The Good, the Bad and the Boring – Part Four

Victor Borge. Image: Reiner Hersch

The Great Dane sat across from me at the lunch table. It was the mid-1980s, and Victor Borge and I were to do an interview at the hotel in Wellington where he was staying during a tour of New Zealand.

The waiter appeared beside us to take our orders, and Victor indicated that I should order first. 'I'll have the Beef Wellington please,' I said, knowing that this was the posh Parkroyal and that the meal should be excellent. The waiter turned with a raised eyebrow to Denmark's greatest export after Carlsberg. 'I'll have a club sandwich.'

If I could have shrunk myself to disappear into my seat I would have done. Or, in hindsight, maybe I should have just changed my order there and then, say, to a dry cracker. Unfortunately I didn't.

So here he was, the world-famous pianist-comedian who for years had had audiences in stitches by combining musical excellence with comedy genius, playing with – and destroying – the English language while also doing the same with some of the world's greatest piano pieces. Mozart, I suspect, would have loved the humour of it.

The Clown Prince of Denmark.
Image: Jesper Jurcenoks

We chatted about Borge's musical background, and yes indeed he was, like Mozart, a prodigy. He had started learning the piano not long after he'd learned to walk, thanks to having parents who were also accomplished musicians.

Our meals arrived – Victor having had to wait for his humble sandwich while the chef prepared my Beef Wellington – and we tucked in. Rather like Hercule Poirot, Victor Borge personified the word 'dapper'; he was neat, trimmed, precise, tidy, with a twinkle in his eyes, and he was the perfect gentleman. Despite my asking him all the same questions that he'd been asked a million times by interviewers the world over, he answered them with good humour.

I asked him, 'What is the secret to your comedy?' He smiled at me and said, conspiratorially, 'If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret!' and smiled.

As I've mentioned in the previous articles on famous people I've interviewed, not all of them wanted to talk, or even be there, but I'm happy to say that the Clown Prince of Denmark was totally professional and fully engaged in our conversation. The following day I received a message from his son (with whom he was travelling) saying how much his father had enjoyed meeting me and doing the interview. I'd never had such a compliment from a celebrity before and never received one again. I suspect it said more about him then me, but hey, what a gent.

Another gentleman it was a pleasure to meet was astronomer, science broadcaster and

Carl Sagan. Image: Michaerl Okoniewski

author Carl Sagan. By the time he visited New Zealand in the 1980s he was already well known for his astronomy programmes on TV and was, arguably, the most famous name in science communication at the time.

In the UK, astronomer Patrick Moore was, as host of the BBC's long-running Sky At Night programme, also famous, and I interviewed him around the same time. While Patrick was dishevelled and lovely (and signed some books for me), he was a complete contrast to Carl Sagan. Patrick Moore fitted the stereotypical 'boffin' description, with his wildly effusive method of speaking and machine gun-delivery. I don't think anyone could fit so many words into an interview as Moore did.

Sagan on the other hand was more calm and measured, but also more outspoken. This worked for him as a science communicator because not only was he capable of simplifying difficult concepts for a lay audience, he wasn't afraid to address some of the big questions, such as the role of God in the universe. Patrick Moore stuck more to astronomy as a discipline, but they both shared success as communicators and as enthusiasts.

Sir Patrick Moore.
Image: South Downs Planetarium

The main difference was that Carl Sagan achieved global popularity (ref. his acclaimed series and book Cosmos) and some notoriety, to the point that Harvard refused to accept him either on their staff or as a serious astronomer. They disliked the way he popularised astronomy, but I thought he was the bees' knees.

As with Victor Borge, Sagan graciously put up with my questions, which I’m sure he'd answered a billion times before, and – being an experienced broadcaster – he was a dream to interview, knowing just how long to make his answers, just when to stop, or when to elaborate as required.

As I think I've mentioned, most of the famous people I interviewed have since died (not necessarily as a result of meeting me, yet who knows?), but Carl Sagan passed away at the obscenely young age of just 62. Patrick Moore and Victor Borge are also no longer with us, and nor is Marcel Marceau...

French mime artist Marceau, with his top hat, striped top and clown face (the trademarks of his character 'Bip') was world famous when I met him for an interview in the studio on our regional TV programme Today Tonight. My French wasn't even at intermediate stage at the time, but luckily his English was perfect, although I guess we could have done the whole interview in mime. I'm just not sure how I would have asked him how he got started in the 'art

of silence.'

Marcel Marceau as Bip.
 Image: Wikipedia

I'm not sure even if I asked him that out loud, otherwise I'm sure I would have remembered him telling me how he first used mime to entertain rescued Jewish children during the Second World War while he was secretly working for the French Jewish resistance.

What a fascinating man. And yet, the thing I remember most about him was his awful, awful wig. I'd met him before the programme in make-up, and could see then just how dreadful his rug was. It was curly, streaked with grey, but also filthy, matted even. I could hardly take my eyes off it, and yet here I was talking with a man who had been made a Grand Officier de la Légion d'Honneur in his native France and who had risked his life in the French resistance.

Needless to say, I never received any awards for my interviewing.

As an example of how naïve some of my interviewing was in the early days (early- to mid-1980s) go and read about my meeting with SpikeMilligan, a highlight of my broadcasting career but which disappoints me still as one of my biggest missed opportunities ever.

Mark Knopfler.
Image: Klaus Hiltscher, Wikipedia

There are quite a few other famous names that have been on the soft and squidgy end of my interviewing skills, such as Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler, Allan Clarke of the Hollies, and either Rupert Murdoch or Robert Maxwell (unbelievably I can't remember which!).

I've had a drink with the famous British character actor Derek Guyler, shared a flaccid and fleeting handshake with Kenny Everett, and I've had lunch with Clive Anderson. I've chatted (briefly) with Stephen Fry and had a more extended conversation on the set of Rivendell with Sir Peter Jackson. But now I'm just name-dropping, and there's not much to tell about any of those encounters.

Let me finish though by saying that, while many (if not most) of my televised interviews were bog-standard, unexciting and definitely not shock-horror-revealing, the best one I ever did, even though it was at the Avalon Television Studios, was without cameras and with no audience.

There’d been an industrial argument going on for weeks in New Zealand between the Employers' Federation and a national union, but negotiations had reached stalemate.

I was to interview two of the kingpins – Pat Kelly of (I think) the Cleaners' and Caretakers' Union and John Robertson of the Employers' Federation – live on camera. Again we were restricted to no more than about five minutes' duration, so it was unlikely I was going to be doing a ground-breaking interview.

Avalon TV Studios, New Zealand
Image: TVNZ

And so it proved; they both behaved extremely well, politely answered my questions, but hardly set the audience on fire with their blazing disagreements or opinions. They didn't shout or come to blows and I didn't have to referee. It was polite, sanitised, and – let's face it – probably boring. Until we retired to the TV One Club after the show for a drink.

Continuing to chat over a pint I asked Pat Kelly how the disagreement had started and what his concerns were. He told me and I turned to the Federation's John Robertson and said, “That sounds like a genuine grievance to me…” to which he replied, ‘Yes it is, but…” and proceeded to put his side of the argument. “That makes sense to me,” I said to Pat, who agreed it did, except…

And so it went on like a tennis match until in the end they were metaphorically shaking hands over the net and in accord with each other so much that I said it seemed there was enough common ground to progress out of the stalemate. Result!

From that day on I began to properly interview people by listening to them, but I never again had such a golden opportunity to solve a union dispute. And, I don't think I interviewed anyone famous again either.

If only I could go back in time, I would do it all differently. But that's hindsight for you.

If you've enjoyed this, please check out my previous articles on famous people I've interviewed here:

Part One – Rowan Atkinson, Arthur Lowe

Part Two – Dave Allen, Barry Humphries, Jeffrey Archer

Part Three – Dr. David Bellamy, Douglas Adams, Mel Smith & Griff Rhys-Jones

Previously: Spike Milligan

The Good, the Bad and the Boring - Famous People I have Interviewed (Part One)

Rowan Atkinson. Image courtesy of BBC

Dave Allen was fabulous, Douglas Adams was gracious, Rowan Atkinson was charming, and Mel Smith was obnoxious. Arthur Lowe of Dad's Army was downright boring.

How do I know this? Because I interviewed them all and many others during my time hosting a regional news programme in New Zealand during the 1980s . 

(A note of caution: many of the famous people I interviewed are now dead, so if anyone suggests I should talk to you, run for the hills)

Before I spill the beans on some of the world's rich and famous, let me explain how I came to be in a position to meet these noters. In a nutshell, I had joined what was, back in the late 1970s, the BCNZ - the Broadcasting Corporation of New Zealand. I worked firstly in radio as an announcer with Radio New Zealand (RNZ), and after a couple of years moved into television (TVNZ) as a continuity announcer. 

In those days, as in the UK, TV announcers appeared on screen between the programmes to back-announce one programme and preview those coming up. We did this live on air, and wrote our own scripts. Quaintly, there were only women on the day shift and men on the evening shift. We males got the raw end of the deal as we were on duty till midnight.

Continuity announcing, like flying...

Live continuity announcing was like flying – long periods of boredom interrupted by moments of sheer terror. 

Being live on TV was tense, because usually you had only a minute or so to do your stuff between programmes, and then while the programmes themselves were playing you had nothing to do at all, except maybe chat to the Programme and Technical Directors, or read a book. Or of course watch television.

So it wasn't too long before I started looking for other opportunities, but first I had my first ever meeting with someone famous.

I was asked to interview Arthur Lowe, well known at the time for playing Captain Mainwaring in the enormously successful British comedy Dad’s Army.

He was visiting our studios for some reason, and one of the Programme Directors persuaded him to be interviewed on tape, for possible broadcast. It was a very last-minute arrangement, and all I had to go on by way of research was an old copy of the BBC’s Who’s Who on TV. The biographical information on Lowe was minimal, though it did mention he was interested in vintage steam boats.

So, Arthur Lowe and I are sat in one of the small presentation studios with a camera glaring at us, and I start asking him questions.

Yawn...

My first mistake was that I expected him to be funny, since he reduced everyone to tears in every episode of Dad’s Army. I was so wrong. 

Arthur Lowe was one of the dullest men I’ve ever met. I thought I would lead him onto the subject of vintage steam boats, and asked, ‘So what do you like to do in your spare time?” To which he replied with a shake of his head, ‘Oh I don’t have any spare time.' End of conversation.

We recorded a 15-minute interview, and when we reviewed it later (after Lowe had left) we found we couldn’t use any of it; he was just so incredibly boring. It was a big disappointment for me, but also an eye-opener, because I realised (many years later) that it was actually my fault. 

My problem was I was still wet behind the ears as far as interviewing was concerned, and very naïve. I'd expected him to be amusing, but in fact he was a comic actor, not a comedian. However, that shouldn’t have made him any less interesting. 

What I should have done was ask him why didn’t he have any spare time, was he a

workaholic, what other work did he do apart from Dad’s Army, how did this impact on his family life, and so on. Unfortunately I didn’t, and worse: it was a mistake I was to repeat with someone more famous later. But at the time the conclusion we reached was that Arthur Lowe was just dull.

The novelty of live continuity announcing wore off after 18 months or so, though I knew I loved the television medium, so when a vacancy for a news anchor role came up I applied, and after a successful audition and interview I got the job.

Good Evening and welcome to Today Tonight

Suddenly I was in a role that carried a lot more gravitas. I was a newsreader and interviewer, with the added bonus of being able to go into the field to record short features. And every evening, Monday through Friday, we the regional news team had to deliver live local news, between 6.40pm and 7.00pm, which I fronted. It was my first experience of working in a busy newsroom, and I loved it.

Perhaps the best part of the news anchor job though was the chance to interview some really famous people, either live in the studio or out 'in the field' on film (yes, it was 16mm film then, not video tape – that came later).

Every time someone famous came to town to do a show or similar we would get the chance to interview them. In the time I fronted Today Tonight – about four years – I met and interviewed stars as diverse as Barry Humphries (Dame Edna), Douglas Adams (Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy), scientist and astronomer Carl Sagan, French mime artist Marcel Marceau, the Botanic Man Dr. David Bellamy, comedians Mel Smith and Griff Rhys-Jones, Irish comedian Dave Allen (Yes, okay, I know he looks bored in the photo but he wasn't; I'm scintillating company, especially with a glass of wine in hand...) Great Dane Victor Borge, astronomer Sir Patrick Moore, the legendary Rowan Atkinson and the equally legendary Spike Milligan.

Dave Allen and I waiting while the crew set up

Bands such as Dire Straits and the Hollies joined the list along with some local Kiwi noters too, such as poet Sam Hunt, Prime Minister Rob Muldoon and property magnate Sir Bob Jones, among others.

Because the programme was only 20 minutes’ duration our interviews were, of necessity, short – usually no more than five minutes’ long. In the studio this meant being quite strict with timing, but in the field you could interview at length and then edit down afterwards. Thus it was my interview with Rowan Atkinson in the studio passed in a flash. I can’t now recall what we talked about, but he was very gracious. At that time he was known for his role in the British comedy Not The Nine O’clock News and had yet to assume the persona of Mr Bean or Blackadder.

Rowan Atkinson in Not The Nine O'clock News.
Image: Pinterest

Unlike Arthur Lowe, Atkinson was a joy to interview, even though what we talked about is lost in my ever-depleting neurons. But I do recall one of the intriguing things about Atkinson and that was that he had a stutter. 

Nothing major, nothing that would cause excruciating embarrassment where he just couldn’t get a word out, but I could recognise the technique he used to overcome it – sometimes by changing a word he was about to use, or taking a breath or pausing as though thinking (I know about these because I stuttered as a child and used the same coping mechanisms). And yet, when you watch him in Blackadder or Johnny English there isn’t the slightest hint of a stammer.

I too discovered that if the microphone was on, I never ever stuttered, but outside of the studio I would occasionally still have trouble with words. 

I saw this same suppressive effect in action with another TVNZ presenter of the 80s who hosted a live Sunday studio-based religious programme. Off-air he had quite an obvious stutter, but once that red light was on you would never ever know. I wonder why nobody has done a thesis on this.

Rowan Atkinson kindly autographed my script that evening before he left with then-girlfriend Lesley Ash (later to star in Men Behaving Badly and more). I pinned the script to the wall of the dressing room I used, from where it was later stolen. I think I know who did it, but no doubt he had an 'aleebee'.

Irish comic Dave Allen was another charmer, and I'll tell you more about meeting him and others in Part Two. Soon. Well, sometime soon; let's get the festive season out of the way first :-)

How I almost went to the moon with Spike Milligan

The problem with meeting one of your heroes is that they might just turn out not to be the idol you’d expected. Or that they are but you’re hopelessly ill-prepared for the encounter. In my case – in meeting and interviewing the great Spike Milligan – it was a bit of both.

Flashback to the mid-1980s when I was working as a regional TV newsreader in Wellington, New Zealand. I presented the news on Today Tonight every weekday evening following the national news, but also got to go out and about with film crews doing short features and, if not in the studio, interviewing visiting noters ‘in the field’ as the jargon has it. It was a great job.

Spike Milligan. I copied this image from the Internet
years ago but have no permission to use it.
If you own the rights please let me know

So one day we had the opportunity to interview the great Goon himself, Spike Milligan, who was in town for – as far as I can recall – no particular reason. His great ex-army pal Harry Edgington did, however, live just up the road and it was well known that whenever Spike was in New Zealand he would go and visit Harry, presumably to talk over old times, or listen to jazz records. Maybe he was just there for a catch-up.

Anyway, once we knew we could interview Spike we discussed in the newsroom how we should do it. Obviously we knew Milligan had a reputation for being a comic genius, but he was also known for suffering mood swings; anecdotally we’d heard he hated air conditioning and that it could affect his moods. So we decided to do a field interview, outdoors and well away from any aircon.

His agent and partner Sheilagh had told us Spike would be based at a house in Hobson Street, Thorndon and that we would be slotted into the interview schedule. We arrived in the crew van and ahead of us were Radio NZ and the local newspaper the Evening Post, but we were quite prepared to wait.

Sheilagh came out and asked what we’d like to do and I explained we’d prefer to take Spike just a hundred metres up or so the road and interview him in a leafy park area. She said she’d tell him and departed.

Spike on another park bench, without me.
(Spike Milligan memorial bench, garden of Stephen's House, Finchley
(Image: Wikimedia Commons)

We were feeling quite pleased with ourselves: an interview with the great Spike Milligan, in a park on a nice day where air conditioning wouldn’t be a problem. Perfect.

Suddenly here was the man himself, leaping energetically into our van through the open sliding door. ‘Hello folks!’ he said in his endearing Goonish manner. I introduced myself and the crew and then Spike, still in Goon mode, said, ‘So, what’s happening?’

I told him we’d like to nip up the road and interview him in Katherine Mansfield Park. His face clouded, the Goon disappeared, and he said, ‘Why does every fucker want to interview me in a park?’ So much for air conditioning being a problem.

My heart sank. I could hardly say, ‘Well, Spike it’s so we don’t set off a mood swing’, so I mumbled something about it being a nice day and if we were outside we wouldn’t have to use lighting so it would be quicker. He calmed down after that, and within minutes he and I were seated on a park bench while the cameraman and sound op set up.

I had with me a list of questions, but before the camera even rolled it was Milligan who was interviewing me. He wanted to know what I thought about the Elgin Marbles and whether they should be repatriated to Greece, and what my opinion was of sending men to the moon and “wasting all that money”.

From the cover of 'Monty: His Part in My Victory'
which Spike signed for me

To my shame I had at that time no idea what the Elgin Marbles were. I had a definite opinion about lunar exploration though, which we discussed for a short while. And then the camera and sound were ready and we roll-recorded, at which point I referred to my scripted questions and interviewed Spike Milligan.

To this day I can’t remember what my questions were. I recall Milligan responded well enough, but in hindsight I should have picked up on the nuances and followed the leads he’d given me while the crew was setting up. I should have thrown my script away and said, “Spike, as we were setting up you were asking whether the Elgin Marbles should be returned to Greece. Why? Is that something you’re passionate about?” and we could have had a meaningful discussion about one of the great comic’s many causes, something incisive, in-depth, interesting.

But I didn’t. I was a slave to my script and was guilty of the ultimate sin for an interviewer: not listening to your interviewee. Not long after that I realised that you don’t need a list of questions for an interview, you need only one – the first one – and providing you listen to the answer you can build on it from there.

One of my most treasured possessions

That’s not to say research isn’t important; it is, and it pays to know as much about your interviewee (we called them ‘talent” in those days!) as you can, but really an interview is nothing more than a conversation conducted on behalf of the viewer at home.

And so I did my duty as the programme host and Spike did his duty as the visiting talent. I think we parted friends (he willingly signed one of his Military Memoir books for me), but it could have been so much more interesting had I just been a bit more experienced. I feel I let him down, and I certainly let myself (and the viewers) down, and Spike himself didn’t get the chance to talk about what he was really interested in.

Spike, wherever you are now: yes I do think the Elgin Marbles should be returned, but no I disagree that space exploration is a waste of money. But, too late to discuss that now. Curses, foiled again.