PRESENT TENSE:There is something discomforting about how misery is handled and exploited on prime-time TV
WHEN THEY'RE planning The Late Late Showeach week, the producers must have a bit on their wallchart blocked off as the "trauma slot". It is a weekly staple.
The audience expect this moment when the studio goes so quiet that a cough in the back row would shatter the mood. It’s the weekly half hour when the emotion is turned up to 11 but the atmosphere is so quietened that you can hear the dust clattering against the studio’s lighting rig. When Tubridy says “I know this must be hard for you” but asks the question anyway.
On last week’s show that moment came early. Andrew Cowles, the late Stephen Gately’s husband, was a guest, but his reaction to the “I know this must be hard for you” question was not to take a deep breath and delve deeper into his pain but to challenge the very idea that he should be expected to do that. The result was so excruciating that your eyes remained glued to the set even as the rest of your body wanted to jump behind the sofa.
The conversation for the most part had been gentle and sweet, with Cowles articulate talking about how much he and Gately had loved each other.
In a moment of controlled impatience, however, Tubridy shifted down a gear. “Can I bring you to the difficult events of October 10th last . . .” Cowles, it turned out, wasn’t plugged into this convention of Ireland’s most watched television show, and was disinclined to revisit that night.
Tubridy’s prodding only elicited from Cowles a reaction that mixed upset with articulate bewilderment.
Tubridy said: “I don’t want to push you, and I refuse to push you because this is extraordinarily raw for you, and you are not somebody who does television appearances, so I don’t want to upset you unnecessarily.”
“No,” replied Cowles, “but even somebody who does television appearances shouldn’t have to answer questions about finding their partner, the details of it.”
Chat shows are exploitative. The broadcaster needs the guest to deliver a performance that will drive ratings; the guest is either selling or publicising something. Cowles was there to sell Gately’s book, and by turning up only a few months after his partner’s death he was jumping on a publicity trail that brings with it an expectation that he will portion out his story – and his grief – in appealing chunks.
And there were questions he was not asked – such as about his current relationship with Gately’s family, a topic that has been in the papers over the past fortnight. Perhaps there was some discussion about boundaries before the show – PR people often lay them out for journalists – but Tubridy seemed to have overstepped them, as far as Cowles was concerned.
It was a deeply uncomfortable moment, challenging the right of a television chat show to appropriate the minutiae of someone else’s heartache. But tragedy, as our bookshelves will confirm, is a commodity in this country. The deeper the well of suffering, the more we want to dig.
The Late Late Showhas long known this, and Tubridy – in common with previous hosts – is having to become quite expert at turning a chat into a storytelling session. It very often relies on suspense, introducing people without much context, then gradually revealing their reason for being there.
The Late Late Showis obsessed with ratings: in building them and keeping them. Guests' stories – light-hearted anecdotes or heartbreaking personal tales – are essential to that.
So if a person or a couple comes on with a sad story, it will be treated as a mini novel, its twists held back, its rhythms well timed, so that the viewer is gripped not simply by the person but also by the manner in which the story unfolds.
The unfortunate consequence is that some guests can be treated as downbeat party tricks, unveiling their sadness slowly. This plugs into whatever element of the Irish psyche that has been so attracted to “misery lit”.
And at times it has value as illuminating, moving and even helpful television. But there is something discomforting about how it is handled or exploited on prime-time TV: that we are encouraged to dwell on the most traumatic of details, which are teased out for us to feed on, to satisfy our emotional appetite.
It is only when someone asks why we are so hungry for it in the first place that we realise it may be for greed rather than need.
shegarty@irishtimes.com