‘Palace of Dreams’ a forlorn effort

Press, 18 April 1986, Page 15

‘Palace of Dreams’ a forlorn effort

[Review]

Ken Strongman

The Sunday evening culture spot has been taken over by Sydney in the great depression. “Palace of dreams” is the Australian answer to those British all-in-sepia series which, oddly enough, make one feel grey with despair. Sydneyites of the time are shown as amazingly dowdy and constantly in trouble, although smiling and joking grimly through their problems.

It is nothing more than a glorified soap, screened on Sunday on because it is set in the 1930 s and there are only 10 episodes rather than 100.. It is even centred on a hot in which works young Tom, trying to make sense of a confusing world from which he is being protected, in part, by a colourful family of Russian immigrants. Love raises

its awkward head, mainly in the unrequited form, and life’s drama is played out on both sides of the bar.

There are two varieties of local, white, Australian. Some are thin-lipped, cold-eyed and taciturn with faces as flat as their voices. Others are thicklipped, thick-headed, loud and crude. By contrast, the immigrants are vibrant. They retain, like immigrants everywhere, their European charm, while the locals are weighed down by lost opportunities and just by being locals. It is remarkable how consistently the hand of the A.B.C. can be relied upon for its heaviness.

It is difficult to look up after a few episodes of series such as “Palace of Dreams” without feeling that the world is a drab

and rather hapless place. To see people struggling through the depression does not build up romantic images of the indomitable human spirit, it merely makes one feel forlorn. This is drummed home by a pause every few minutes while the film sequence moves into an entirely brown and white mode as young Tom comments on life. And there are another eight weeks. Since the latest scrabble for the youth dollar has rendered “Radio With Pictures” toothless, it is back to “Sunday” for

other sorts of dream. Last week’s programme concerned the Nats’ latest attempt to have someone called Jim in the top job. It began with Janice McArdle conducting a few quick interviews with people who might be expected to hold an opinion on the matter. It included a few minutes with David Lange, the camera, for no obvious reason, trained up his left nostril. This is either turning into a standard TVNZ technique, or TVNZ is employing a very short cameraperson. As usual, Lindsay Perigo was doing the big interview. He and Jim Bolger were seated at a rather elegant, round wooden table, but on swiveling metal office chairs. The only point shared by the table and chairs was splayed feet, which made it look as

though the two men were sitting surrounded by grotesque chickens. It would be no surprise to see flying ducks on the walls, and plastic flowers on the table.

However, it was just about the perfect interview. Someone pro-Bolger would have seen an incisive, well-prepared man running rings round a fustered interviewer as he espoused the new fortnight National philosophy (actually the old one, but who’s counting?). An antiBolger person would have seen a fumbling, ill-pre-pared man having rings run round him by a cool interviewer as he scratched around for something to say. The reason for this was that during the 20 minutes or so of the interview, Lindsay Perigo became more and more frustrated

as his questions became more specific and Mr Bolger became ever more platitudinous in his general statements. He didn’t actually mention his love for his mother and for apple pie, but he did come perilously close. He kept saying “Let’s look at it quite calmly.” It was to Lindsay Perigo’s credit as a professional that he did not spin off his swivel chair. Come on “RWP” we should not have to put up with much of this, or perhaps we should. Tailpeice: Twenty-four hour television at weekends. When it was going to happen, the main question was why? When it didn’t happen, the main question was why not? How could it get so far and then not go ahead? What’s more to the point, if it ever does happen, who will watch it?