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Radio Humour of Himalayas
At the Expense of the English
Gentleman
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AORUS'
confronting
A PROBLEM young constantly writers
is the extent to which
they should confine their writing
to their own experience.
Taking the word "experience"
in a broad sense, I think they
should, so far as fiction or
imaginative work is concerned
If they do that, they would at
least avoid the embarrassment of
revealing their own ignorance.
It is not easy for a writer to
avoid revealing his own
ignorance sometimes. It is a
pitfall into which the most frequent
tumblers are critics, but
fiction writers come a close
second. The budding writer who
has never been outside an Australian
city sometimes yearns to
write a story of the African
jungle. He could, probably,
write an equally good story
about the jungle at Ferntree
Gully with which he is familiar;
but the call of Africa is sometimes
too great and in his enthusiasm
for the glamorous, he
makes a pathetic Slowing. He
may, of course, get away with it
if he has been in the New Guinea
jungle, for the type of jungle
may be the same, and if it is
essential to his plot that Africa
be his setting, he can draw upon
his New Guinea experiences and
hope for the best. He might
even draw upon his Ferntree
Gully experiences and, in the
knowledge that he is proceeding
on dangerous ground, proceed
cautiously into Africa as best he
can. If it is necessary that fie
write about something outside
his experience, he should at least
be aware of the danger of so
doing.
NONSENSICAL DESCRIPTION
I don't know whether Joanna
Cannan has even been in the
Himalayas: her book, "Ithuriel's
Hour," contained no evidence of
it, even though the book was
set in the Himalayas, and there
was no evidence to show that
E. M. Delafield, who adapted K
for radio, was any better
equipped to deal with the subject.
The result was that a
story which was distasteful anyway,
from the angle of plot, became
almost farcical because of
its nonsensical* description of
Himalayan exploration.
Haha! roars the jolly reader,
and what does "Taurus" know
about Himalayan exploration
either, that he pontificates so on
the shortcomings of other
writers? Sit quiet, jolly reader,
and perpend.
A mountain climber falls sick
on the last ascent of Cho-Kangri,
and the villain, Sir Clement, obsessed
with his ambition to reach
the summit, wants to go on and
leave him. "I'll, give him my
coat," he says; "that will keep
him warm until we return." I
may not be quoting his Words
with complete accuracy, but the
bad Sir Clement did offer to
leave his "coat" over the sick
man. His coat! By the bones
of Whymper, men do not wear
"coats" at 26,000 feet—coats that
they can shed lightly to cover an
ailing comrade. Nor do men go
out into blizzards to "have a
look around" unless they are the
supermen creations of the Misses
(or Mesdames) Cannan and
Delafield. Nor do men fall sick
on exposed ridges and then lie
there for several hours without
dying, so that they can impart
vital information to the man who
came up to "have a look
around."
ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
CARICATURED
Still, Sir Clement was obviously
mad as a hatter and may
bp ignored. But all that represents
the caricature of the
English gentleman was served
up in this play In perfect
seriousness: there were frequent
references to a "pukka sahib,"
"the old school tie," and (believe
it or not!), "good, clean
divorce." The Welshman in the
party who is "not a pukka sahib"
is suitably deferential to his betters;
they are pleasantly condescending
to him. Complete
with all the blah one associates
with a low comedy version of
an Englishman, this team of fantastic
creations set off to climb'a
mountain. They talk of "going
over the , top," "attacking at
dawn," and are summoned to
mess with a bugle. Every item
of their conversation was calculated
to make one believe that
Englishmen, especially wealthy
sportsmen, are the most thickheaded,
snobbish pack of asses
on earth. Such a portrait of the
English has its place in vaudeville;
it has no place in what
purports to be serious drama,
and strongly suggests that the
authoresses have never met an
Englishman in their lives, but
have derived their information
from "American magazines. If
they happen to be English themselves,
and if the types, referred
to happen to- be genuine, then
they have not done their country
any service by revealing the
fact. It should be decently
hushed up| in a pukkha manner.
POINTLESS PLOT
The plot was nasty and pointless;
Sir Clement, the leader, is
infatuated with the wife of his
best climber, so he pushes hini
off the mountain, then goes home
and marries the wife. His son,
who learns the true facts of the,
tragedy, is horrified On a very
B.B.C. manner) and the play
ends on the son's bitter statement
that "the juggernauts of
this world are not men without
consciences, but men with consciences
they can square." It
takes sixty minutes to arrive at
that not-very-profound statement.
It was an A.B.C. production.
C&st and ' producers did
the best they could.
POTTED BIOGRAPHIES -
A current popular show on the
commercial air is "Hie Curtain
Rises'," from 3DB each Friday,
^at 8.15. This is a 15-minute
dramatisation featuring some
well-known character of theatrical
history, and so far has
covered such well-known personalities
as John Barrymore,
Pavlova, Marie Lloyd, Sarah
Bernhardt, Henry Irving and
Franz Werfel. Pure potted
biography, this feature makes
no claim to being great art; but
even if the quality does vary, as
it must, there is good craftsmanship
in some that I have
heard, and the subject matter is
alive with interest. There may
be some who will say that one
cannot "pot" a biography into
fifteen minutes. Of course, you
can't; and nobody claims to do
so, but "The Curtain Rises"
offers nothing that is inferior
to a "Reader's Digest," and a
lot that is superior to it. The
latest of the series was the
story of Franz Werfel; this was
a neat cameo, well acted by
David Reid. Mr. Reid has had
considerable experience with the
Little Theatre, and both he and
his sister, Margaret, also of the
Little Theatre, may be accounted
two of the most consistently
satisfactory of Melbourne's
actors.
"The Curtain Rises" is produced
by Morris West at the
studios of Australian Radio
Productions, the unit which has
been handling a number of
Catholic How shows in recent
months.
A pleasant sign in commercial
radio is the attention paid to
semi-religious subjects, and the
realisation that many religious
subjects are, in fact, "news" in
the sense of being first-class
educational entertainment. Pos-
sibly, "The Song of Bernadette"
started the fashion in genera!;
at all events, Donovan Joyce's
"Passing Parade" (Wednesdays,
9 pjn„ 3KZ), has just featured
'•'The Holy Shroud," of Turin
Cathedral, and the story of
Father Damien is due in the
near future, on the same programme.
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