Television today is awash in nonfiction programming. A&E, the Discovery Channel, the History Channel, Bravo, Oxygen, and dozens more present hours of documentary programs every week that explore everything from the history of hot dogs to how to ward off hypothermia. On any given day, as many as 2.5 million viewers tune into these shows. And every show has at least one "expert" or academic who can give a scholarly gloss to the rest of the program.
As a veteran producer, I am always on the prowl for telegenic, enthusiastic experts. If you ever get a call from me, there are certain protocols and guidelines that can make your on-camera appearance easier for me, more enjoyable for you, and more profitable for us both.
First, when I call you, don't immediately tell me that you never watch TV. I won't believe you, and I don't even care. I don't watch much TV myself, at least not at home from the sofa. In my job I watch hours and hours worth of raw tapes, so the finished product has little appeal. But people who present themselves as too highbrow to enjoy my products don't win my heart. Do you brag to publishers about how little you read?
And if you tell me that you only watch PBS, I'll just assume you can't afford to get HBO.
Once we've cleared the early hurdles, I'll talk a great deal in a very enthusiastic way. I will seem to know quite a bit about your career and publications (Google is a wonderful thing), and you might feel flattered. Don't. My knowledge is vast but very shallow, and it's unlikely that I'll have read any of your books or journal articles. I might have read the reviews. If your college has a student evaluation site, I may have glanced at it.
As the sociologist Arlie Hochschild and others have identified, this initial interview is emotional work. I am "making personal emotional contact at an inhuman speed." Ultimately, I want you to do the show if I like you, and if you like me, you'll probably agree.
Next, I'll turn the tables on you and get you to talk. And I want you to talk and talk and talk. I'm evaluating you as a speaker. If you can't carry on an animated telephone conversation with me, an interested stranger, I can't count on you to come alive in front of the camera. If you're colloquial, lively, and not too jargon-laden, I'll be pleased and put you on my shortlist. You won't be the only person I call, but I assure you I'm not auditioning dozens of people. This isn't some sort of Academic American Idol.
I am not terribly picky. If your specialty isn't exactly what I need, but you can whip up something useful, say so. If you want to do the show, say so.
But if you hem and haw, I'll be dialing the next person on my list. Television production is a business with very tight deadlines and short lead times, and I just don't have time to lure and cajole professors. Incidentally, if you want money, don't be coy. The show might have a budget for honorariums, though it will probably only be a few hundred dollars.
Once you've put down the phone, you're probably a little dazed, but you won't hear from me again until we solidify the plans for your taping. To prepare for that date, you might brush up on the agreed-upon topic, get your hair cut, and watch a show similar to the one I'm producing.
Don't ask for the questions in advance. I probably won't have time to think them up until the night before, and I'm not likely to sandbag you unless I'm working for Mike Wallace on 60 Minutes (and then you really won't get them in advance). If you've written a controversial book, you probably know what the critics think, and it's possible I'll ask you about them. But for most documentaries on historical subjects, there's no point in interviewing scholars just to make them look foolish. Why would I waste the tape?
If my crew and I are coming to you, you can win big points with me by giving me the name and the number of either the campus PR person or the department secretary, as I'm going to need parking as close as possible to the interview location. You should warn your department that I'm coming. If your office is book-lined with a wonderful view, great. If you work in a cubicle, lit by florescents, help me out by getting an office or room that looks good. Take it for granted that I have no idea where your campus is, much less your office. You'll get a call from other people on my team who handle the logistics.
On the day of the taping, I will show up with at least two other people and maybe more. I'll have a camera operator, a sound recordist, and maybe a production assistant, if I'm lucky. We will have more equipment that you can imagine. We will lug it all to your office, where we will plug in many, many cables. The point of dragging all those silver boxes around is that if we need just one filter, we'll have it at hand, not back in the van. If you really want to be my friend, get a strong student to hang around that day to help us, but don't invite a crowd. Setup takes about an hour, and during that time I'll be chatting with you on every subject under the sun -- except the one I'm there for. I don't want to rehearse you; I want you to be well-lubed, conversationally.
You should be well-groomed and suitably dressed. Women need to wear some makeup. If you're a holdover from the 60s, a touch of lipstick and some powder won't destroy your seminar-room cred, and it will make you look less like a corpse on camera. I will have powder, but you should be prepared with everything else. In terms of clothing, avoid bright white, horizontal stripes, and small patterns; these don't "read" well on camera. On the other hand, you can't go wrong wearing blue. Media-savvy profs, who have a full dance card, often get special nonglare glasses, but these aren't necessary unless you plan to do a great deal of TV.
The actual interview is not very painful, but the waiting around can be. I'll ask you to spell your name and to tell me your exact title. This will appear on-screen, under your first appearance, so if you want to be known as "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Professor of Protozoology, Emeritus," tell me now.
Once we get going, you can relax and just talk about the subject you know so well. Except for one thing: You need to completely reverse your usual storytelling style. For a successful television interview, the punch line comes at the beginning of the story.
For example, if you're a classics professor and I ask you about Alexander the Great, you need to look at me (not at the camera) and boom out with great brio, "Alexander the Great Was Queer!" Then you can go into the sexual mores and cultural practices of his world. I don't want a carefully researched and crafted discourse. I want a statement that will grab the attention of the audience and make them stop clicking around. On TV, the pictures tell the story, and you are there to add extra sauce and dash -- you are the garnish; a sophisticated one.
The successful TV interview subject can speak with assurance, knowledge, and emotion. If you can get all choked up about the first day on the Somme, the camera will love it. Your passion for your subject is more important than professional distance. If unraveling DNA makes you dance, feel free to express your delight. Editorializing is good -- show me why you spent all those years studying this.
I may cut you off. Don't take it personally. It's my job to get you talking, listen for what we need, and then stop you and set you going off on another topic. I won't appear on camera, so you need to incorporate my question into your response. I may also have certain words and phrases I need you to work into your reply. I'm not really trying to tell you what to say; there may be a point in the script or in another interview that hinges on this phrase.
If you stumble, I'll stop you and you can give it another try. I'll also stop you if you meander too far into the thickets of academic jargon. The minute I hear you say "postmodernism" or post-anything I'll cut you off.
And then, after you're sweating from the lights, I'll have you sign a release (don't agonize over this -- it's legal boilerplate, and usually just assures you that the network owns the rights to this taped interview and can do with it what it pleases, forever) and we'll pack up and be gone. If you want to give me a copy of your book, I'll be thrilled.
I will promise to give you a copy of the tape, but since I'm a freelancer, there's a good chance I'll be gone by the delivery date. The production company should keep in touch with you about when the show will run, but you'll want to pay attention to your local listings.
Once you're in my Rolodex, I'll keep in touch with you if I need you. Over the last 15 years, I've produced a multitude of programs, and finding great talkers is part of my stock in trade. I've used one very well-known forensic psychiatrist for at least three television shows and a DVD commentary.
While your appearance might not make you a household name, be prepared to be recognized. Total strangers could stop you on the street or in line at the supermarket. Colleagues will tease you about going Hollywood. The university PR department should be glad of the publicity and your students will look you at with new interest. I can't make them go to class, but at least they can watch the show.
