‘I had to take some scripts and captions down to an OB unit’ says Paula Westbury. ‘I was sitting on the bus minding my own business when a mother and her daughter of about 18 behind me started talking about an article in that morning’s Daily Telegraph. It was about being a PA. “I think I’d rather like to be a PA – it sounds a nice job,” commented the girl. ‘No,” replied the mother immediately, “you don’t know what they did to get there”.’

Well, whatever they might do to get there, Fusion thought it might be interesting to find out some of the things which happen to them once they are there. This article by Julia Helps is based on a random series of interviews with the production assistants of Rediffusion Television.

Drawings by Maureen Roffey.

Scene: a continental nightclub after a hard day’s filming …

One member of the team quietly asks Marjorie Graham up to his room for champagne later that night – champagne which he has on ice in the bath. ‘He was showing off a little, so I decided to teach him a lesson by accepting.’ Later, as planned, she knocks at his bedroom door, clutching her toothmug. ‘He welcomed me. Then he saw the rest of the unit behind me, carrying their toothmugs. I must say, the champagne was excellent.’

Scene: Television House …

Marjorie is told she is going to Vatican City and that the team will probably meet the Pope. Cyril Bennett, then head of features, warns her to get a ‘Vatican Dress’. ‘I searched London for a dark, demure dress, and finally came up with the very thing,’ she recalls. ‘‘It was navy-blue cotton with a high neck and buttons down the front and it had a belt and long sleeves’ She returns to the features office wearing it and terribly pleased with herself. There is now no time to change it before leaving England. Faces fall. ‘Your Vatican dress,’ gasps Cyril, ‘it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

Scene: The American deep South …

Marjorie discovers that the State is dry. No liquor can be bought. The American unit insists that they have to have a drink,. The nearest place to get one is in the next State. A wealthy student who has attached himself to the unit helpfully offers to drive 200 miles in his Thunderbird to get some. Marjorie insists on going with him. They return some hours later with cases of whisky and beer. ‘The only reason I had gone was because I was sure he would forget the beer. I needed it to wash my hair.’

Scene: St Benedicts Abbey, Ealing …

Ruth Tester is told there are strict laws about exactly how far into the Abbey a woman can go. ‘They said punishment for the monks would be excommunication. I didn’t want to get all those kind monks excommunicated and I was so worried that I might overstep the mark. The crunch came, though, when I had to spend 6d to spend a penny. I had to take a 6d bus ride to Ealing Broadway.’

Scene: The South of France for ‘Riviera Police’ …

At the weekend part of the unit decides to go to a nearby island for a day’s water-skiing. ‘I went along for the ride,’ says non-swimmer Erika Klausner. ‘Seven of us piled into a little fibre-glass boat.’ Then the Mistral blows up. The boat starts shipping water badly. ‘Someone later said I looked a bit scared,’ says Erika. ‘A bit scared – I was nearly hysterical.’ Luckily they are near where H.M.S. Carisford is anchored on a goodwill visit. ‘They rescued four of us and fed us food and drinks in the wardroom – very much needed.’

Scene: Agadir for ‘Crane’ …

‘Another thing that happened to emphasise the point that salt water never brings me good luck,’ she continues, ‘took place in Agadir just after the earthquake.’ All are transferring from a small fibreglass boat (again) to a yacht. There is a moment when each is poised between both boats – rather like a minor Colossus of Rhodes. There is a swell and one larger wave than usual rolls along. ‘I lifted one foot from the little boat and put it down again – straight onto a rowlock. It went right through my foot.’ Erika is rushed to a clinic where nobody speaks English, though the doctor knows some French. Everyone smiles sweetly and carries her into the operating theatre. The doctor smiles again, picks up a needle and just sews up the gaping wound without an anaesthetic. ‘None of that stiff British reserve for me – I yelled the place down.’ Ruefully she adds: ‘The pay-off came when somebody said – not at all nastily – “and we’ve lost an afternoon’s filming”.’

Scene: Eastbourne …

‘The Story of John Logie Baird’ is being filmed. Somebody decides that a shot of seagulls swooping down is needed. Naturally no seagulls are to be seen. Vicki Miller is sent to buy some raw fish. ‘I sliced them up, then ran along the front, throwing bits of fish behind me. Hundreds of seagulls appeared. I had to run faster and faster until I was flat out, as the seagulls were really dive-bombing me. I don’t know when I’ve been so scared or when I have run so fast.’

Scene: The men’s Turkish baths in Jermyn Street for a live ‘ Here and Now’ …

‘Being a coward, I asked for a female vision mixer,’ says Nona Richards, ‘but I didn’t get one, so I was the only woman there. In a quiet moment, Geoffrey Hughes, director, leaps out of the scanner for a quick bath. ‘He left me in charge of his shirt.’ Tim Brinton, the commentator, is supposed to strip off and dive into the water at the end of his piece. All goes according to plan.

‘The shot that went out was fine – but you should have seen the pictures on the other cameras. It was incredibly funny.’

Scene: A ‘Here and Now’ from a dog sanctuary in Surrey …

Myra Hersh recalls: ‘Neither Daphne Shadwell, my director, or I had done an OB before. Our first problem was how to get into the scanner. Both of us were in tight skirts and high-heeled shoes. The one and only step was about two-foot high. The crew thought it was a great joke. Finally someone brought a box.’ Just before the recording, a terrific thunderstorm breaks. Both Myra and Daphne are terrified of thunder. ‘There we were, trying to do the programme and hide under something at the same time. It wasn’t our day.’

Scene: Canada for an Intertel …

Mary Horwood and researcher Stacey Waddy want to get back to the hotel to see the rushes of that day’s filming. It is the day of the East Coast power cut. They try buses, tubes, trams and even hitching. ‘We were so worried about being late for the rushes.’ They walk in pitch darkness through the lampless streets of Toronto. Finally they get to the hotel. ‘It hadn’t dawned on either of us during our frantic dashes that the power cut would stop the rushes being shown as well.’

The post It happened like this… appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

In this and the following columns are the answers to a questionnaire sent out to a group of features directors. The head of features, Peter Hunt, says:

A long time ago, in 1955, a founder member of the programme department said: ‘the word “documentary” makes me think of cranes and things….’ Hence ‘Feature’, which is determined by Chambers as a programme ‘that reconstructs dramatically the life of a prominent person, or an important event, or gives a dramatic picture of an employment or activity.’

I have taken Chambers as a reasonable platform for framing these questions.

Which is worth most: a personality talking at you or over relevant pictures of what he is talking about?

John Frankau: This must depend on the subject, envisaged audience and the personality. There is room for both, and a combination of the two.

John Phillips: I favour him talking over relevant pictures every time. Television already consists of quite enough faces on the screen, any opportunity or reason to cut away to something else must be seized with both hands.

Peter Morley: The question is the answer – whichever is worth more, you hold on the screen. If you are putting across the character of a person you must see the face. If this person is talking about ‘things’ you must show these ‘things’. The test is relevance.

Geoffrey Hughes: Both. The personality must first be established. Then it is a question of whether the pictures of what he is talking about are stronger and more relevant than his ‘personality’ or his interest as a man.

Sheila Gregg: It is impossible to answer this question. If the programme is about people it is probably better to see their faces, especially if they are good characters, and also that you may try to judge their sincerity from the emotions on their faces. But if the subject is more important than the people, obviously you should see the relevant pictures.

Can the dramatised feature do anything our current forms cannot do?

Geoffrey Hughes: Yes, it can put over an emotional state of mind in a way that our present feature programmes cannot. And emotional states of mind are as much part of people’s reactions to the real world as they are to (say) drama.

Sheila Gregg: Yes, I think so, as there are always subjects which are extremely difficult to bring to life in a non-dramatic form. On the other hand, as soon as dramatisation and actors are brought in, the authenticity of the whole thing is weakened, and I think people might find it difficult to distinguish between dramatised documentary and straightforward drama.

John Frankau: Yes, the dramatised feature can do something in addition to our current forms. Apart from more easily catching the attention of most sections of the public by presenting facts in a more digestible way, often they can be more succinct and possibly more accurate than programmes which use a few individuals putting forward their own isolated views. As a form of entertainment they should not be neglected.

John Phillips: Yes, by attracting the viewer who switches over or off whenever he feels he is being talked ‘at’.

Peter Morley: A dramatised documentary produces an atmosphere of the theatre – a performance which can make some feature subjects more palatable to a mass audience. It can in many cases simplify a diffused collection of facts by making these facts fit the story, and not the story fit the facts. But this theatrical atmosphere is the weakness of the dramatised documentary, reducing its authenticity and credibility, and therefore its viewer identification.

How should the features personalities we need in the future be found and trained?

Sheila Gregg: It takes a long time to train a television interviewer, and the only real training he can get is to work on actual programmes over a considerable period. I think the essentials for a television interviewer are: intelligence, good general knowledge and a certain experience of life. An interviewer should also be able to ask questions because he genuinely wants to find out for himself, and because he is interested in people and ideas, not simply because the questions have been written in a script.

John Frankau: There is no golden rule. They may be found almost anywhere it’s possible to find the combination of an interesting personality and an enquiring mind. The particular type of mind required might be most easily found in the world of journalism. As well as experience, the only training should be that of theatrical professionalism.

John Phillips: By the same methods that are used to get the right people for any skilled trade or profession – lengthy and patient search for suitable types, imparting of expert advice and knowledge based on experience, encouragement of expansion of personality and ideas.

Peter Morley: I haven’t the faintest idea.

Geoffrey Hughes: I believe they should first be significant in their own right. If we look for people who are immediately available and unemployed, they are likely also to be unemployable – or, in short, no-goods. So, having been snatched from their jobs (and properly paid) they can only be trained by practice – and production.

Why are features necessary?

John Phillips: Assuming the basic premise that television is necessary and presumably we all do that, then surely features are necessary because they exploit most fully television’s greatest accomplishment (that of projecting sound and vision simultaneously to millions of people) to the common good by making them aware of themselves and the world they live in.

Peter Morley: They are not necessary. They are highly desirable. The entertainment pattern of a television network would be incomplete without them. Feature programmes satisfy a thirst for knowledge which all viewers think they have or would like to think they have. The feature is not always considered as ‘entertainment’ but I believe that the successful feature must be as entertaining as any other programme.

Geoffrey Hughes: They aren’t necessary. Features should only be put on if they are entertaining. But I believe that they can be entertaining, as a genuine interest in current affairs does exist. It is up to us to exploit it.

Sheila Gregg: Apart from entertainment, I think television has a duty to inform people (in as entertaining a way as possible). Anyway features are the thing that television can do better than any other medium.

John Frankau: They are a valuable form of entertainment and as such must take their place in this, the entertainment business. Unlike other programmes, they can survey topical subjects at short notice, floodlight social or world events and sometimes peep through keyholes.

Should features set out to influence public opinion?

Peter Morley: If you set out to influence, you distort. But if you set out to inform you can’t help but influence.

Geoffrey Hughes: No. We re not allowed to by the Television Act anyway; and I don’t agree with the missionary attitude formerly adopted by the BBC under Lord Reith. We can and should, however, stimulate people to think for themselves.

Sheila Gregg: They should not necessarily set out to influence public opinion. Some programmes merely inform (and in that way they may help people to make up their own minds). However, there are some subjects – Apartheid is an obvious example – on which we should take sides and try to influence opinion, although I think we should give a fair hearing to both sides.

John Frankau: No, but in either presenting facts or a point of view, it would be unlikely that some of the audience would remain uninfluenced.

John Phillips: No – they should set out to inform accurately and fairmindedly so that public opinion may be responsible and enlightened.

Summary

Peter Hunt: ‘I make no comment. I merely take relevant refuge in this pregnant extract from Shepherd Mead’s brilliant text book – ‘How To Get Rich In TV Without Really Trying’.

‘We can’t use the script’, he said, his voice vibrating by force of habit.

‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘Not dramatic enough?’

‘It isn’t – me,’ he said. ‘I take a universal point of view.’

‘There is no such thing’, I said, ‘as a universal point of view. You are for this or you are against it – you cannot be universal about it.’

‘I must see both sides of every question.’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘if you take both sides of every question you will be a skyrocket that is shooting off at both ends. You will make a lot of fizz-fire and go no place.

‘So the way it worked out, I was the one who went someplace. Out on my ear.’

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