it. On top of that, he plays hard as well, throwing himself into the bush and on to the beach as though there were no tomorrow.

This was that “Kaleidoscope” conveyed — an irrepressible, infectious, soaring, singular artistic spirit. And it did it so well. The programme was not just a profile of the man and his

work; it celebrated him just as he celebrated life.

They had him bursting forth from the sea in tune to classically heroic music. The camera crashed through the bush as he did. It dynamically moved to and fro as he dynamically moved to and fro. They extended his eccentric indulgence in army uniforms by creating a bomb-flying battle field and lit up a domain in colours surpassed only by his own bright works. They did everything just right — and then some.

Screening much later and its sense, of the bizarre and ridiculous surpassed only by reality’s sense of the bizarre and ridiculous, “The Young Ones” came to an end (it is the season, it would seem, of termination). It came to an end, in fact, with our fractious heroes, Rick, Neil, Mike and Vyv coming to an

end. In a double-decker bus (bound for Good Time City) they drove off the edge of a quarry cliff. The cliff face was huge. It was so huge one had time to duck out to the toilet for a quick comfort stop and make a cup of tea (in the kitchen, not in the toilet) before the Good Time City bound bus reached its destination, the Bad Time City bottom of the cliff face.

Of course, the speed at which it should have plummeted with had been tampered with. The descent to its final bus stop was in slow motion. It did not drop like a stone; it ever so gently floated down like a feather on thin air. This was to let us fully appreciate and enjoy the sight of a double decker bus head for Bad Time City. After all, it is not every day you see a bus taking a dive. Finally, inevitably, it reached the bottom (one had drunk one’s tea by now). Miracle of miracles, the fractious four came to their senses. They may not have made Good Time City, but at least they were still alive. They had just survived the ultimate bad trip. “Phew, that was a close shave,” they chorused together. But, because the series was running out of money and making it was a lot of hard work, the bus' suddenly exploded into

flames — a regular Dante’s inferno.

So, this is the end of “The Yound Ones”? It would seem so. However, it was such a weird and wacky show, that it is just as likely not. One certainly hopes it is not. Its bizarre, ridiculous, fantastic, student sense of humour will, be missed. So, too, will its barbed satirisation of student life, stereotypes and the world at large. It artfully foregrounded the fact that although we appear drastically different to each other, we are, in fact, in the end, the same. We all just want to live in Good Time City.