The Victoria University College Dramatic Club presents One Act Plays, Thursday, 10th July, 1941.

The plays began late, of course. But on the whole we do not regret that our patience outlasted the long delay. We found much to comment on in the three plays, and what critic is averse to criticising?

In "The Road of Poplars" so much depended on atmosphere, and the atmosphere depended much on Nat Beaties as the hallucinated ex-soldier. He was very good. This play owed much of its effectiveness to its relevance to the present situation—the maladjustments of war-haunted soldiers returned to civilian life will create a large problem—but credit goes to Irene English for an excellent first production. Despite clumsy lighting atmosphere was achieved. Bruce Mason, although in himself delightful, would, we felt, have made a better Frenchman had he been more violent. Pat. Hildreth was well-suited in her part, B. Unwin and Harry Scott adequate in theirs.

Local Product.

No more violent contrast to "The Road of Poplars" could have been conceived than Dennis Hartley's mellow drama, "Virtue Shines Brighter Than Gold." Its romping burlesque appealed to the audience which cooperated to produce an impression of an olde tyme musicke hall which would have delighted ye B.B.C. Successfully modelling his style on Rayner Kellaway's, Dennis Hartley in the inevitable Nemesis cloak made a satisfying villain. His spit-hissing was delightful. The character of the father, played by Dave Cohen, seemed a little inconsistent, but in the Old Time Theayter . . . Cecil Crompton and Gordon Stuckey were excellent.

Six of Calais.

Their facial control served to show up in a very bad light certain parts of the last play. It was depressing to see, for instance, so able an actor as John McCreary giggling and making side comments to another member of the cast. With more rehearsals, this production has possibilities. As it was, the cast, shepherded by Kate Ross, scarcely did justice to the play. Bea. Hutcheson and Dennis Hartley were good. With more rehearsals and less levity these two with John McCreary should give a good account of themselves in the inter-varsity contest at Christchurch.

A final word: Extrav, is now dead, but its ghost stalks horridly abroad in the shape of an Alfred Littlebe-cum-Hess-cum-Odious accent which distresses us.