Manners maketh the interview with tetchy film stars

Channel 4 news has a rather curious relationship with movies. a few weeks ago, it breathlessly posed the question: are machines capable of consciousness?

That’s not a bad debate to have with, say, Stephen hawking or Richard Dawkins, but Channel 4 consulted alex Garland, writer and director of ex Machina, a science fiction fantasy about a polite lady robot who spends a lot of time looking sexy and sad.

I liked ex Machina, but it’s not the place to go for answers to weighty scientific questions. You might as well ask Star Trek to present a treatise on black holes.

Most TV news shows try to sneak entertainment stories into their line-up from time to time; the footage is glossy, and it’s a nice change of scene for a reporter used to standing outside Scotland Yard or a tidally-sodden largs.

however, Channel 4 news seems agonised by the compromise – which is perhaps why Krishnan Guru-Murthy did an interview with Robert Downey Jr about the star’s new Disney film, and in the dying minutes of their brief encounter chose to hit him with a shapeless, tactless question about his dead father, drugs and his time in jail.

I’M not unsympathetic to the difficulty of mining an interesting seam of conversation in a limited amount of time, but I don’t blame Downey Jr for walking out either. Presumably he felt a discussion of addiction, parental issues and incarceration deserved more time than it takes to boil an egg.

Time is one reason why Channel 4 news’s interview imploded. Since the i nterview show heyday of Michael Parkinson and David Frost, publicists have started carrying stopwatches.

a veteran film journalist friend of mine used to taunt colleagues by reminiscing about older, simpler days when actors – not yet fearful of stalkers or bad publicity – would invite journalists to their homes, a movie set, or for a few hours with stiff drinks. It was as much a party as a press event.

Given the exponential increase in celebrity-news consumption, however, a vicious cycle of tinsel inflation has set in, with too many reporters chasing too few stars.

Time is tight and your celebrities make themselves available as part of a tightly-scheduled press junket, even if you are Graham norton or Jonathan Ross. Journalists don’t SPARE a thought for the Edinburgh couple who found themselves sharing a multiplex movie screening with six mice. I’m quite jealous. At least the mice weren’t texting, chatting during the film, or opening a family-sized packet of crisps. like junkets: we get penned into holding areas for hours, mooing discontentedly about our timeslots or the lack of biscuits.

and to be fair to Krishnan, once you are i n the room together, the success of your interview depends on the mood of the star.

Colin Firth politely detests the process. ‘You’re always looking for patterns,’ he complained to me on one occasion.

On the other hand, the late Rik Mayall adored the chat: ‘ Oh lovely, a chance for us both to talk about me,’ he cried, vaulting onto a chaise longue and adopting the position of a psychiatrist’s patient.

Robin Williams flipped into impromptu performances, mimicki ng my accent, interviewing himself, and ruthlessly chasing my laughter.

On the other hand Billy Crystal got the hump when I asked if he had been in therapy.

‘have you?’ he snapped. ‘ I’m Scottish,’ I told him. ‘I get my therapy from doctors Whyte & Mackay. There was a brief pause before he grinned.

Of course, the old pro that is Sir Michael Caine has the best handle on interviews.

he once told me that he treats them like dinner parties, relying on manners to dissuade i mpolite guests. I reckon he could have Krishnan for brunch.