Bleeping out the bloopers

Press, 9 December 1983, Page 17

Bleeping out the bloopers

Review

Ken Strongman

Television covers an amazing range of endeavours. One dimension on which it varies is that which runs from the frivolous to the serious. In recent times, Friday night’s “Comedy Hour” has increasingly featured programmes of socalled TV bloopers. This is the extreme of frivolity. Some years ago, when the first of these programmes was made by Frank Muir and Dennis Norden, it was very funny. Even now, Dennis Norden occasionally introduces a new and sparkling collection. Meanwhile, American television has made the whole thing into too much of a production.

It is difficult to avoid the impression that in making their various films and series, actors are now always aware of the possibility of blooping and being included in a blooping col-

lection. However, there are still some moments that seem reasonably uncontrived. Naturally enough, these tend to culminate in an expletive, which the coy producers then bleep out, thus destroying all possibility of humour. As the bloopers are bleeped, the laughter escapes from the can and we know that we have reached the moment of humour even if we do not know what was funny.

Blooper programmes were a very good idea which, with understatement and self-discipline, could have stayed good for years. Yet again, the extreme elements in television have taken a good idea and flogged it to death. The subtlety has gone and we are left with silly-voiced hosts who chuckle, rock back and forth and look on with the blithe good humour

of a fond uncle. The contrast with Dennis Norden is huge.

At another extreme entirely, twice an evening (once at week-ends) there are some marvellous fixed points of stability and depth in our rapidly changing world. These brief programmes have as hosts genuine professionals who remain dispassionate in the face of all contingencies. In fact, the only problem with the weather forecasters is that they sometimes forget to look out of their own

windows. “The Weather" must be the most staid and oldfashioned bit of television. The presenters stand and give mini-lectures. They are not talking heads so much as talking heads and torsos. We never see their feet For all we know they might end at mid-thigh or all be wearing Donald Duck flippers. There is also what, in these enlightened days, seems to be a quaint division of labour. The women do the early shift and the men the late. This must be a matter of policy. Why? Of course, there is nothing wrong with it; it just seems odd these days. “The Weather” is a very well prepared programme. The charts are perfectly simple and clear. They might do away with the satellite photograph though. Its translation has all the precision of interpreting an

inkblot. Also, their latenight baton gives the merest hint that they might be orchestrating the weather. Actually, those late-night men all have the appearance of frustrated entertainers. With some of them one watches the performance only to realise at the end that it has been so absorbing that one has missed the weather. Even though “The Weather” is old-fashioned stability, it has become a little human. At times, a presenter will apologise for poor weather and look gleeful at good. This might not be for the best. We could end by thinking that not only do they forecast, but they also control. Perhaps they do. They said last week that they make 5.5 million forecasts a year, 80 per cent of which are useful. Being that useful could lead one to God-like thoughts.