COMPETITION

Astrolatry

Jaspistos

n Competition No. 1743 you were invit- ed to write a poem in salute to a favourite film actor or actress, major or minor, whoa. appeared in black-and-white films.

Tell me, pray tell me, the Englishman who Made his first movie aged fifty-two; Tell me which actor — glorious dream Captained the England test cricketing team,

challenged David Heaton, and then provid- ed the answer: 'that Hollywood myth,/ King of the exiles, Sir C. Aubrey Smith'.

This was a rich, various and heartfelt

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entry. I was pleased to see two of my per- sonal favourites well celebrated — Conrad Veidt and Peter Lorre -- but sorry not to see two others — William Bendix and Margaret Dumont. Moving tributes came from Jenny Morris (Orson Welles), 0. Smith (Eddie Cantor), Roger Woddis (Harry Langdon) and Philip A. Nicholson (Buster Keaton). The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Aberlour Single Malt whisky goes to Robert Roberts for his salute to the actress down whose cleavage I persistently tried to peer when I was a teenage extra in Saraband for Dead Lovers.

Margaret Lockwood

They never filmed you in the nude. We paid our one-and-six to gape At what the censor said we could Your half-hid cleavage and your shape, Your beauty spot, your raven hair, Your Wicked Lady's low-cut dress, Your negligee, your underwear, Your 1940s' naughtiness.

We envied those Don Juans of yours James Mason, Granger, Dennis Price Highwaymen, gangsters, spivs, signors, Who gave drab days a dash of spice.

But you're my pin-up queen that was, Brightest of stars for whom we queued Six nights a week — perhaps because We never saw you in the nude.

(Robert Roberts)

Buster Keaton His talent, like an iceberg, Had slapstick as its tip, Beneath were chilly shadows, Which later sank his ship.

Innocent bewilderment Was art concealing art, As if some hapless extra Had got the leading part.

He stalked a hostile landscape Of vengeful artefacts, Where life's frenetic purpose Was papering the cracks.

Discomfited, not beaten, His timeless zest endears, And when our laughter's loudest Our cheeks are wet with tears.

(Tim Hopkins)

George Sanders

Suavest of the film world's leading men With his urbane, inimitable drawl, In each new role he played himself again - The most patrician cynic of them all.

Sardonic, witty, bored, in life and art, Type-cast too often — which at last did harm To his career — he brought to every part His unique blend of cruelty and charm.

Rarely the star, this man we loved to hate, He yet touched greatness once: who can forget

The Moon and Sixpence, and the tragic fate Of the doomed painter? We recall him yet,

With that smooth, silky, cultivated voice, The handsome cad of everybody's choice.

(Geoffrey Riley) They told me, Valentino, they told me you were dead, They brought me silent reels to see and silent tears to shed, I wept as I remembered those women, true and fair,

Who dreamed that they were partnering the chic Monsieur Beaucaire.

They yearned All Night for glamour, the passion of The Sheik, After The Young Rajah they were sleepless for a week, Because The Conquering Power you brought to all your parts Swooped down upon your fan club, like The Eagle, plucking hearts.

Beyond the Rocks of pfivate life, while OM of Luck with love, You danced in Passion's Playground, Sainted Devil never dove, And Blood and Sand were stirring for the Sheik's son, young Ahmed, When the news sped (like the horsemen ... ) that the Eyes of Youth were dead.

And now these decades later, dear romantic, silent dream, Your first fans, like their idol, fade upon life's silver screen.

Still may your Stolen Moments mesmerise us like a song,

For Death, he taketh all away, but celluloid lasts long. (M.E. Ault)

No. 1746: Ad Angle

The advertiser's approach to the potential customer is ever new and always as old as the. hills. You are invited to write up to 120 words of advertisement for an imaginary product, parodying one method of approach. Entries to 'Competition No. 1746' by 18 September.