Knock, Knock, Knocking on Network Doors

I have been reprimanded by several colleagues who remind me that my last entry was two weeks ago, and that a blog is supposed to be updated regularly, unlike the WORD FROM LEO’s on my website which tended to languish on the vine for years before being replaced. I plead guilty, m’lud (British courtroom etiquette) but with extenuating circumstances, since I’ve been looking for work. With corporate sponsors and foundations locking up their wallets and making signs against the evil eye every time a public television producer comes close looking for money, and with PBS itself “running on fumes” (their words, not mine), I’ve been forced to throw my hat into a wider ring (and, yes, some might call that “going over to the dark side”).

I’ve done plenty of cable shows in my time. I invaded Haiti with the US Army; sat in the back seat of an F16 patrolling the no-fly zone over Iraq before the latest war, filmed a college freshman Rodeo Queen getting branded on her left flank (at her instigation) with a red-hot coat-hanger bent into the shape of “daddy’s cattle brand”; even looked two grizzly bears in the eye with the comforting knowledge that, whatever they did, there would always be a cameraman and two hosts between me and the bears. On one notorious occasion, I was even arrested after landing from a helicopter shoot for “harassing manatees” (for a brief moment of glory, I was ‘the most wanted man in Crystal City, Florida’). Apparently ‘harassing manatees in Florida is pretty much a hanging offence! “I plead innocent, m’lud.” Luckily I was released without a stain on my character, but I give these examples to prove that I and the dark side aren’t unacquainted, although I’m better known for my public television work.

And as I go hat in hand to the cablenets – the only ones who still have (some) money – I’ve learned that a good reputation in public television is like carrying ‘the mark of Cain’ on one’s forehead. Cablenet commissioners shudder and make a sign against the evil eye before turning away, just like those corporate sponsors I mentioned earlier. It’s not unlike how salsa dancers might regard the waltz (the words ‘archaic’, ‘expensive’ and ‘glacial’ come to mind). But with the wolf drooling and howling mournfully at the door (otherwise known as a kid in college), I will continue to sing and dance as fast as I can. Remember Richard Gere in Chicago, singing “Give ‘em the old razzle dazzle”?

Today ‘knocking on doors’ is virtual, but I recall when it was for real. When I first entered ‘the business’ back in the UK in the years before Noah’s Flood, there was a tradition known as the Wardour Street Crawl (for cable commissioners who believe age equals old-fashioned filmmaking, I should point out I was only two at the time). Wardour Street in London is where the majority of British film companies used to be based, so the young man-about-town, hoping to break into the film biz, would knock on every door, naively hopeful that one of them would offer him a job. Being a sensitive and shy soul, I found this an intimidating and embarrassing ritual. But luckily Wardour Street had a pub on every corner as well as dozens of film companies; perfect for topping up on Dutch courage between rejections. By the time I reached the bottom end of the street, where it opens into Shaftsbury Avenue, the crawl had become literal, and a kindly production manager let me sleep off my drunk on his office floor (needless to say, the Wardour Street Crawl was not how I got my first job in television).

So now I’m knock, knock, knocking on network doors all over again but hoping the results won’t be quite so embarrassing to my ego. And with a hammock chair under the trees outside my office and a good bottle of Pinot Grigio on ice, I can always sleep off the alcoholic excesses brought on by rejection in comfort and privacy.