Post by RedMoon11 on Mar 16, 2015 17:15:54 GMT
Confessions Of A Long-Suffering TV Producer
Jeremy Clarkson
Anonymous
Published at 12:01AM, March 16 2015
People ask me what does a TV producer do exactly? Well, dream up programme ideas, sell them to broadcasters and manage the budget, but above all my job is to produce the talent. Producing the talent can mean many things, as poor Oisin Tymon found out when he had to break the news to his particular bit of talent that all their country house hotel had available after a hard day’s filming was a cold cheese platter.
I have been in that situation and there is nothing worse than an exhausted presenter with low blood sugar coming to realise that nothing, no amount of fame, power or signed photographs, will conjure up a hot meal in the provinces after 9.30pm. The prudent producer, like a good army officer, will have planned ahead for just such an eventuality and will have heavily bribed the restaurant staff to stay open until the hungry star is back.
Part Mary Poppins, part Jeeves, the producer needs to monitor his talent’s blood sugar levels as closely as a diabetic nurse, anticipate their every whim as keenly as a courtier and be as endlessly reassuring as a parent. Probably the only effective preparation for looking after talent is two years with a toddler.
I haven’t worked with Jeremy Clarkson but from what I hear, he is no worse than most middle-aged male presenters. On the night in question he was hungry and tired, which is a lethal combination; a good producer would have made sure before there was a hot meal ready , in the same way that a mother always has a spare Babybel in her bag just in case. No one should be throwing punches, but if I had been on that shoot, it wouldn’t have happened. A TV crew, like an army, marches on its stomach.
It didn’t used to be so bad. When I started in TV, back in the last century, you could usually get by with a winning smile, wall-to-wall compliments and a packet of Polos, but now quite minor screen talents are capable of bringing a list of caprices as demanding as Beyoncé’s.
Travel is always a problem. One presenter won’t set foot in an Addison Lee minivan because it is too juddery and won’t travel in anything less than a Mercedes. Another refused to get into a car we had sent for her because she didn’t like the smell of the air freshener. Some of them ring you directly, usually prefacing their complaint with, “I don’t want to be difficult but . . .” Others who have been in the game longer will get their agents to ring. Either way the wise producer grins and bears it since there is nothing more expensive than a grumpy piece of talent who needs 20 takes to give a half-decent performance.
Another star, who is no longer quite the attraction they were, is not happy about sharing a toilet with the crew — can we find a private facility? (Since we are in a field in the middle of Lincolnshire, this is a challenge.) Like a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, the good producer always checks out the toilet facilities in advance and has a loo roll on their person just in case.
As a rule the really big stars, the ones who have become famous for doing live shows, are pretty well behaved because they have learnt the hard way that if you aren’t nice to the team then you might find your mike suddenly stops working in the middle of an interview or the autocue is full of embarrassing sthingyerisms. Also, TV is such a fast-moving business that the runner you shout at because he brought your soy latte without chocolate sprinkles is likely to be the next controller of BBC One.
Of course there are exceptions. There is one famous TV chef who was notorious for holding production briefings in his dressing room in his tighty whities. That wouldn’t happen now — everyone is a lot more careful since the Savile revelations — but the wise producer hires personable runners, male and female. Most presenters feel happier if they have someone young and attractive bringing them their hot drinks. I once had to move a runner because the presenter complained that they had bad breath. “I don’t want to be difficult but it’s very offputting.”
The most tricky presenters are the ones who have become famous by accident. It takes about five seconds of fame for an ex-reality show contestant to believe that they deserve the Kardashian treatment. Even serious feminist academics can get quite shirty if the wardrobe provided for them doesn’t come from the right kind of shop.
And of course every female presenter is sensitive about her size. I know producers who have sewn size 12 labels into size 16 clothes so that the presenter doesn’t feel fat. One famous female presenter won’t start filming until noon so that her eye bags have time to subside. And fashion tantrums aren’t confined to women — how do you tell a middle-aged man that his nipples are visible through his too thin T-shirt?
One of the most difficult parts of the job is protecting the presenter from the public and vice versa. I once spent a very long train journey with a famous children’s TV presenter who was desperate for a cigarette. We spent most of the time in the corridor with me shielding him with my body every time a child went past. Even worse was the daytime presenter who was so desperate for a cigarette that he lit up outside the cancer ward of a children’s hospital.
Worse still is travelling the country with a presenter who used to be a household name and is now in the twilight of their fame. Either they are in a sulk because they haven’t been recognised or they are mortified because someone has said: “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I have known producers in this situation to “encourage” members of the public to ask for a picture.
Food programmes should be the easiest shows to work on because at least the presenters aren’t hungry, but like children at a party if they eat too many sweet things they get hyper and it can take for ever to settle them down.
Most performers are to some degree depressives, so the good producer must be ready to listen, sympathise and reassure. I once stood on a Welsh hillside with a very famous presenter who was having a visit from his particular demon and instead of doing the piece to camera kept saying, “ Why am I here?” My unspoken reply was: “Because you are being paid £7,000 a day.”
Of course I didn’t actually utter those words. I gave him a bacon sandwich and told him that he was the only person intelligent and charismatic enough to pull this off. Which did the trick. In TV you really can’t lay the flattery on thick enough. Even the really bright ones, who know that it is your job to flatter them, still want to be drenched in a warm bath of praise and admiration.
Of course they are not all like this — no one has a bad word to say about Lorraine Kelly, Kevin McCloud, Kirstie Allsopp, Jamie Oliver and Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins. Nigella Lawson has the best manners in television. And everyone loves Davina McCall.
Probably the most trying moment for the producer/presenter relationship is the awards ceremony. No matter how much they say it is an honour to be nominated, everybody wants to win and it can be really painful to deal with someone who had their speech all ready then discovers that they aren’t the best regional children’s presenter after all.
And then there is the credit-hogging factor. Every producer knows that the talent is essential to the success of a show but if the talent then takes the credit for all the artistic decisions, including the camera angles and the editing, it can rankle.
Next time you watch the Baftas look at the faces of the team standing behind the famous person holding the gold statuette. They will be listening carefully to see if their presenter has remembered to name them in his or her speech. It’s funny how often they forget.
A great presenter leaps off the screen and makes an audience sit up and pay attention. The infuriating thing for the producer is that all too often the warmth and charm you see on the screen is purely for show and it is your job to keep the cracks from showing.
None of them is as bad as the American TV news anchor who only travels by private plane with her own hair and makeup team — yet. But the first person to create computer-generated presenters is going to have a lot of customers.
www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/life/celebrity/article4381528.ece
Jeremy Clarkson
Anonymous
Published at 12:01AM, March 16 2015
People ask me what does a TV producer do exactly? Well, dream up programme ideas, sell them to broadcasters and manage the budget, but above all my job is to produce the talent. Producing the talent can mean many things, as poor Oisin Tymon found out when he had to break the news to his particular bit of talent that all their country house hotel had available after a hard day’s filming was a cold cheese platter.
I have been in that situation and there is nothing worse than an exhausted presenter with low blood sugar coming to realise that nothing, no amount of fame, power or signed photographs, will conjure up a hot meal in the provinces after 9.30pm. The prudent producer, like a good army officer, will have planned ahead for just such an eventuality and will have heavily bribed the restaurant staff to stay open until the hungry star is back.
Part Mary Poppins, part Jeeves, the producer needs to monitor his talent’s blood sugar levels as closely as a diabetic nurse, anticipate their every whim as keenly as a courtier and be as endlessly reassuring as a parent. Probably the only effective preparation for looking after talent is two years with a toddler.
I haven’t worked with Jeremy Clarkson but from what I hear, he is no worse than most middle-aged male presenters. On the night in question he was hungry and tired, which is a lethal combination; a good producer would have made sure before there was a hot meal ready , in the same way that a mother always has a spare Babybel in her bag just in case. No one should be throwing punches, but if I had been on that shoot, it wouldn’t have happened. A TV crew, like an army, marches on its stomach.
It didn’t used to be so bad. When I started in TV, back in the last century, you could usually get by with a winning smile, wall-to-wall compliments and a packet of Polos, but now quite minor screen talents are capable of bringing a list of caprices as demanding as Beyoncé’s.
Travel is always a problem. One presenter won’t set foot in an Addison Lee minivan because it is too juddery and won’t travel in anything less than a Mercedes. Another refused to get into a car we had sent for her because she didn’t like the smell of the air freshener. Some of them ring you directly, usually prefacing their complaint with, “I don’t want to be difficult but . . .” Others who have been in the game longer will get their agents to ring. Either way the wise producer grins and bears it since there is nothing more expensive than a grumpy piece of talent who needs 20 takes to give a half-decent performance.
Another star, who is no longer quite the attraction they were, is not happy about sharing a toilet with the crew — can we find a private facility? (Since we are in a field in the middle of Lincolnshire, this is a challenge.) Like a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, the good producer always checks out the toilet facilities in advance and has a loo roll on their person just in case.
As a rule the really big stars, the ones who have become famous for doing live shows, are pretty well behaved because they have learnt the hard way that if you aren’t nice to the team then you might find your mike suddenly stops working in the middle of an interview or the autocue is full of embarrassing sthingyerisms. Also, TV is such a fast-moving business that the runner you shout at because he brought your soy latte without chocolate sprinkles is likely to be the next controller of BBC One.
Of course there are exceptions. There is one famous TV chef who was notorious for holding production briefings in his dressing room in his tighty whities. That wouldn’t happen now — everyone is a lot more careful since the Savile revelations — but the wise producer hires personable runners, male and female. Most presenters feel happier if they have someone young and attractive bringing them their hot drinks. I once had to move a runner because the presenter complained that they had bad breath. “I don’t want to be difficult but it’s very offputting.”
The most tricky presenters are the ones who have become famous by accident. It takes about five seconds of fame for an ex-reality show contestant to believe that they deserve the Kardashian treatment. Even serious feminist academics can get quite shirty if the wardrobe provided for them doesn’t come from the right kind of shop.
And of course every female presenter is sensitive about her size. I know producers who have sewn size 12 labels into size 16 clothes so that the presenter doesn’t feel fat. One famous female presenter won’t start filming until noon so that her eye bags have time to subside. And fashion tantrums aren’t confined to women — how do you tell a middle-aged man that his nipples are visible through his too thin T-shirt?
One of the most difficult parts of the job is protecting the presenter from the public and vice versa. I once spent a very long train journey with a famous children’s TV presenter who was desperate for a cigarette. We spent most of the time in the corridor with me shielding him with my body every time a child went past. Even worse was the daytime presenter who was so desperate for a cigarette that he lit up outside the cancer ward of a children’s hospital.
Worse still is travelling the country with a presenter who used to be a household name and is now in the twilight of their fame. Either they are in a sulk because they haven’t been recognised or they are mortified because someone has said: “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I have known producers in this situation to “encourage” members of the public to ask for a picture.
Food programmes should be the easiest shows to work on because at least the presenters aren’t hungry, but like children at a party if they eat too many sweet things they get hyper and it can take for ever to settle them down.
Most performers are to some degree depressives, so the good producer must be ready to listen, sympathise and reassure. I once stood on a Welsh hillside with a very famous presenter who was having a visit from his particular demon and instead of doing the piece to camera kept saying, “ Why am I here?” My unspoken reply was: “Because you are being paid £7,000 a day.”
Of course I didn’t actually utter those words. I gave him a bacon sandwich and told him that he was the only person intelligent and charismatic enough to pull this off. Which did the trick. In TV you really can’t lay the flattery on thick enough. Even the really bright ones, who know that it is your job to flatter them, still want to be drenched in a warm bath of praise and admiration.
Of course they are not all like this — no one has a bad word to say about Lorraine Kelly, Kevin McCloud, Kirstie Allsopp, Jamie Oliver and Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins. Nigella Lawson has the best manners in television. And everyone loves Davina McCall.
Probably the most trying moment for the producer/presenter relationship is the awards ceremony. No matter how much they say it is an honour to be nominated, everybody wants to win and it can be really painful to deal with someone who had their speech all ready then discovers that they aren’t the best regional children’s presenter after all.
And then there is the credit-hogging factor. Every producer knows that the talent is essential to the success of a show but if the talent then takes the credit for all the artistic decisions, including the camera angles and the editing, it can rankle.
Next time you watch the Baftas look at the faces of the team standing behind the famous person holding the gold statuette. They will be listening carefully to see if their presenter has remembered to name them in his or her speech. It’s funny how often they forget.
A great presenter leaps off the screen and makes an audience sit up and pay attention. The infuriating thing for the producer is that all too often the warmth and charm you see on the screen is purely for show and it is your job to keep the cracks from showing.
None of them is as bad as the American TV news anchor who only travels by private plane with her own hair and makeup team — yet. But the first person to create computer-generated presenters is going to have a lot of customers.
www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/life/celebrity/article4381528.ece
