Strictly Dancing, ABC TV
Ballroom dancing has experienced an upsurge in popularity since the Australian film Strictly Ballroom was released in the 90s.
The ABC has jumped on the bandwagon with a commendable show thoughtfully entitled Strictly Dancing. OK, 1 out of 10 for originality. What do you expect for eight cents a day?
Anyway, the program showcases a succession of eager young couples looking for their big ballroom dancing break. They're put to the test with a series of searching dance assignments, qualified dance judges rating them on their technique. At the climax of each episode, their scores may be boosted or toppled by a mysterious, apparently indefinable showbiz commodity entitled 'the X- factor'. The ABC's originality comes into play again.
In general, the standard of the dancers' performances is very high. What a shame the same can't be said for the standard of commentary.
Paul McDermott does an adequate, if slightly forced turn as compere. In the interests of raising a chuckle, he is unafraid to put himself in situations that would humiliate a more precious host. McDermott ploughs on unabashed. His weakness, betrayed by his uncertain delivery, is in his interviewing technique. The moment he begins asking post-tango questions of the night's winning couple, you feel he wishes he hadn't. Thankfully, the interlude, like a bad prawn, usually passes quickly but unpleasantly.
These flat spots can be cheerfully ignored in the interests of watching the considerable talent on display.
What can't be overlooked, however, is the endless, asinine carping of two unseen commentators whose role it is, apparently, to distract viewers from the actual dancing so that we can all more fully appreciate the sparkling personalities of these disembodied voices.
What they should be doing, of course, is helping to enlighten those viewers who aren't conversant with the finer points of ballroom dancing. What they are doing, of course, is enlarging their own already bloated egos without adding one jot to the enjoyment of the event.
The ABC publicists would say they are there to provide a counterpoint to the serious business of dance and competition, to ensure the program benefits from both light and shade.
Of course, they are not.
They simply cannot wait for the music to begin so that they can open the floodgates for their stream of mindless, ill-considered babble. The female voice, Angela Gilltrap, used to confine herself to technical appraisals of the dancers' techniques, a task for which she is admirably qualified. But of late she has begun to assume the irritating habits of her male counterpart, Lex Marinos.
Lex's acting career reached its zenith several decades ago, in a minor role as the son-in-law of Ted Bullpitt on Kingswood Country. Since then, he has moved through theatre, film, TV and radio, achieving some plaudits as a director. Good on him. In his lengthy online biography, he lists his current occupation as 'events coordinator' for the Wagga Wagga City Council. But nowhere does it boast that Lex enjoys any qualifications in dance.
In which case, might it not be advisable for him to shut the hell up and allow us to enjoy someone who does?
If Lex's asides and interjections were amusing, and believe me when I say they are not, he might be tolerable. In any case, one might reasonably assume that viewers specifically seeking light relief might not make a dance program their first port of call.
Marinos is snide, patronising, and, most unforgivably, unfunny. He fails in his primary task, that is, to make us laugh. In the context of the program, he is inappropriate and superfluous.
His criticisms give every indication that they have been recorded and dubbed over the dance footage after the judging has been completed. This, of course, allows him to tailor his comments accordingly - praise for the winners, smartarse denigration of the rest. If this is, as it appears, what happens, it is cowardly and unfair.
Take your ego and your attempts at drollery, Lex, and stop polluting what is otherwise an admirable show. Wagga beckons.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
Time to Kick Sam Off The Footy Show
The Footy Show (Nine Network)
While the NRL version of The Footy Show continues to record its lowest audience figures yet, especially in Brisbane, the Melbourne-based AFL variety shows little sign of imminent death.
But its glory days are far behind it, in terms of viewers and program quality.
The decline - ironically - can be traced to about the time the Nine Network, in concert with Ten and Foxtel, acquired the rights to telecast AFL matches. Before this the producers and on-air talent had to come up with at least 90 minutes (usually more) of television without the benefit of owning any of the footage of the actual games on which they were commenting.
That hurdle was removed some years ago, which, you might think, would improve the content of the show. But, oddly I think, the show continues to make little use of on-field footage, preferring its traditional format of panel chat, variety, and, where possible, comedy.
Which brings me, inevitably, to Sam Newman.
If not for the fame and riches that his TV persona has delivered him, one might feel sorry for Sam. Essentially he is a vain man in his late 50s, who has been unable to sustain a permanent relationship, lives apart from his children, and whose personal life lurches from crisis to crisis regularly.
His job on The Footy Show means striving to re-create each week an episode of the confected enfant terrible behaviour which brought him to public notice originally.
Trouble is, Sam's a one-trick pony, and the trick wasn't that good to begin with.
Sam's trick is to shock. The shock might come via a calculated insult to a studio guest, or vaudevillian antics on set, but the effect is the same. Last night he set out to nourish his notoriety by trying to upset a decorated footballer who had announced his retirement from the game. Each question was predicated on the assumption that the player had underachieved, and was intended to goad him into an angry response.
It didn't work, thankfully, so Sam was reduced to jostling for the camera's attention with his favourite playmate, Hawthorn's former captain Shane Crawford. Someone should counsel Crawford to stop making a fool of himself so publicly and so regularly. There's still time for him to salvage some dignity.
Sam, meanwhile, challenged Crawford to punch him in the stomach, whch Crawford duly did. Sam fell over backwards. Ho, ho. That Sam! He's just incorrigible!
Unfortunately Sam's ability to make people laugh seems to be evaporating. Too often now, when Sam jibes, there are gaping, puzzled silences, where there used to be uproarious audience reaction. His comments, always striving to outdo their predecessors for negativity, are increasingly arcane.
Eddie McGuire, the most sure-footed and confident MC since Bert Newton, frequently looks unsure whether to intervene, reprove, or - most frequently these days - say something amusing to break the uncomfortable hiatus.
Exit the stage, Sam. Please. There are few things sadder than a once-great footballer who doesn't realise his time has passed - a maxim that applies off the field as well as on.
While the NRL version of The Footy Show continues to record its lowest audience figures yet, especially in Brisbane, the Melbourne-based AFL variety shows little sign of imminent death.
But its glory days are far behind it, in terms of viewers and program quality.
The decline - ironically - can be traced to about the time the Nine Network, in concert with Ten and Foxtel, acquired the rights to telecast AFL matches. Before this the producers and on-air talent had to come up with at least 90 minutes (usually more) of television without the benefit of owning any of the footage of the actual games on which they were commenting.
That hurdle was removed some years ago, which, you might think, would improve the content of the show. But, oddly I think, the show continues to make little use of on-field footage, preferring its traditional format of panel chat, variety, and, where possible, comedy.
Which brings me, inevitably, to Sam Newman.
If not for the fame and riches that his TV persona has delivered him, one might feel sorry for Sam. Essentially he is a vain man in his late 50s, who has been unable to sustain a permanent relationship, lives apart from his children, and whose personal life lurches from crisis to crisis regularly.
His job on The Footy Show means striving to re-create each week an episode of the confected enfant terrible behaviour which brought him to public notice originally.
Trouble is, Sam's a one-trick pony, and the trick wasn't that good to begin with.
Sam's trick is to shock. The shock might come via a calculated insult to a studio guest, or vaudevillian antics on set, but the effect is the same. Last night he set out to nourish his notoriety by trying to upset a decorated footballer who had announced his retirement from the game. Each question was predicated on the assumption that the player had underachieved, and was intended to goad him into an angry response.
It didn't work, thankfully, so Sam was reduced to jostling for the camera's attention with his favourite playmate, Hawthorn's former captain Shane Crawford. Someone should counsel Crawford to stop making a fool of himself so publicly and so regularly. There's still time for him to salvage some dignity.
Sam, meanwhile, challenged Crawford to punch him in the stomach, whch Crawford duly did. Sam fell over backwards. Ho, ho. That Sam! He's just incorrigible!
Unfortunately Sam's ability to make people laugh seems to be evaporating. Too often now, when Sam jibes, there are gaping, puzzled silences, where there used to be uproarious audience reaction. His comments, always striving to outdo their predecessors for negativity, are increasingly arcane.
Eddie McGuire, the most sure-footed and confident MC since Bert Newton, frequently looks unsure whether to intervene, reprove, or - most frequently these days - say something amusing to break the uncomfortable hiatus.
Exit the stage, Sam. Please. There are few things sadder than a once-great footballer who doesn't realise his time has passed - a maxim that applies off the field as well as on.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
A Sad State of (Current) Affairs
A Current Affair/Today Tonight (Nine & Seven Networks)
I used to work in Australia's TV news and current affairs industry.
At various times over the course of 20 years, I was a reporter, producer, documentary maker, chief-of-staff, and studio presenter. It's now more than five years since I changed careers, and in some respects, I can scarcely recognise some of the shows that I used to work on.
What is now called 'current affairs' - A Current Affair, say, or Today Tonight - is a sad shadow of what it used to be. The frightening thing is, taking the shows' content WAAAAAY downmarket appears to have paid off for the TV networks.
In the 70s and 80s, even the early 90s, current affairs shows tried to examine the issues of the day in some meaningful manner. They'd follow up in a bit of depth the necessarily superficial treatment given to stories on the evening's news bulletins, which had to summarise the most significant events from around the world in just 30 minutes, less commercials and the weather forecast.
Now? A predictable, revolving parade of miracle diets, cures for illness, neighbourhood tiffs and a few other reliable favourites. There are the "consumer investigations" which typically consist of a product comparison survey conducted by a dedicated consumer magazine, the result of which can be easily recycled for television. This could involve anything from plastic food wrap to toothbrushes to washing powder - usually domestic items, the less important and relevant to real life, the better. Is knowing the difference in saturated fat levels contained in respective brands of frozen potato chips really going to make a difference to people's health?
The magazine hands over its survey results - often a day or so in advance of the magazine's publication, to boost sales - in return for five minutes or so of national TV exposure. The TV program gets its story without having to expend too much time, creative energy, or money. Win-win. Though maybe not for the discerning viewer who wants to see something original and meaningful.
Worse still is the recent trend towards 'spoiler' stories. Program A airs a promo inviting viewers to tune in for a story on the show later in the week - say, on Thursday night. But Program B, on the rival network, sees the promo, hurriedly slaps together its own story on the same topic, and airs it on Wednesday night - thereby 'spoiling' the audience numbers for the opposition.
That's the theory, anyway.
Where are these people who comparison-watch both current affairs shows, on both networks? The fear of them was a dreaded presence when I worked in newsrooms - the news director's greatest terror was that the other channel might have a story that we hadn't. It wasn't professional pride, it was the belief that the mere appearance of a given story on the opposition bulletin might somehow persuade tens of thousands of 'our' viewers to abandon Us in favour of Them.
No one was ever able to explain to me how someone watching our news would ever know that the other station had a story we didn't, or that we didn't have a story that they did.
But the theory regularly caused last-minute re-ordering of the evening's bulletin rundown to accommodate a matching story hastily-assembled from file footage, or overseas video feeds, and wire copy.
But back to current affairs.
Poor Ray Martin. Night after night he sits there, uncomfortable, awkwardly imploring his audience to treat seriously a story he is clearly embarrassed to have to introduce.
The groundbreaking, thoughtful reports he filed for Sixty Minutes in the early days are a long time ago now. You can steal glimpses of them occasionally, when he disappears from the screen for a few days 'on assignment', then returns to introduce his own story a few nights later. But the subject matter usually is unworthy of the skilful treatment he's capable of giving it, and the lavish post-production his relaxed schedule allows.
No such angst for his Seven Network counterpart, Naomi Robson. Unlike Ray, Naomi is not troubled by having a glorious journalistic history to compare unfavourably against the pap she now fronts each night.
Her hair ironed flat, and her once sharply attractive face now valiantly resisting the onset of middle age, Naomi intros each story with the shrill, righteous indignation of the morally unimpeachable, notwithstanding her recent torrent of recorded profanity, which is still doing the office email rounds.
Naomi is living proof of the TV maxim that suggests that regardless of actual journalistic talent or experience, if you are attractive enough, and you hang around a TV station long enough, that eventually you will prosper. With Melbourne's edition of TT now networked to Sydney and Brisbane, and gaining on or overtaking the former market leader ACA, she is the apotheosis of this theory.
I used to work in Australia's TV news and current affairs industry.
At various times over the course of 20 years, I was a reporter, producer, documentary maker, chief-of-staff, and studio presenter. It's now more than five years since I changed careers, and in some respects, I can scarcely recognise some of the shows that I used to work on.
What is now called 'current affairs' - A Current Affair, say, or Today Tonight - is a sad shadow of what it used to be. The frightening thing is, taking the shows' content WAAAAAY downmarket appears to have paid off for the TV networks.
In the 70s and 80s, even the early 90s, current affairs shows tried to examine the issues of the day in some meaningful manner. They'd follow up in a bit of depth the necessarily superficial treatment given to stories on the evening's news bulletins, which had to summarise the most significant events from around the world in just 30 minutes, less commercials and the weather forecast.
Now? A predictable, revolving parade of miracle diets, cures for illness, neighbourhood tiffs and a few other reliable favourites. There are the "consumer investigations" which typically consist of a product comparison survey conducted by a dedicated consumer magazine, the result of which can be easily recycled for television. This could involve anything from plastic food wrap to toothbrushes to washing powder - usually domestic items, the less important and relevant to real life, the better. Is knowing the difference in saturated fat levels contained in respective brands of frozen potato chips really going to make a difference to people's health?
The magazine hands over its survey results - often a day or so in advance of the magazine's publication, to boost sales - in return for five minutes or so of national TV exposure. The TV program gets its story without having to expend too much time, creative energy, or money. Win-win. Though maybe not for the discerning viewer who wants to see something original and meaningful.
Worse still is the recent trend towards 'spoiler' stories. Program A airs a promo inviting viewers to tune in for a story on the show later in the week - say, on Thursday night. But Program B, on the rival network, sees the promo, hurriedly slaps together its own story on the same topic, and airs it on Wednesday night - thereby 'spoiling' the audience numbers for the opposition.
That's the theory, anyway.
Where are these people who comparison-watch both current affairs shows, on both networks? The fear of them was a dreaded presence when I worked in newsrooms - the news director's greatest terror was that the other channel might have a story that we hadn't. It wasn't professional pride, it was the belief that the mere appearance of a given story on the opposition bulletin might somehow persuade tens of thousands of 'our' viewers to abandon Us in favour of Them.
No one was ever able to explain to me how someone watching our news would ever know that the other station had a story we didn't, or that we didn't have a story that they did.
But the theory regularly caused last-minute re-ordering of the evening's bulletin rundown to accommodate a matching story hastily-assembled from file footage, or overseas video feeds, and wire copy.
But back to current affairs.
Poor Ray Martin. Night after night he sits there, uncomfortable, awkwardly imploring his audience to treat seriously a story he is clearly embarrassed to have to introduce.
The groundbreaking, thoughtful reports he filed for Sixty Minutes in the early days are a long time ago now. You can steal glimpses of them occasionally, when he disappears from the screen for a few days 'on assignment', then returns to introduce his own story a few nights later. But the subject matter usually is unworthy of the skilful treatment he's capable of giving it, and the lavish post-production his relaxed schedule allows.
No such angst for his Seven Network counterpart, Naomi Robson. Unlike Ray, Naomi is not troubled by having a glorious journalistic history to compare unfavourably against the pap she now fronts each night.
Her hair ironed flat, and her once sharply attractive face now valiantly resisting the onset of middle age, Naomi intros each story with the shrill, righteous indignation of the morally unimpeachable, notwithstanding her recent torrent of recorded profanity, which is still doing the office email rounds.
Naomi is living proof of the TV maxim that suggests that regardless of actual journalistic talent or experience, if you are attractive enough, and you hang around a TV station long enough, that eventually you will prosper. With Melbourne's edition of TT now networked to Sydney and Brisbane, and gaining on or overtaking the former market leader ACA, she is the apotheosis of this theory.
Crime Scene Abomination
CSI: Las Vegas - Crime Scene Investigation (Nine Network)
What is it with CSI?
Given the seemingly endless global proliferation of the franchise, no doubt the good citizens of rural Victoria are preparing for the cameras to roll on CSI: Warrnambool - but it is the origin of the species that I speak of here. CSI: Las Vegas.
I'm sorry. I simply cannot watch it any more.
The acting is amateur-standard and overblown, the scripts cliched and melodramatic, the plotlines frequently ridiculous, and - most infuriatingly of all - the series relies for its impact not on traditional dramatic elements such as plot or characterisation, but on a liberal display of gore to which the counterpoint is a prevailing attitude of world-weariness from the principal players. This mass disembowellment of a middle class family in their own home sure is shocking, but hey, I'm with the Las Vegas CSI team, and I'm far too experienced to be shocked by any of this.
Splashing the screen with blood and bodies is the bluntest of blunt instuments with which to bludgeon an undemanding audience.
CSI's other tried'n'true technique is a regular-as-clockwork weekly piece of technical whizzbangery in which the viewer is televisually thrust through a victim or killer's arteries, intestines, brain, or alimentary canal to disclose the scientific detail behind the CSI team's breakthroughs. It's Hollywood special effects at its small-screen best, but, for all its dazzlement, it can't blind us to the shortcomings of the rest of the show.
We are meant to believe that police forensic scientists routinely pack weapons and interrogate suspects. The reality is that the people CSI glorifies are more often nerdy, bespectacled scientists who provide technical information to real police, who then do the actual crimefighting.
But that would make CSI just another cop show.
Can anyone take Gus Grissom seriously? This pasty lardarse struts around in shades, quoting classical literature and dropping what the scriptwriters evidently consider to be heavily ironic remarks about morality and the woeful state of the world in general. He is the sort of person you would duck into a broom closet to avoid if you saw him in the corridor at work.
His supporting cast includes two females, one young and one old, both of whom are readily interchangeable. They are evidently modelled on Sgt Pepper Anderson, circa 1973, from Policewoman - but they lack the depth of character.
Then there are the men - one black, one white, both painful. All the team members are unarguably good guys without any personality flaws. Oh, the black guy had a gambling problem once, but that's pretty much it.
Backing up this sorry assortment is - and here's a surprise - the veteran hardnosed cop. Bad haircut, unfashionable clothes, etc. You know the drill.
Yet CSI is a global phenomenon, which has spawned a clutch of identical shows differing only in location. There is endless potential to clone the program. Its popularity is unquestionable. But I'm happy to mark myself out in this case as different from the tens of millions of fans who love the show. However faint your voice in the wilderness, sometimes you just have to take a stand against mediocrity. Or, in this case, against trash.
What is it with CSI?
Given the seemingly endless global proliferation of the franchise, no doubt the good citizens of rural Victoria are preparing for the cameras to roll on CSI: Warrnambool - but it is the origin of the species that I speak of here. CSI: Las Vegas.
I'm sorry. I simply cannot watch it any more.
The acting is amateur-standard and overblown, the scripts cliched and melodramatic, the plotlines frequently ridiculous, and - most infuriatingly of all - the series relies for its impact not on traditional dramatic elements such as plot or characterisation, but on a liberal display of gore to which the counterpoint is a prevailing attitude of world-weariness from the principal players. This mass disembowellment of a middle class family in their own home sure is shocking, but hey, I'm with the Las Vegas CSI team, and I'm far too experienced to be shocked by any of this.
Splashing the screen with blood and bodies is the bluntest of blunt instuments with which to bludgeon an undemanding audience.
CSI's other tried'n'true technique is a regular-as-clockwork weekly piece of technical whizzbangery in which the viewer is televisually thrust through a victim or killer's arteries, intestines, brain, or alimentary canal to disclose the scientific detail behind the CSI team's breakthroughs. It's Hollywood special effects at its small-screen best, but, for all its dazzlement, it can't blind us to the shortcomings of the rest of the show.
We are meant to believe that police forensic scientists routinely pack weapons and interrogate suspects. The reality is that the people CSI glorifies are more often nerdy, bespectacled scientists who provide technical information to real police, who then do the actual crimefighting.
But that would make CSI just another cop show.
Can anyone take Gus Grissom seriously? This pasty lardarse struts around in shades, quoting classical literature and dropping what the scriptwriters evidently consider to be heavily ironic remarks about morality and the woeful state of the world in general. He is the sort of person you would duck into a broom closet to avoid if you saw him in the corridor at work.
His supporting cast includes two females, one young and one old, both of whom are readily interchangeable. They are evidently modelled on Sgt Pepper Anderson, circa 1973, from Policewoman - but they lack the depth of character.
Then there are the men - one black, one white, both painful. All the team members are unarguably good guys without any personality flaws. Oh, the black guy had a gambling problem once, but that's pretty much it.
Backing up this sorry assortment is - and here's a surprise - the veteran hardnosed cop. Bad haircut, unfashionable clothes, etc. You know the drill.
Yet CSI is a global phenomenon, which has spawned a clutch of identical shows differing only in location. There is endless potential to clone the program. Its popularity is unquestionable. But I'm happy to mark myself out in this case as different from the tens of millions of fans who love the show. However faint your voice in the wilderness, sometimes you just have to take a stand against mediocrity. Or, in this case, against trash.
Hello and welcome!
This is the first instance of what I hope will be a successful foray into the world of blogging.
What to expect here? Comment, hopefully pithy and usually acerbic, if I can manage it on a regular basis, on the lamentable state of the mass media, both here in Australia and internationally.
My background includes 20 years as a broadcast journalist, so quite a deal of my comment will revolve around news and current affairs outlets. But I'll also be ever-ready to stick the boot into virtually anything that appears on the small screen, the radio, or in the newspapers.
I'd love to receive your feedback, whether you agree or disagree with what I say here.
I'll be back here in a few hours to complete my first post.
This is the first instance of what I hope will be a successful foray into the world of blogging.
What to expect here? Comment, hopefully pithy and usually acerbic, if I can manage it on a regular basis, on the lamentable state of the mass media, both here in Australia and internationally.
My background includes 20 years as a broadcast journalist, so quite a deal of my comment will revolve around news and current affairs outlets. But I'll also be ever-ready to stick the boot into virtually anything that appears on the small screen, the radio, or in the newspapers.
I'd love to receive your feedback, whether you agree or disagree with what I say here.
I'll be back here in a few hours to complete my first post.
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