THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22329, 1 August 1934, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer.

Valuable instruments are reported to have . been burned when a northern brewery was destroyed by fire. I’ve heard it said that. Orpheus, Performing on the lyre, Could charm a coon, , . I Or set the shoon, . Of the Muses all afire. And if the arms of Morpheus At night do pot attract, Let Croshy croon, That guy’s voice soon Will bring you what you lacked. Or, singing proving nauseous, Then take your music hot, A jazzed bassoon .May prove a boon, Although, of course, 't may not. For some a little courteous Harmony more appeals, A trio’s rune, A golden moon, Will rouse ecstatic squeals. But we, with accents bauteous. Declare such choices wrong. And night or noon Prefer the tune Of the beer vat’s liquid song. Our contributor from the Matagourl badlands adds another chapter to the informal history of Otago: Dear “ Wayfarer,”—Quite recently the Daily Times tolq us of an English admiral who sat next to a Chinese diplomat at a banquet in London, and asked him “Likeo soupee,” and then was astonished when the Chinese gave a fine speech in excellent English. Somewhat similar incidents have been recorded in the United States, South Africa, and Rotorua, but the best one of them all took place at Wapaka many years ago. At that place and time, the late genial Dunedin Chinese merchant, Mr Sew Hoy, was just getting into his buggy to drive to Cromwell, when a miner stepped forward and, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that the exact meaning would filter into the Chinese brain, asked, “How much money him horsey Dunedin?" The reply was in Mr Sew Hoy’s genial manner. ‘ Oh! a horse like that would coat such a thing as £lO or £l2 in the Dunedin sale yards. The miner blushed, and went inside and had a drink.—Yours truly, Old Pioneer. We are moved to recollect (for the,first time in this column, we trust) the old tale of the English diplomat who was entertained by a Chinese potentate. Lack of a common tongue caused him to devote himself to his trencher-work, and ho took two helpings of a certain, spicy stew, reminiscent of wild duck in flavour, which much attracted the palate. Having done it justice he his Up s > to show appreciation, and pointing to the dish inquired of his host: “Quackquack?” The Oriental smiled politely as ho shook his head and replied; "Bow-wow! ” We understand that the guest passed the rest of the evening in extreme mental discomfort.

But correctness of speech is not the only courtesy which the Oriental pays to the Westerner with whom he is brought into communication. An anecdote concerning an equally _ correct American provides the sartorial comment;—

When Mr Warburg was in London early last summer at the Economic Conference, he had occasion to meet in a parlour of his hotel a deputation of Japanese conferees. He came down in the lift in a sac suit, only to find the grave little Japanese gentlemen all perfectly arrayed in cutaways and striped trousers, and carrying toppers. In order to give himself time to conform to the amenities, he made an excuse. He said he had been out and just got back, and was sorry he would be a few minutes late. He dashed up to his room and hurriedly changed his costume. After dressing he was slightly delayed by a long-distance telephone call, but* ho finally rushed b ac h downstairs in his cutaway. There eat the demure Japanese delegation, all

dressed iu sac suite, : We cannot believe that any international conference could be described a* a failure which produces such an immortal tale as this. ..

A correspondent of a London daily writes briefly to inform the world that two epic phrases of the talking films always prostrate him with laughter i—"They’ve got me pal" (one gangster to another). "You’re yeller-—just yeller! ” It is an accurate but not comprehensive list. As a matter of historical record (our duty to posterity is never absent from our pulsating thoughts) we venture to add the following prose gems:—

“ So—? ” “Say, you think you’re pretty smart, doncher?” "Now you lissen ter me, sweetie.” “But 'list a moment, jist a moment! ’’

“ Whatdya think you’re doin big boy? ” “Say, what’s the big idea? ” “ Aw, lay off, baby?’ “ Aw, cummon, givvus a kiss.” “ But I can explain everything.” Compiler’s note: This last despairing cry —it usually is the last, as it is uttered just before the. gangster shoots the young guy who has ’crossed him; or the husband clamps his fist upon the snozzle of the well-intentioned fellow whom he has discovered with his wife in (1) a roadhouse, (2) a speakeasy, (3) a boudoir, and/or (4) the lady’s arms—we would describe as the rpagical phrase, the epitome of kinematic expression, without which no dratnmer would take its place among the immortal epics of the audible screen.

With this equipment, pins a few negligee—but not negligible—blondes, a ton or so of he-men, a modernistic apartment and a reasonable supply of cut glass tumblers, cocktail shakers, and armaments, any young man who is not able to earn a living at some useful occupation should be able to become, ft great motion picture producer. The particular virtue of the phrases quoted in the preceding paragraph is, of course, that they are completely interchangeable, fitting any story the mind of the scenario writer might conceive, and their constant use has assured that their significance will not be lost upon the least bright of jdnema devotees.

Permit us to elaborate a little, by fitting this necessary dialogue to a sample super-film which may be said to run the full gamut of screen emotions. It is a rustic romance (passed by the Censor for universal exhibition) :

Scene: A field scattered with daisies the size of sunflowers. The heroine, a blonde in a frilly gingham frock ana a sunbonnet, is discovered picking daisies.

Heroine (singing softly to an out-size bloom): “You re yeller—just ycller! ” (Enter a City Slicker) C.S.: Cummon, givvus a kiss, baby. Baby (She looks upset, decides to stall): O.K. big boy. (O.S. makes a pass at her: she slips out of his clutches and her gingham frock: she is now wearing the minimum of apparel allowed by the censor for universal exhibitionism.)

Baby; Say, ycr think ye’re pretty smart, doneher?

(Enter Hero, in sheepskin pants) Hero: What's the big idea? C.S.: Aw, lay off! Hero: O.K. (be lays of! and dongs him one) Baby: You’ve got me, pal (Baby and Hero embrace). C.S. (attempting to rise as Hero puts his foot in C.S.s face); But jist a moment, jist a moment—l can explain everything! , Hero and Baby (together): Scz you! (Clasped, they dance oi! through the daisies singing the theme song, Yeller, Just Yeller.’’)

In further thrilling chapters we shall endeavour to show how this basic dialogue can be adapted to suit other immeraorable types of film play.

The Superintendent of Reserves says that the only tree winch will grow at Tainui is the willow. And any willows we have noticed there are weeping incessantly.

The Oamaru Borough Council has de<cided to conduct experiments with lines for pedestrians across the streets at .——'s Hotel corner. And this in a no-lieense district, too!

A deputation which desired an increase in the tariff on coats waited on the Finance Minister last week. TurnCoates!