AFTER TEA.

Waikato Times, Volume 102, Issue 17133, 21 June 1927, Page 8

AFTER TEA.

AN OCCASIONAL YARN. / (By “Seeker.* 4 ) Realism at the Pictures. “Not going to the pictures to-night, Gwen?” asked Aunt Selina. “No, they’re getting to be a little too realistic, as they call it.” “Why, what is it now—‘Summer Husbands,’ or ‘Night of Love’ or ‘The Popular Sin,’ or what is the latest horror?” “Don’t make me blush, Aunt. Those things are certainly beastly enough, though not nearly as beastly ns the adverts and puffs make them out to be —lo get the crowd, you know. But what I cannot stand is these brutal fight scenes. Look at this puff about a free fight in a Wild West cafe. It says, ‘ln this mad scramble as it was enacted in the studio several men were injured and ihe set itself practically demolished in an effort to get realism.’ Why, they’ll be killing people next with their realism.” “Well, perhaps.” “But it ought to be stopped.” “But perhaps the crowd wants it, dearie. You know what everybody says—must give the people what they want. Realistic love scenes —love?— no. human farmyards I call them. And now more and more brutality. Why, 1 was reading not long ago that many of the actors and actresses at Hollywood really do risk limb and life and often come to grief in the motor smashes and daring leaps and such like. Of course, the stars that are supposed to do those things don’t really—they buy some hard-up boy or girl to get smashed up. But there—l’m upsetting you, dearie, and it’s so nice to have you home.” Dad had come in and glanced at Gwen, with a little surprise and much satisfaction. He seized the opportunity to pile on the horrors: “Well, I suppose if they did really kill people in making the pictures it would be a great draw to our nice, civilised, Christian crowds. I don’t see that we have any right to get worked up about hull-fighting in Spain.” “Compound the sins we are inclined to “By damming those we have no mind to”— quoted Gwen. “Precisely,” said Dad. Thrilling Aviation Stunts. “And for my part,” said Aunt Aunt Selina, “I don’t see why these airmen should risk their lives to provide ihe silly crowd with thrills.” “And Hie silly newspapers with copy,” said Dad, who reads all the sensations in the paper and then declares the wretched rags have nothing in them. “Of course, poor old Nungesser was hard up. He needed the cash and went after it. I feel really sorry for him. How about a little game of Five Hundred?” “Ail right. But after ail the people who work in dangerous mines, and go in to rescue their mates after an explosion are just as brave and far more useful.” said Aunt Selina. “As if there were not a thousand calls for heroism every day, without inventing new stunts.”

“I suppose you're riehl,” said Dad; “hut still it. is great lo sec the young bloods rush in for adventure—in a football game, or a hunt or flying, its your deal. Gwen.” “Yes, yes,” said Aunt Selina, “the hoys are grand. What I object to is the vulgar crowd that enjoys the thrill of seeing them smashed up or running absurd risks, and calls out for more and more. . Least of all do I like the rich old men that put up the money for these stunts and consider themselves noble patrons. It’s disgusting. When I feel it worth while to offer myself as a passenger to some boy for a fiight across the Tasman Sea or the Atlantic, then I’ll be ready to, egg him on to if. But until that —well, if I have anything to say about it, they'll do their long flights somewhere safer.” “Don’t worry, Selina,” said Dad. “No one will take any notice what we say. And that’s my trick, if you don’t mind.”

. “Beg pardon,” said Aunt. “Well, I suppose men will be men—and such fools. (What? My deal?) And I suppose they told Nungesser and tho other hoys in Frame as in England that it was going to be a land fit for heroes after the war.”

“Yes,” said Dad. (“Oh, what a hand! You can make it, Gwen.) The only heroes they seem to w-ant now are those with the heroism to live on half o’ nothing.” “And listen to sermons on economy from bankers and politicians w-ith a thousand or two a year,” said Aunt Sciina.

“Oh, you Bolshie.” said Dad, “but do remember you’re playing Five Hundred.” Another Kind of Hero. Duly enlightened by this shining wisdom, I had a mind to look up Becky’s story of the old Roman gladiators, who, like so many men to-day, were quite pleased to earn their living by gelling killed —as (lie Irishman said—and incidentally to provide joyous amusement io their fellow men. In Rome the spectators had the added pleasure of,being permitted to decide, by “thumbs up” or “thumbs down,” whether a defeated gladiator should be spared or despatched by the victor’s sword. The picture of Rome, says Lecky, becomes truly appalling when we remember that Ihe main amusement of both rich and poor was the spectacle of bloodshed, of the death, and sometimes of the torture, of men. “That not only men, but women, in an advanced period of civilisation —men and women who not only professed, but very frequently acted upon, a high code of morals —

should have made the carnage of men their habitual amusement and that all this should have continued for centuries, with scarcely a protest, is one of the most startling facts in moral history. . . . “One of the first consequences of this taste was to render the people absolutely until for those tranquil and refined amusements which usually accompany civilisation. To men who were accustomed to witness the fierce vicissitudes of deadly combat, any spectacle that did not elicit the strongest excitement was

insipid.”. In spite of the denunciation of ihe Christian Church, (he bestial sport was continued. At last it came to an end suddenly. “The last gladiatorial show was celebrated at Rome in A.D. 401, when an Asiatic monk named Telemarchus, animated by the noblest heroism of philanthropy, rushed into the amphitheatre and attempted to part the combatants. He perished beneath a shower of stones thing by the angry spectators: but his death led to the sbolitioa of the gcuae*” __ *