Robert Kirby
CHANNELVISION
Smart television producers will by now have recognised a cash cow in the making. If nothing else, the coverage of the recent King commission hearings showed that there’s a wealth of real-life drama out there, just waiting to be exploited. The hearings had every element of a excellent tragicomedy. There was the central character, an embittered and deeply misunderstood national hero caught with his fingers in the till up to the armpits; the touching medical evidence of the defence-appointed trick cyclist; a demented big-city gambler; the confused but lovable village sweetshop keeper.
Add to that heady brew the contributions of the legal participants. What about those hilarious impressions of an enraged turkey done by Malcolm Wallace, SC? They had us on our knees with mirth. Topping the legal routine, the calm, ineluctable presence of Judge Edwin “Sharky” King, a thinned-down Falstaff full of wise interpolations and biblical references.
But for sheer star quality it has to be Ms Shamila Batohi, prosecutor for the commission. There’s scarcely a soul who hasn’t been quite ravished by her inquisitorial gifts, her innate ability to sense the bogus in any witness trapped in the nimble follow-spot of her cross- examination. She has the finest set of humbug-detecting antennae in the business. What a superb central star in a series based around her: Ms Shamila’s Feeling for Faux.
The King commission hearings could be the first of many, a top-drawer addition to daytime television. If the local broadcasters did nothing else but attend fraud and corruption hearings, they’d have a bonanza on their hands. Alright, some of the lawyers tend to go on a bit, proceedings can get slowed down by legal niceties, but such disadvantage is far outweighed by the realism.
Apart from the fraud and corruption there could be theme seasons: murder, rape, armed robbery, wife-beating – let’s make something positive out of the crime boom.
Surely producers will have realised that these shows are bargain basement. The lawyers are already being paid fortunes by their clients, the judges, prosecutors and sundry court officials are all on payrolls. As Judge Dennis Davis has shown, there’s a wealth of melodramatic talent lurking in the halls of justice.
All the producers will have to do is ship in a few lights and cameras, a sound deck and, as was the SABC’s case, hire some illiterate to stand outside the courthouse and fill in during the tea breaks. For the rest, let the law take its dramatic course.
As for the King commission, the hearings should be edited down to a 90-minuter. They’ll make a fortune showing it in India alone.
During last Sunday’s broadcast of the French Grand Prix the SABC showed that, when it comes to ruining the fun, it can leave M-Net’s SuperSport standing. Between 3pm and 3.20pm, and at the point in the race when the interesting stuff was taking place – namely, the pit stops – the SABC ran a total of 13 minutes of advertisements. It was a complete reversal of the usual ratio. The actual race was given little three-minute inserts here and there.
They were almost as bad as the SuperSport special of the week, which was a breakaway from the nail-biting finish to the second England/West Indies cricket Test. With one run to go, SuperSport cut away for ads. If it was a break in satellite feed, then there was no one around to say sorry or explain. “Take it or leave it” once again rules.
Mr Kanthan Pillay’s explanation in last week’s Mail & Guardian about the granting of all five contracts for e.tv sitcoms to one company is very slick, but more than a little unbelievable. Mind you, the quality of the product certainly backs up his fire-sale claims. Whatever audience they attract – and we have only his word about this – the programmes remain very definitely cheap and nasty.
As to Roberta Badenhorst-Durrant’s ill- mannered letter – well, if she was never at the Edward hotel in Durban, then why did the pudding chef, Kij Larssen, name a blancmange after her? I will humbly yield to Roberta’s superior experience when it comes to casting couches, but her wistful reverie about being invited to occupy mine is simply not true. I remember her second audition well. I definitely did not make a pass at her. Apart from the horrendous singing, both my stage manager and I were convinced she was a man in drag.