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Salient. An Organ of Student Opinion at Victoria College, Wellington, N.Z. Vol. 14, No. 6. June 7, 1951


So Extravaganza survived its birthing-pangs—and what pangs they were—weathered the secession of the Patricians, the excision of the Executive and the woeful predictions of the prophets. (I was one of them.)

Every year, somehow or another, a chaos of script, scriptwriters, lavatory paper, lavatory jokes, actors, would-be actors, props men and wardrobe women, make-up supervisors, beer, saveloys and Weir House extroverts manages to assemble itself into some sort of order. It never ceases to amaze me how often so much is done with so little. This year was no exception, at least in regard to the chaos which finally resolved into order.

That does not mean to say Extrav was good. "Sidarella" had the ghost of an idea, and it was flogged to death. The party line, I mean. Unfortunately for the authors, and fortunately for the show, the plot misfired. The propaganda was so blatant the audience didn't believe it was Intended seriously—although there were one or two painful silences when they couldn't see the joke, in most cases it wasn't there to see. The really good jokes, and there were some, were taken with few exceptions from previous Extravs. ("My father went to Marsden" 1948; "Take your cold hands off my ballet," similarly 1948). But I must give due credit for "I'm just wild about Harry!"