A bit more pax, and a lot less Paxman
ITAKE an interest in politics but never watch debates or interviews on television. Today, online, one can find one’s own preferred narrative rather than have it mediated by old-time broadcasters posturing before audiences of disguised campaigners and other disturbing characters who, in a proper democracy, would be barred from voting under the Bovine Restrictions Act.
Indeed, we may be on the cusp of a change in broadcasting culture, as indicated by young persons complaining volubly on Twitter about recent television interviews of political leaders by Andrew Neil and, perhaps more pertinently, Jeremy Paxman. I’ve no axe to grind about either individual. I worked with – or under – Neil and discovered that, while his man-management skills were deplorable, he had a journalist’s heart and instincts.
He did invite me to dinner once, but I was playing five-a-side football that evening and dinked him. He never spoke to me after that (or ever at all, come to think of it) which is just as well as I realise now I’d never have got a word in edgeways and that he’d probably have ordered sausages for everybody (“And hold the salad”). As for Paxman, I lied about the grinding axe. He is bad-mannered, forgets his duties as host, and interrupts his guests incessantly.
It does in not only my nut but also the collective crania of the young tweeters adduced above. We want to hear what our representatives have to say. It’s been said since time immemorial, but we used to live in simpler days. Respectful days. If Sir Harold Macmillan had been interviewed today about his “wind of change blowing through Africa”, he’d never have got beyond “There is a wind”, before his interviewer intervened saying: “Never mind the bleedin’ weather, why are you such a git?”
I’m not calling for deferential interviews (except, maybe, I am). I’m
This was both dull and illuminating. You heard the logic behind policies and saw hidden depths
not calling for a return to the 1950s (except, on further examination, I am). I know politicians aren’t coy. We’re not talking here about coytus interruptus.
In the 1970s and 1980s, there was a Sunday lunchtime programme on ITV called Weekend World, presented mainly by Brian Walden. It was right grey and delightfully boring. Walden, a suit straight from central casting, spent the best part of an hour examining a senior politician, who was given ample time to present a case. This was both dull and illuminating. You heard the logic behind policies and saw hidden depths behind characters inevitably presented to us today as deplorable. While there are some dumbos and bad eggs, politicians are by and large better people than you and I.
The trick is to give them enough rope. Today’s interviewers just string them along from one unanswered question to another. On Weekend World, a statesman would provide 55 minutes of brilliant exposition before contradicting himself mildly on the 56th, which “gaffe” would be seized on by the press next morning.
Internet vlogs allow for similarly long interviews, but usually consist of people interviewing folk they agree with; an echo chamber, so to say. Also, the presenters are not polished enough. Indeed, consider this my 56th minute as I now declare my wholehearted support for the view that we still need professionals when it comes to broadcast journalism.
Recently, I watched a political vlog presented by a lady who couldn’t remember the title of the book she was discussing and informed us that her hair was still wet from the shower. Say what you like about Paxman and Neil, they always ensure their hair is dry before coming on air.
Vloggers also let interviewees go round in circles, repeating themselves. At that point, the interviewer has a moral duty to intervene saying: “Oh, do shut up.”
Unfortunately, or indeed otherwise, we have reached the end of this column on a contradictory note. Which was your fault, frankly, for giving me enough rope.