Cameras

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THE CAMERAS ARE COMING….
            THE CAMERAS ARE COMING !
        or  
 How To Turn the Tables on the Media 

   by William Norris

INTRODUCTION

The proper relationship of a journalist to a politician, said the great H.L. Mencken, is that of a dog to a lamp post.  

Very true.   The rascals deserve all they get at the hands of the media.   We elected them, we pay them, and one of the prime functions of journalism in a democracy is to keep the bastards honest.   Or at least to try to keep them honest.   For mighty defenses have been erected by politicians across the globe to keep the journalists at bay, from spin-doctoring at one end of the spectrum to assassination at the other.   These people know how to look after themselves.   Pity them not.

This book is not concerned with politicians.    This is an attempt to teach you, the man and woman in the street, a few of the tricks of the journalistic trade and ways in which you can avoid them.    For it is a sad fact that as newspapers and television become more and more commercialized, their focus has shifted from laudable efforts to expose corruption and scandal in high places to softer, easier targets. 

Genuine investigative reporting is expensive and time-consuming; it does not look good on the balance sheet.    The exposure of private lives, on the other hand, is cheap and easy.    It sells newspapers and attracts television viewers like flies to a dung-heap, and the bean-counters who run today's media are well aware of the fact.    

Not all reporters, believe it or not, indulge in harassment, intrusion and distortion of the facts.   Most are bound by codes of conduct of one sort or another, and some even obey them.    But at the end of the day they are men and women with their jobs on the line, expected to produce the stories that their management requires.    The devil made them do it.  

These reporters will appear to be your friends, and some of them may be.   But just in case they are not, it does no harm to know how these folk operate and what you can do to counter their wicked ways.

And who am I to offer you such advice?     Trust me: I'm a journalist. 

   Chapter 1
Gentlemen (and ladies) of the Press

 The knock on the door is followed by a smiling face.    "Good morning," says the face.    "Are you Mr. Arkwright?"     At least he got your name right.   It may be the last time.

You hesitate.   What's this guy selling?   "Er, yes…"

Before you can say any more the smile has broadened.    "I'm Harry Smith of the Daily Whatever," he says.   "Can I have a word?"

Your heart sinks.   What have you done to make a reporter from your local newspaper want to talk to you?    Actually, you know very well what you're supposed to have done.   Local rumor has it that your relationship with Sister Eglantine up at the convent has gone beyond the spiritual.  Total fiction, of course, but even it were true, that's your private business, isn't it?

Not any more, it isn't.    You've just come up against the basic definition of a news story: something that someone does not wish to see printed.    And in this case the someone is you.

Your first instinct is to slam the door in the face of this nosy s.o.b.      Not a good idea.    That would be a clear admission of guilt, and before you know where you are Harry Smith is going to be camped outside your door with a photographer.   Some other journalist will spot him, make a few inquiries, and before you know where you are the street will be full of them - talking to the neighbors and using their fertile imaginations.

So what do you do?    Well, first of all you find out whether this guy is who he says he is.    You ask for identification.   

This is important.    There are two basic types of reporters: (a) staff men, who are responsible to their editors (to whom you can complain), and (b) freelances, who are responsible to no one.   The latter may have been commissioned by a paper to write a specific story, but more likely they will sell it in as many places as they can.    That is how they make their living.     And in the current economic climate, with newspapers run by accountants and staff jobs hard to come by and to keep, the proportion of freelance journalists is growing rapidly.

Your Mr. Smith will probably have a business card from the Daily Whatever.    So what?   Anyone can get a business card printed.   If he's a freelance he'll have one to suit every occasion.   

So what do you do?   You ask him if he would mind you ringing his editor to check (make up some excuse about the neighborhood being plagued with con men).   If he's genuine he can hardly object.   If not, he may suddenly remember an urgent appointment. 

But let's say Harry Smith is the genuine article.   That's still not the whole story.  Journalism is an underpaid occupation (I nearly said 'profession') and there is a long-established system of 'stringers,' sometimes known as 'lineage merchants'.   These are local staff reporters who have an arrangement with the big national or metropolitan dailies, who pay them for tip-offs on important stories and supplement their incomes. So the fact that Harry Smith is interviewing you for the Daily Whatever is no guarantee that your alleged dalliance with Sister Eglantine is not going to appear in the News of the World or the Sun, or even the New York Daily Post.   Be warned. 

None the less, if friend Harry does come from the local press you are likely to get a better deal than if he works for a national paper.   The reason is simple: local reporters have to operate within their community; their faces are known and their reputations are on the line with every story they write.     A national reporter, on the other hand, will probably never return to your community again.   He or she could not care in the least what you and your neighbours think about them.   Before the story has ever been printed they will be over the hills and far away from your wrath.

It is always possible, of course, that Harry has not heard the wicked rumor; that he has actually come to talk about something else.    So, once you've established his credentials, the next thing is to invite him inside - away from prying neighbourly eyes - and find out.

Before the interview begins, there is something you MUST do.   Produce a tape recorder, switch it on, and ask him if he minds the interview being recorded.    This achieves two objects:  it makes it clear that you will be checking his report of the interview for accuracy, and it puts the reporter on notice that he had better not try any funny tricks.    There is no way he can object; this is your house, your recorder, and your story.     Mr. Smith will probably swallow hard at this point. 

The recorder will also guard against another possible ploy: the promise that whatever you say will be "off the record" or treated on a "lobby" basis.   Many people believe that these two expressions mean the same thing; they do not.  "Off the record" means that what you say will not be printed.  Full stop.   The information can only be used for background purposes.   "Lobby basis" on the other hand means that your quotations will be printed, but will be non-attributable.   That is to say, your name will not be attached to them.    Such undertakings are frequently given by reporters when dealing with sensitive stories, and are generally (but not always) honored.    Your tape recorder will keep them honest.

Back to your specific problem: your worst fears are soon realized.    Smith's questions are carefully framed, but it is clear that he knows something.   The question is: how much?

At this point the great temptation is to stand on your dignity and say "NO COMMENT."    Please don't.    In the journalistic credo this means just one thing: the rumor is true, and the story will be framed in such a way as to make this obvious to the reader.  

Instead, you try to find out how much Mr. Smith knows, or thinks he knows.   Where did he hear this cock-and-bull story?    He won't tell you, of course.   His code of ethics (they do come in handy sometimes) will not permit him to reveal a source of information.   None the less, the question is worth asking; it puts him on the defensive.   

Now step carefully.   You do not wish to antagonize a reporter, for his revenge in print will be swift and sure.   Instead, co-operate with him in a sincere attempt to find out how this canard has arisen, for there has to be at least a little fire behind all that smoke.    And you, of course, know very well what that fire is: you have secretly lusted after Sister Eglantine ever since a stray gust of wind blew up her habit at the church fete, and your furtive glances have been noticed.    All quite innocent of course, but.....

At this point your temptation will be to lie.    Don't do it.    People lie to journalists all the time, and if the reporter is any good you will be found out.   Remember, you are not the only person he will be talking to.   But while it is foolish to lie, you are under no obligation to tell the whole truth.     Sister Eglantine is certainly an attractive woman, you agree, but she is, after all, a nun, and therefore strictly off-limits.   If you detect a sly smile on the reporter's face at this point, switch to the attack and ask him if he regards nuns as fair game.     Of course he doesn't - there is no one quite so virtuous as a reporter on assignment for a smutty story.

Yes, you admit, you may have been seen giving Sister Eglantine a lift back to the convent.    And why not?   It was raining at the time.    Your car was seen stationary in a local lane?    Who says so?    He won't tell you, of course.    Coldly, you suggest that he checks up on this anonymous source.    Alternatively, tell him to direct his questions to Sister Eglantine, who you happen to know (but neglect to tell him) has taken a vow of silence.   

At this point there is not much more that the poor chap can do.    You haven't refused to talk; you haven't lied.   And he doesn't have a story unless he wants to risk the libel courts - which is unlikely.      

There is one other trap of which you should be aware - though at first sight it may not seem like a trap at all: money.     If your story is sufficiently interesting (perhaps you know for a fact that Sister Eglantine has been sharing her favors with half the seminary and a local football team) a national paper may well be anxious to pay you for exclusive rights.    The sums involved can be quite large, but beware: they will rarely be large enough to compensate you for the devastation that such a deal can cause to your private life.    As soon as you sign the contract and accept the check, your life belongs to that newspaper.    You will have absolutely no control over what they print and when they print it, nor any redress if you think they have got it wrong.    

This is called "check-book journalism", and even if you need the money badly I advise you to decline the offer.    They will tell you that by selling them the exclusive story you will avoid being pestered by other reporters.    This is only true if they are prepared to lock you in a lonely hotel room for an indefinite period; an experience you may not enjoy.    You have to come out sometime, and guess who will be waiting outside?    A lot of harassing reporters, that's who.    

 Chapter 2
Television

 Being interviewed for television can be a pleasant and mildly exciting experience.    It can also be the modern equivalent of a duel with pistols at ten paces.    This is an altogether more complex and disciplined affair than the newspaper interview, and the power lies much more heavily in the hands of the interviewer.    He or she is in control of the technical aspects, and can reasonably expect that you know little about them.    Hopefully, once you have read this chapter the battleground will be more even.

Some television interviews are intended to be merely informative to the viewer.    We need not concern ourselves too much with these, though many of the basic techniques will still apply.    The chances are that on such occasions you will be led gently through your subject and depart with a warm glow, resolving to turn on your video-recorder and bask in your new-found fame among friends and relatives. 

The other sort, if you meet an interviewer who knows his or her job, can be terrifying.

To begin at the beginning, there are three basic types of television interview: the studio encounter, which can be live or recorded; the outside broadcast, which may be done in your home or in the street; and the interview down-the-line from a remote studio.  

In the Studio

 Many people find the studio environment intimidating.    There will be several cameras - usually three - and a confusion of snaking cables and blinding lights.   Ignore them, but greet the earphoned technicians behind the cameras in a polite and cordial fashion.   They, after all, are responsible for framing your on-screen image, and you need all the friends you can get.      Your initial focus should be on the set where you are about to perform.

First, inspect your chair.   Make sure that it does not swivel.    It is almost impossible to sit in a swivel chair and not move from side to side when under pressure.    This gives the viewer the immediate impression that you are a shifty individual, which is the last thing you want.    If you do find yourself being placed in such a chair ask, very politely, that it be changed for one of the static variety.    No need to say why; they will know why.    And you can bet your boots that the interviewer won't have one.    Should you be female and wearing a short skirt, you may find that the producer has assigned you a low sofa to sit on.    Unless you really want your knickers displayed to x-million viewers, you have every right to object to this.

Then, glance around and see what will be behind your chair when viewed from the cameras.   This may sound trivial, but do you really want to be seen with a potted plant emerging from your right ear?    Television companies have been known to do this sort of thing.   Sometimes by accident.

You will want a glass of water to hand.   This should be automatic, but sometimes gets forgotten, and when your throat dries up in the middle of a live interview (as it may well) it is too late to ask.

Before you ever get in the studio, however, there are points to remember.   Firstly, what should you wear?     There are no fixed rules, but some things should definitely be avoided.   For women, flashing jewelry which reflects the studio lighting is a definite no-no, and strong primary colors should also be avoided.   For men, leave those "power ties" at home, and do not wear jackets with close-checked patterns.   These cause the cameras to "strobe", creating an alarming shimmering effect.     The object of all this advice is to avoid wearing anything which will distract the viewer's attention from what you are saying which, believe it or not, is far more important than the way you look.   At least, it is to you.

Second, beware the hospitality suite, often known as "the green room."    This is where you will be taken before the interview and offered refreshment.   Alcoholic refreshment, naturally.    And in your nervous state, if you have never done this sort of thing before, you will probably be in need of a drink.   OK, have a drink, but just one.    I have known famous politicians who over-indulged themselves in the green room before an interview, and believe me they were easy meat.

It is at this point that your friendly interviewer will probably try to find out what you are likely to be saying in the studio.    Try to tell him or her as little as possible if you suspect that this is going to be a hostile interview.   After all, he's not going to tell you his questions, is he?    Some people like to ask what the first question will be, in order to rehearse their answer.   This is not advisable: a smart interviewer may tell you, and then come up with a totally different question when the cameras are switched on.   The result is likely to leave you with your mouth open, gasping like a stranded fish while your brain tries to go into reverse.   This you do not want.

What you do want, however, is to know the length of the interview, especially if it is going to be "live."    This is crucial, for time is the most vital element in television.    Time can be your ally or your enemy.     Most television interviews, especially those on news programs, are incredibly short.   Two minutes, or even 90 seconds, is a typical slot.   Once you know how long you've got you can frame your answers accordingly, making sure that the things which are important to you get said.     There is not much point in having a gem of an argument once the program has moved on.    But how will you know when the interview is running out of time?   Very simple: although you will not have the advantage of the interviewer's ear-piece, through which the director will be telling him to wind it up, or see a floor manager who will be standing out of your line of vision making hand-signals, you have only to listen.    When the interviewer prefaces his question with the word "briefly", this is a clear signal that the end is nigh.    And if you have something left unsaid, say it now.    Don't be scared by the thought that they may cut you off in mid-sentence; it won't happen.    The "briefly" is for their convenience, not yours, so without taking things to extremes, make sure you get the last word.

Once you are in the studio, take note of your opponent.   Does he have a list of written questions in front of him?    If so, you are probably in luck.   This is an indication that he (or she) doesn't know the subject too well and, indeed, may have had the questions provided by a researcher.    He is likely to stick to those questions without bothering to listen to your answers and responding accordingly.    This gives you a decided edge.     If, on the other hand, the interviewer is clearly going to conduct the conversation ad-lib, the opposite applies.    Beware, and be very careful with your answers.    This guy probably knows his stuff.    

Assuming that this is to be a "hostile" interview, the questions may be deliberately provocative.    Whatever you do, do not lose your temper.   No one ever won a television confrontation by shouting, swearing, or storming out of the studio.    Be polite, reasonable, and unfazed.    If this causes the interviewer to become aggressive, and it may, smile on.   The audience will be immediately on your side.  

One of the important (and alarming) features of the television camera is its unique capability to expose insincerity or downright lying.    This has much to do with body language, so be sure to relax, fix your interviewer with a steady, candid gaze, and not allow your eyes to wander around - especially during awkward questions.    Do not assume for a moment that the camera will be looking somewhere else; the director will always have you in shot and you can be sure that if your face betrays the slightest sign of panic it will be on the screen in tight close-up.

In recent years it has become very clear that some regular interviewees, and especially politicians, have been receiving training on their interview technique.    This involves teaching them (a) to avoid direct answers to any questions and, (b) to talk without drawing breath so that the interviewer is unable to seize any opportunity to break in and call them to account.

Done successfully, this may well leave the politician concerned with the triumphant feeling that he has dodged the bullet and used the time factor to escape unscathed.     I suspect, however, that the impression given to the audience is very different:.   He has revealed himself as evasive at best and a lying hypocrite at worst.    If, as frequently happens, an interviewer has to pose the same question twice or more without getting an honest answer, then the interviewer has won.    Don't let it happen to you.

Apart from the fact that this obfuscation technique is not as easy as it appears, it doesn't really work.    Believe it or not, honest candor in the studio is far more effective.    I once interviewed a very senior British cabinet minister, Richard Crossman,  who had been guilty of an awful political gaffe.   I put the question to him directly, expecting the usual evasions and with a battery of follow-up questions designed to crucify my victim.    Instead of which he looked me straight in the eye and said, apologetically, "I have been a silly boy, haven't I?"   From that moment, he had won the sympathy of the viewers and I had lost.   And we both knew it.

In extremis, there is another handy technique: the monosyllable.    This is a crafty use of the time element, especially against the interviewer who is relying on a pre-prepared list of questions.     A simple "yes" or "no" to each question will soon leave the poor chap with no questions left and what will seem, to him, to be an eon of time to fill.     He will then be eternally grateful if you help him out by talking at some length, so do so.    This is definitely a dirty trick and you will probably never be invited back to that studio again.  Do you care?

 The Outside Broadcast

You may be interviewed at home or in the street.    Usually involving a single camera, a reporter, and possibly a sound engineer and/or someone to hold the light.    It is even possible, in these days of trimmed budgets, that one person will act as cameraman, interviewer, sound engineer and lighting technician - rather like one of those one-man bands playing half a dozen instruments at once.    This happened to me once in the United States and I found it an unnerving experience.   

For you, the subject, most of the advice given above still applies.   However, there are one or two extra points to look out for.    The first, and most important, is the fact that this is much more likely to be a recorded, rather than a live performance.    True, the introduction of satellite technology has made the latter more frequent than it used to be, but recording is still the norm.   This means that your interview is going to be edited - a process over which you will have no control whatever.    Time sanctions will still apply, but you cannot use them to your advantage as you can in the live studio situation.

This means that you have to be very, very careful.   The interview may be quite long, and you may well find that the fragment left after the editing process will prove a nasty shock.    That wasn't the point you were trying to make; your replies have been taken out of context; the answer does not even correspond to the question put by the interviewer.    In other words, you have been fitted up.    And it is, of course, too late to complain.

What's to be done?    Well, first of all, try to find out how long the edited version will be, and make sure you can fit in everything you want to say into that time frame.   Your interviewer may not know the exact time, but he or she will have a very fair idea of the scheduled slot and should be willing to give you an honest answer.    Remember, too, that the person interviewing you will probably also be responsible for editing the videotape when it gets back to the studio.    This is unlike the newspaper situation, where a reporter's copy is edited by a sub-editor who can change it without the reporter's knowledge, and gives you the opportunity to tell the interviewer which sections you think are most important before he leaves.    He may ignore your advice, but it will do no harm to give it and it may well be in the back of his mind when doing the editing.

Keep your answers short, leaving less opportunity to "put the scissors in" and, as before, concentrate on eye contact with the interviewer, ignoring the camera.

It may have occurred to you to wonder how it is that, using only one camera, both the interviewer and yourself appear in seamless close-up in the finished version.   The answer lies in something known as the "cut away" or "noddies". 

These are recorded after the interview, and consist of the interviewer repeating his questions to the camera at an appropriate angle, nodding sagely, smiling silently, and adopting whatever expression he feels may fit the mood of the occasion.  

This is a technical exercise to make the editing process easier, and nothing to do with you.     But wait a minute.    What if the interviewer, having noted an unwise phrase in your answers, decides to record a question to fit that phrase - a question he never asked during the interview?   Believe me, it happens.   Your solution is to stick around after the end of the interview and listen to those questions being repeated.    If you hear one that sounds unfamiliar, object.    Do it politely, but object.    The offending question will be left on the cutting-room floor.  

 Down the Line    

With the spread of regional studios, remote from the main transmitting center, it is quite likely that you will be invited to travel to the one nearest to you in order to be interviewed by someone in a studio far away.    For the inexperienced, this can be a daunting experience.

First, you cannot see your interviewer (though he can see you on his studio monitor).    You will only hear his questions through an earpiece, and if you are not used to wearing one this can be distracting - remember, you will not be in a studio but, as likely as not, seated in a corner of a busy newsroom.   The sounds of the latter will be bombarding your other ear.    Earpieces have been known to have a life of their own, dropping out at inconvenient moments to leave you looking foolish with a piece of plastic dangling down your collar.   Make sure that the assistant who inserts it does the job properly.

Second, the camera facing you will probably be a robot, with no cameraman behind it to give you a sense of human contact.    This, too, can be off-putting.  The only advice I can give is to imagine that there is someone behind that lens and that he or she is asking the questions in your ear.    Project your voice - the microphone will be a tiny thing attached to the front of your clothing - so that the imaginary cameraman can hear you clearly.

Third, there is the question of your eye-line.    This should obviously be directed straight at the lens, but some companies will place a monitor screen below or alongside the camera.    Your face will be appearing on that screen, and it can prove a dreadful distraction.    Which of us can resist the temptation to see ourselves on television?    Unfortunately, if you glance at the monitor during the interview the viewer, who has no reason to know it is there, will perceive you as looking distinctly shifty.     There is a simple answer to this: ask politely if they would mind switching the monitor off.    After all, it performs no useful function, so there should be no objection.

Getting seated comfortably is the ideal for one of these interviews, but beware - it is unlikely to happen.    For some unaccountable reason those in the remote location often think that you will perform equally well when sitting on the edge of a desk in extreme discomfort.     By all means try to get them to provide a decent chair (non-swivelling).   I wish you luck.

Apart from these points, the same rules apply in the remote interview situation as in the studio.

 Chapter 3
Radio

Radio, especially local radio, is a hungry medium with an insatiable appetite for talk.    Because of this, if you are a person regarded as an authority about almost anything, you are quite likely to be contacted and asked for an interview.

The contact will almost always be made by telephone by the producer of the program or one of his researchers.    They will be charming (after all, they want your contribution and they are not going to pay you for it) and persuasive.    Basically, the object of this call is to find out whether your views match the message being promoted by the program, whether they are sufficiently controversial to be interesting - but not enough to be offensive -and whether your diction and delivery are up to broadcast standards.  

From your point of view this initial contact has distinct advantages.    You will be able to tell with a fair degree of certainty what questions are going to be asked, and prepare your answers accordingly.     Assuming that you pass this very minor test you will be given an approximate broadcast time for the interview and asked to stand by your telephone.    As usual, try to find out how long your contribution is likely to be, though radio tends to be more flexible in this regard than television.

Radio interviewers vary in their competence.    At national level some can be very sharp indeed and very well briefed.   These need to be approached with caution, and some of the techniques described for television interviews may be appropriate.    Local stations, however, tend to be far less demanding.   Your interviewer will probably be someone at the start of his or her broadcasting career, and will know much less about the chosen subject than you do.    Within reason you will be able to say whatever you like without serious challenge - though if you depart radically from what you told the producer you were going to say you may never receive another invitation!   

One tip for beginners: never leave the radio on in the room where you are speaking.   It may be tempting to listen to the sound of your own voice, but the result is a phenomenon known as "howl-round" or "feed-back" which subjects the listener to a horrendous screeching noise.    The interview will be abruptly terminated at that point, which is a pity - you were going to say such interesting things.  

 CONCLUSION

You may never need the advice contained in this little book.    But then, you wear seat belts in your car though you may never have an accident; you immunize your children and your pets against diseases they may never catch.    The fact is that you never know when the fickle finger of fate may point in your direction, and a little insurance does no harm.

Many, indeed most reporters, are perfectly nice people who would not dream of entrapping you in the ways I have described.   They join the ranks of honest politicians, virtuous lawyers, and the ethical salesmen of second-hand cars who are unfairly bracketed in public esteem with their less desirable peers.   Chances are, should you attract the attention of the media, you will meet one of these paragons of journalistic virtue.    On the other hand, you might meet someone like me.   So please, be careful.     

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If you have questions or comments, send them to Bill Norris at mandychops@ukonline.co.uk