Are you tired of your newspaper with its lockout and stall-in reports? Tired of TV's British satire and hillbilly corn? Of your local theaters' grim neorealism and grimmer (at least in performance) Shakespeare? Then Pinafore is the thing for you. The Gilbert and Sullivan Players are offering a relaxing amateur evening at Agassiz, and I had a rollicking good time.

G. and S. purists will point out that the Victorian never-never-land of the operetta and the memorable songs deserve most of the credit, but last night's show was a better than main-run performance. Carol Schechtman's direction departs from the traditional background, and with good effect. The small stage never seems cluttered, even with the full cast dancing. The blocking is put to best use in the first act finale, and if the dancing is two-step rich, it is spirited and colorful.

On the whole, the singing is competent but undistinguished, with only two first-rate voices in the cast. The large orchestra last night covered up what small infelicities arose, but never drowned out the actors, as has occasionally happened before in Agassiz. Don't be late to this show: the overture is delightful.

Miss Schechtman had to fill in for the ailing ingenue on 2 day's notice, and her performance is quite good, if a bit weak in song. Anthony Thompson, on the other hand, sings magnificently in the role of Rackstraw, but acted somewhat woodenly. Consequently, the first act duet, and the "Dungeon Cell" song, lacked the verve of the rest of the show. Here Sullivan can be blamed. The parts of Josephine and Rackstraw get the worst musical treatment in the score, and even then D'Oyle Carte players have trouble with them.

Stealing the show is Andy Teuber, who hams up Dick Deadeye into a major part. Teuber can't sing, but he hisses his way through a superb rendition of "The Merry Maiden and the Tar" with the Captain (Bruce Renshaw). Teuber's versatility is remarkable; the pathetic figure he makes of Deadeye stands far above the usual stock villain.

Betsy Wilson wins the award for most unlikely casting of the year. Little Buttercup is supposed to be an old woman; indeed the entire plot, for all it's worth, hinges on her age. Yet, Miss Wilson uses no "wrinkling" makeup and cavorts like a beautiful young courtesan with the entire male half of the cast; the audience loves every minute she is on stage. Such lines as "I am a mother" bring delighted hooting, and her entrance song, "I'm called Little Buttercup," is a tour de force.

Veteran Edward Schmookler is a properly pompous Sir Joseph Porter. Strong in both voice and acting talent, he gets out the patter-song words clearly enunciated. Renshaw's solo to the moon in the second act is weak, but he amends it with a splendidly mincing portrayal of the "lower-middle class" Captain. Renshaw, Schmookler, and Miss Schechtman share the evening show-stopper, "Never mind the why and wherefore," which could have at least three encores.

Enthusiasm is infectious, and the entire cast and staff of Pinafore are enthusiastic beyond belief. It takes only a few minutes for them to recruit the whole audience for their team; after that, no amount of minor inconsistencies or flat notes can keep the crowd from laughing along with Gilbert, hissing the villain, and clapping time to the exit pieces. It is not the best written show of the term, nor is it jam-packed with Harvard's drama talent; but you'll have more fun with G. and S. than with anyone else in town.