Evil Report
I WONDER how long television, reporters will remain satisfied with the work they are doing. At this stage of their development
they seem always to be catching aeroplanes to distant countries with sunny climates in order to give us a glimpse of the latest crisis. Once there they turn their assignment into a satisfactory routine. Get a few representative people to answer questions, per- suade a Minister, or better still a monarch, to express his views, record your own neat introduc- tion and conclusion : and that's it.
Up to now we viewers are well content. As the cinema news reels have never developed serious journalism, we are delighted to be given a glimpse of Amman, and to hear and see the grave young King Hussein or the multiracial English-speaking youth of Hong Kong. Nevertheless I do not feel that I have really seen anything of the capital of Jordan. To me it is just another city which sparkles in the Oriental sunshine. I think I could learn more from three or four well-chosen pic- tures in The Times or the Illustrated London News.
I wonder whether television journalists have the chance of doing the necessary journalistic spade-work before they start filming and inter- viewing'? One technical point : questions asked by interviewers are still too complex. In the old days when reporters got their early training in the Law Courts they learned from learned counsel the art of putting friendly and hostile questions.
The present generation of journalists seem to have learned their technique of interviewing from large press conferences which resemble public meetings or from supplementaries in the House of Commons. Such questions are designed less to elicit information than to convey it and the questioner becomes more important than the questioned.
The best television journalism is still the live broadcast, such as that of last week's Cup Final and its engaging preliminaries. Kenneth Wolsten- holme's commentary was perfect. He gave just enough information and left us to .work up our own excitement with the help of our own eyes and the noise of the actual spectators. In other words, Wolstenholme did not come between us and the match.
It is years since I saw a professional soccer match and I was impressed by the development of a ritual which I suppose has become so com- monplace that reporters no longer mention it. When, I wonder, did footballers begin wearing this Austin Reed-type beachwear with V necks, short sleeves and what the Daily Mirror coyly calls `scanties'? I can't imagine Billy Meredith in this get-up.
' I had intended to take a look on Sunday night at both Henry James's The Heiress and the BBC's The Last Troubadour, which told part of the life story of Percy French, the Irish song writer who wrote 'The Mountains of Mourne' and 'Abdul the Bulbul Ameer.' I was so entranced by the BBC production that I stayed with it to the end. And yet it had some pretty awful amateurish moments. I think the appeal of the programme was its evocation of the Somerville and R033 atmosphere, especially in the West Clare railway libel • action, which unfortunately was given a farcical ending. George Baker as the composer had what is rather unusual on television, a gentle and wistful charm, though he was in pretty poor voice when it came to the songs.
I am glad to record that Victor Sylvester's dancing club will not appear again until autumn. If this joyless formality is what the pundits have made of ballroom dancing I do not wonder that the younger generation prefers rock 'n' roll.
JOHN BEA VAN
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