It’s not my land and it’s not my city so the outcry over the plan to erect a Wellywood sign on a hill overlooking our capital passed me by until I realised I would be paying for it, albeit a tiny amount.
I fly in and out of Wellingtona several times a year, using the airport which is going to put up the sign and therefore some portion of the airfare I pay must be paying for this wanton wannabeness.
If you apply the adage if you can’t be first you must be better to the sign then the airport board which wants to erect it appears to have got it wrong.
Imitation may be the most sincere form of flattery but it doesn’t necessarily make the imitator right.
Wellywood was a clever enough word play linking Wellington with Hollywood, but turning it into a sign which imitates the one which overlooks the USA’s film capital isn’t so smart. As Lonely Planet says:
Lonely Planet New Zealand commissioning editor Errol Hunt said he was “torn” on the idea of a Wellywood sign, seeing it as partly bold, and partly cringe-worthy.
“On one hand, it’s a bit cheeky, a bit quirky, which does feel right. On the other hand, the tryhard-o-meter is beeping furiously.”
Jim Hopkins says it even better:
It is, after all, simply evidence, writ large, of how provincial, insecure and derivative we can be.
If you have to try that hard to impress people, you really shouldn’t bother. Better to pull your bottom lip over your top lip and pretend you don’t exist.
The Wellywood sign is just the biggest, dumbest version of all those gormless billboards we see bestrewn along the roadside all over the country, halfway between nowhere and somewhere else. . .
Well, of course it’s tacky, y’ daft ha’porths!
But it’s not tacky enough. It’s limp tacky, wimp tacky.
It should be wacky tacky. If it’s going to be tacky, it’s got to be Oh! tacky. Nothing less will do. . .
Since all such signs and symbols invite derision, get in first. Create one that will transcend silliness and scale the highest heights of kitsch. Then, when people say, “Strewth, that’s awful!” you can reply, with a satisfied grin on your gob, “Thank you.”
That sums it up – the sign is bad, but not bad enough, a desperate sign of desperation, not that I’m likely to see it.
In spite of many flights to and from Wellington I have no idea which hill the sign is destined to despoil. I am usually reading, sleeping or, in the case of Wellington sometimes more than exciting landings, praying, and don’t recall seeing a hillside on any descent or take-off.
On my most recent trip a couple of days ago all I saw was cloud until just before we touched down and more cloud when we took off again yesterday.
Therefore, in the spirit of the tackiness of the sign and with apologies to Ogden Nash I leave you with:
Deck your grassy hill in signs, the hill is yours my sweeting,
I’ll not see it flying in, nor when I’m retreating.