Face For The Radio
My Mum has always said that I have a face that's most suited for radio and I'm going to get to test that theory out as I've been asked for an interview on Alaskan radio while I'm there for Bouchercon. Eeeeek! In my opinion I also have a voice that's most suited for mime, but there you go. I've set up a blog for while I'm in Alaska so that I don't have to load down Crimespace with photos. The address is:
http://alaskanmisadventures.blogspot.com/
But the radio thing reminded me of being on a TV programme a couple of years ago. It was a show for BBC Four's Readers and Writers Roadshow (BBC Four is a digital channel - and I believe the Four relates to the number of subscribers. It used to be BBC Three but then my Mum's neighbour took out a subscription :o) )
On Friday, the Researcher, Holly, had rung me to check I was still going, and to ask if I had any questions for the authors (Mark Billingham, Kathy Reichs, and a true crime author called Brian Masters). "Oh yes", I replied, lying like a brazen hussy, since my intention was actually to sit at the back, well out of camera range and keep my mouth shut.
"Oh good", said the effervescent Holly "what are they?"
Beads of sweat broke out on my brow and I reeled off a couple of questions which I promptly forgot as soon as I had told her. After all, just because I HAD them, didn't mean I needed to ASK them, did it.
"Because what we're going to do," said Holly, "is have a couple of questions lined up and the presenter will come to the person asking the question and say 'I believe Donna has a question on this topic' "
Oh. Bugger. Oh well, ever the optimist, the words 'It's OK, that's not going to happen' flashed through my brain.
So, having had about 4 hours sleep on Saturday night, due to going to a party (yes, bad idea, although I did have the good sense to only have a couple of glasses of wine - it would never do to turn up drunk as a skunk on British TV despite the example of Oliver Reed (bless him)). So luckily the next morning my bloodshot eyes were as a result of lack of sleep rather than monster hangover. Oh good. Plus I had bags under them big enough to carry home my weekly groceries. Wondering if studio make-up was available for audience members I carefully chose my wardrobe. This was easy. In the absence of an industrial strength girdle, a large black sack would have to do. Had I had a long black veil to go with it, I would have been happy, and could have sat, Miss Haversham-like, at the back of the audience.
I got the train through to Edinburgh, and then another train out to the lovely little village the filming was taking place in. It was being done at a stately home called Hopetoun House.
At the station, transport was coming to pick us up. There was a girl waiting and we got into conversation. Her name was Rachel and she was also going to the filming. We had about half an hour for the transportation to arrive. Think limos, think chilled champagne, think leather seats, think luxury. And then think - no this is BBC Four. The minibus arrived and Rachel and I plus several people who had come on the train after us (about half an hour later) got in and were driven to Hopetoun House.
This was just the most gorgeous setting. If you ever saw Brideshead Revisited, this was just like it. As we turned into the long drive up to this gorgeous place I thought "I'm home - this is where I belong". The big front doors flew past and we were taken to the servant's entrance. OK, so THIS was home.
I had been wondering where the filming was actually going to take place - the Drawing Room? The Library? The Ball Room? No. This was, in fact, The Room Where Dead Things Were Kept. And I'm not talking foxes and pheasant and fish or whatever the landed gentry hunt. This bloke had obviously been to India, and he'd brought half the wildlife back home with him. Everywhere I looked, dead tiger faces snarled at me. It was like a nightmare version of Billy Smart's Christmas Circus.
We were shown into a room with lots of other nervous looking people and given drinks. By this time, I could have done with a stiff brandy, but had to make do with a glass of water, which I gulped down, not thinking of the consequences. Only afterwards did I worry that I was going to have to raise my hand mid-filming, and it wouldn't be to ask a question.
Holly bounced over and introduced herself and asked who we were.
"Rachel", said Rachel.
"Oh, lovely" said Holly, "We'd like you to ask one of your questions." Rachel paled. I sat back smugly.
"Oh look Donna" said Rachel "There's a star by your name too."
"Ooooh yes" said Holly. "We'd like you to ask one of your questions too. And look, then another one. You're closing the show."
The room was silent. Apart from my hysterical laughter.
"Ummm, which questions?" I managed to say.
"The one about comedy and crime."
This, of course, was one I'd reeled off on Friday and then forgotten. Holly's positive and encouraging demeanour slipped slightly as she had to remind me of my own question. "And then Kate will come to you at the end and get your other question and we'll finish up with that one" (It was about what crime fiction the panel read themselves).
So, I couldn't even relax after I'd asked my first question.
A bit later the presenter Kate Mosse came round. She was a really nice woman, an author herself, very friendly, and put us at ease. Well, almost.
About half an hour later we were taken into the studio. Rachel and I made a beeline for seats in the middle row. No way were we going at the front. But no, first of all they wanted us all to stand at the front of the studio and mill around pretending to enjoy ourselves chatting casually while they walked among us with cameras and microphones. Now, I'm not sure if any of you has ever enjoyed yourself and chatted casually as people are walking round you with enornous cameras and big furry microphones on sticks, but, let me tell you, it's not easy. Possession of a full Actors Guild card would have helped. Services of a hypnotherapist would have been even better.
After what seemed like an interminably long time, we were allowed to sit down. Rachel and I were trampled in the rush by two women who were absolutely desperate to sit at the front. We, meanwhile were absolutely desperate NOT to sit in the front.
The audience was very small, only about 25 people, and three rows of seating, so it was quite difficult to hide. We sat in the middle of the middle row. The safety of people on all sides.
The authors took their seats. Kathy Reichs is a very elegant, petite lady who really doesn't look as though she spends most of her waking moments up to her armpits in body parts. Brian Masters was a very well spoken, older man who's very erudite and honest. Mark Billingham looked quite at home on stage which I guess he would, given his background in the scary world of stand up comedy.
Kate Mosse then told us how it would all work. They would have a bit of discussion and at intervals she would say "I believe so-and-so has a question on that." That person would then wait for a big furry microphone to appear as if by magic in front of them and they would then ask their question. She then went through the running order of questions, pointing out audience members so that the sound crew could get the microphones into place at the right time. From this I knew that I was third, and then last. Unfortunately, the ordeal didn't end there as the lady on my right also had a question, and Rachel, on my left, had her question too. Good grief, it was going to feel as though the camera was never off me. My mother's words 'Face for radio, face for radio' were running through my head.
The filming started. I don't remember anything about the first few minutes as I was busy trying to compose my face into an interested, intelligent, yet casual look, while trying not to look like a constipated chipmunk.
The first question was to Kathy Reichs and she talked about her day job as a forensic anthropologist, and how she writes in all her spare moments. She also told a story that, after her first book had come out, she was a bit worried about the first case she was going to have to attend as an expert witness. She thought that the defence lawyer might ask whether what she was saying was fact or fiction. When she got into court, she thought she was going to be correct, as the defence lawyer had a copy of her book under his desk - but it turned out he just wanted to get her to sign it!!
Then those fateful words "I think Donna has a question for Mark"
I waited for the big fuzzy microphone to appear. No big fuzzy microphone appeared. They'd put it in front of the wrong person. Then two big fuzzy microphones appeared. Trying to compose myself I asked my question to Mark which related to the fact that he's a stand up comedian but his books are quite dark. How did he separate those two roles and had he ever thought of writing a comedy thriller?
He answered that he didn't like humourous crime fiction in general, he wrote the type of books he likes to read and he sees comedy and crime fiction writing as quite similar in some ways - you're teasing the audience and then revealing something at the end - either a punchline or a solution to the crime.
I began to relax as I listened to his response. Then Kate Mosse said "Donna, do you find that surprising?" I don't have the faintest idea WHAT the heck I said to that, but I have thought of a million good answers since :o)
The mike came to the woman next to me to ask her question and she said "I'm sorry, I've completely frozen". I really felt for her, but a couple of seconds later, she'd composed herself and was OK to ask her question. Rachel hadn't yet asked her question so I knew I had a few minutes grace to sit and enjoy myself listening to the interesting discussion. But then:
"Donna, you have a question for the panel, don't you?"
The microphone appeared in front of me. Like a deer trapped in the headlights, I froze. I tried by the power of my thoughts to say to the presenter - 'it's not me. It's Rachel. I don't have my final question until after Rachel. Please go away. Stop staring at me. Is there a hole in the ground that will swallow me up?'
However, it turned out that discussion had gone on too long and they couldn't fit Rachel's question in (I could hear her sigh with relief!). So it was down to me to ask my question which was what crime fiction writers the authors read which they all answered.
Then bloody hell, just as I'm starting to relax "Donna, who do YOU like to read?"
And phew, just like that it was over. We all clapped madly and got off our seats to go home. Except that we couldn't quite yet. No, the torture had to continue. Could we all please go and stand at the front, mill round, and talk. Yes, the old "enjoy yourselves and act casually while being filmed" thing again.
Only this time they added an extra twist. A very nice man said to me "Could I ask you a couple of questions? And if you could look at me while this other very nice man points this enormous camera right at you, just inches from that big spot on your right cheek?"
So he asked me whether I'd enjoyed the show, whether I'd had my questions answered, whether I'd learnt anything from the discussion. Goodness only knows what I said but the general gist was "inane drivel, inane drivel, inane drivel."
At last we were free and got back in the limo, sorry, minibus, to go back to the station. Just in case we'd all felt that the whole experience was very ordinary and problem free, and normal, the Producer came over. He obviously felt that we hadn't seen the over the top 'luvvie' side of TV, because he leaned into the van and said in a breathy voice
"That was LOVELY dears. You were all MAH-VELLOUS. SUPER show. SUPER. Thank you SO much" and went off, leaving a string of "Lovely, Super" s trailing behind him in a cloud of Armani pour Homme he went.
So there it was. Despite the fear factor, a really good day.
We found out that the program was being shown on September 26th. Oh good, I would be able to see exactly how fat and ugly I am and what a lot of crap I talk the day before my birthday. Wasn't THAT a nice gift? My Mum went round the whole neighbourhood to find someone who got BBC Four. Complete strangers opened their door to find a madwoman there who insisted on seeing their TV. I think they thought she was the latest weapon of the TV licensing people.
Oh, as the train pulled into the station to take us back to Edinburgh there was a big flash and bang as it hit a firecracker that had been put there. Were we fazed? Hell no, we'd just survived a day filled with lions and tigers and cameras, oh my.
http://alaskanmisadventures.blogspot.com/
But the radio thing reminded me of being on a TV programme a couple of years ago. It was a show for BBC Four's Readers and Writers Roadshow (BBC Four is a digital channel - and I believe the Four relates to the number of subscribers. It used to be BBC Three but then my Mum's neighbour took out a subscription :o) )
On Friday, the Researcher, Holly, had rung me to check I was still going, and to ask if I had any questions for the authors (Mark Billingham, Kathy Reichs, and a true crime author called Brian Masters). "Oh yes", I replied, lying like a brazen hussy, since my intention was actually to sit at the back, well out of camera range and keep my mouth shut.
"Oh good", said the effervescent Holly "what are they?"
Beads of sweat broke out on my brow and I reeled off a couple of questions which I promptly forgot as soon as I had told her. After all, just because I HAD them, didn't mean I needed to ASK them, did it.
"Because what we're going to do," said Holly, "is have a couple of questions lined up and the presenter will come to the person asking the question and say 'I believe Donna has a question on this topic' "
Oh. Bugger. Oh well, ever the optimist, the words 'It's OK, that's not going to happen' flashed through my brain.
So, having had about 4 hours sleep on Saturday night, due to going to a party (yes, bad idea, although I did have the good sense to only have a couple of glasses of wine - it would never do to turn up drunk as a skunk on British TV despite the example of Oliver Reed (bless him)). So luckily the next morning my bloodshot eyes were as a result of lack of sleep rather than monster hangover. Oh good. Plus I had bags under them big enough to carry home my weekly groceries. Wondering if studio make-up was available for audience members I carefully chose my wardrobe. This was easy. In the absence of an industrial strength girdle, a large black sack would have to do. Had I had a long black veil to go with it, I would have been happy, and could have sat, Miss Haversham-like, at the back of the audience.
I got the train through to Edinburgh, and then another train out to the lovely little village the filming was taking place in. It was being done at a stately home called Hopetoun House.
At the station, transport was coming to pick us up. There was a girl waiting and we got into conversation. Her name was Rachel and she was also going to the filming. We had about half an hour for the transportation to arrive. Think limos, think chilled champagne, think leather seats, think luxury. And then think - no this is BBC Four. The minibus arrived and Rachel and I plus several people who had come on the train after us (about half an hour later) got in and were driven to Hopetoun House.
This was just the most gorgeous setting. If you ever saw Brideshead Revisited, this was just like it. As we turned into the long drive up to this gorgeous place I thought "I'm home - this is where I belong". The big front doors flew past and we were taken to the servant's entrance. OK, so THIS was home.
I had been wondering where the filming was actually going to take place - the Drawing Room? The Library? The Ball Room? No. This was, in fact, The Room Where Dead Things Were Kept. And I'm not talking foxes and pheasant and fish or whatever the landed gentry hunt. This bloke had obviously been to India, and he'd brought half the wildlife back home with him. Everywhere I looked, dead tiger faces snarled at me. It was like a nightmare version of Billy Smart's Christmas Circus.
We were shown into a room with lots of other nervous looking people and given drinks. By this time, I could have done with a stiff brandy, but had to make do with a glass of water, which I gulped down, not thinking of the consequences. Only afterwards did I worry that I was going to have to raise my hand mid-filming, and it wouldn't be to ask a question.
Holly bounced over and introduced herself and asked who we were.
"Rachel", said Rachel.
"Oh, lovely" said Holly, "We'd like you to ask one of your questions." Rachel paled. I sat back smugly.
"Oh look Donna" said Rachel "There's a star by your name too."
"Ooooh yes" said Holly. "We'd like you to ask one of your questions too. And look, then another one. You're closing the show."
The room was silent. Apart from my hysterical laughter.
"Ummm, which questions?" I managed to say.
"The one about comedy and crime."
This, of course, was one I'd reeled off on Friday and then forgotten. Holly's positive and encouraging demeanour slipped slightly as she had to remind me of my own question. "And then Kate will come to you at the end and get your other question and we'll finish up with that one" (It was about what crime fiction the panel read themselves).
So, I couldn't even relax after I'd asked my first question.
A bit later the presenter Kate Mosse came round. She was a really nice woman, an author herself, very friendly, and put us at ease. Well, almost.
About half an hour later we were taken into the studio. Rachel and I made a beeline for seats in the middle row. No way were we going at the front. But no, first of all they wanted us all to stand at the front of the studio and mill around pretending to enjoy ourselves chatting casually while they walked among us with cameras and microphones. Now, I'm not sure if any of you has ever enjoyed yourself and chatted casually as people are walking round you with enornous cameras and big furry microphones on sticks, but, let me tell you, it's not easy. Possession of a full Actors Guild card would have helped. Services of a hypnotherapist would have been even better.
After what seemed like an interminably long time, we were allowed to sit down. Rachel and I were trampled in the rush by two women who were absolutely desperate to sit at the front. We, meanwhile were absolutely desperate NOT to sit in the front.
The audience was very small, only about 25 people, and three rows of seating, so it was quite difficult to hide. We sat in the middle of the middle row. The safety of people on all sides.
The authors took their seats. Kathy Reichs is a very elegant, petite lady who really doesn't look as though she spends most of her waking moments up to her armpits in body parts. Brian Masters was a very well spoken, older man who's very erudite and honest. Mark Billingham looked quite at home on stage which I guess he would, given his background in the scary world of stand up comedy.
Kate Mosse then told us how it would all work. They would have a bit of discussion and at intervals she would say "I believe so-and-so has a question on that." That person would then wait for a big furry microphone to appear as if by magic in front of them and they would then ask their question. She then went through the running order of questions, pointing out audience members so that the sound crew could get the microphones into place at the right time. From this I knew that I was third, and then last. Unfortunately, the ordeal didn't end there as the lady on my right also had a question, and Rachel, on my left, had her question too. Good grief, it was going to feel as though the camera was never off me. My mother's words 'Face for radio, face for radio' were running through my head.
The filming started. I don't remember anything about the first few minutes as I was busy trying to compose my face into an interested, intelligent, yet casual look, while trying not to look like a constipated chipmunk.
The first question was to Kathy Reichs and she talked about her day job as a forensic anthropologist, and how she writes in all her spare moments. She also told a story that, after her first book had come out, she was a bit worried about the first case she was going to have to attend as an expert witness. She thought that the defence lawyer might ask whether what she was saying was fact or fiction. When she got into court, she thought she was going to be correct, as the defence lawyer had a copy of her book under his desk - but it turned out he just wanted to get her to sign it!!
Then those fateful words "I think Donna has a question for Mark"
I waited for the big fuzzy microphone to appear. No big fuzzy microphone appeared. They'd put it in front of the wrong person. Then two big fuzzy microphones appeared. Trying to compose myself I asked my question to Mark which related to the fact that he's a stand up comedian but his books are quite dark. How did he separate those two roles and had he ever thought of writing a comedy thriller?
He answered that he didn't like humourous crime fiction in general, he wrote the type of books he likes to read and he sees comedy and crime fiction writing as quite similar in some ways - you're teasing the audience and then revealing something at the end - either a punchline or a solution to the crime.
I began to relax as I listened to his response. Then Kate Mosse said "Donna, do you find that surprising?" I don't have the faintest idea WHAT the heck I said to that, but I have thought of a million good answers since :o)
The mike came to the woman next to me to ask her question and she said "I'm sorry, I've completely frozen". I really felt for her, but a couple of seconds later, she'd composed herself and was OK to ask her question. Rachel hadn't yet asked her question so I knew I had a few minutes grace to sit and enjoy myself listening to the interesting discussion. But then:
"Donna, you have a question for the panel, don't you?"
The microphone appeared in front of me. Like a deer trapped in the headlights, I froze. I tried by the power of my thoughts to say to the presenter - 'it's not me. It's Rachel. I don't have my final question until after Rachel. Please go away. Stop staring at me. Is there a hole in the ground that will swallow me up?'
However, it turned out that discussion had gone on too long and they couldn't fit Rachel's question in (I could hear her sigh with relief!). So it was down to me to ask my question which was what crime fiction writers the authors read which they all answered.
Then bloody hell, just as I'm starting to relax "Donna, who do YOU like to read?"
And phew, just like that it was over. We all clapped madly and got off our seats to go home. Except that we couldn't quite yet. No, the torture had to continue. Could we all please go and stand at the front, mill round, and talk. Yes, the old "enjoy yourselves and act casually while being filmed" thing again.
Only this time they added an extra twist. A very nice man said to me "Could I ask you a couple of questions? And if you could look at me while this other very nice man points this enormous camera right at you, just inches from that big spot on your right cheek?"
So he asked me whether I'd enjoyed the show, whether I'd had my questions answered, whether I'd learnt anything from the discussion. Goodness only knows what I said but the general gist was "inane drivel, inane drivel, inane drivel."
At last we were free and got back in the limo, sorry, minibus, to go back to the station. Just in case we'd all felt that the whole experience was very ordinary and problem free, and normal, the Producer came over. He obviously felt that we hadn't seen the over the top 'luvvie' side of TV, because he leaned into the van and said in a breathy voice
"That was LOVELY dears. You were all MAH-VELLOUS. SUPER show. SUPER. Thank you SO much" and went off, leaving a string of "Lovely, Super" s trailing behind him in a cloud of Armani pour Homme he went.
So there it was. Despite the fear factor, a really good day.
We found out that the program was being shown on September 26th. Oh good, I would be able to see exactly how fat and ugly I am and what a lot of crap I talk the day before my birthday. Wasn't THAT a nice gift? My Mum went round the whole neighbourhood to find someone who got BBC Four. Complete strangers opened their door to find a madwoman there who insisted on seeing their TV. I think they thought she was the latest weapon of the TV licensing people.
Oh, as the train pulled into the station to take us back to Edinburgh there was a big flash and bang as it hit a firecracker that had been put there. Were we fazed? Hell no, we'd just survived a day filled with lions and tigers and cameras, oh my.
Views: 12
Comment
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Comment by Donna Moore on September 20, 2007 at 4:02pm
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Cheers Jools :o)
Vincent - the TV thing was a couple of years ago, and they DO repeat it. I know this because I didn't tell anyone it was going to be on and a friend in London rang me 6 months later and said "I just spat out a gulp of wine when I saw you on TV." Could have been worse, she might have vomitted. And they showed every single last horrible minute of me. The radio thing I think will be online. I'm just not going to tell you where :o) I get to go down to the radio station and all that - another new experience :o)
And no - sleep is not something I'm getting a lot of! Enjoy the rest of your holiday!
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Comment by Vincent Holland-Keen on September 20, 2007 at 1:52pm
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I thought you must have been asleep for only a handful of hours to reply to my emails the other day - does the party explains that or are you practicing Margaret Thatcher-esque sleep cycles?
Someone better record your BBC4 tour-de-force and put it up on Youtube, seeing as I won't be back in time to see it. Then again, they repeat stuff on BBC4 incessantly, don't they? Your triumph could be shown weekly at various odd hours of the day for decades to come!
Let's just hope they haven't edited down your contributions too much.
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Comment by Julie Morrigan on September 19, 2007 at 5:58pm
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Wonderful stuff, Donna, as always! Congratulations on the radio interview - and good luck with it! Looking forward to your blog... students and teachers and bears - oh my!
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