I see that Tony Blair, obviously de-mob happy, has launched an assault on the media, calling them a pack of feral animals, or some such. The fact that he was guiltier than most of news management and the curse of the sound-bite does not alter the fact that he’s damned right. If politicians had any guts they would not give a fig for the newspapers, because no-one with any intelligence takes any notice of them. (Aye, there’s the rub).
I have often criticised the media, both TV and newspapers, but the comedy show Broken News did it best. They hardly needed to exaggerate to lampoon the relentless trivialisation and sensationalism that we have to suffer when all we want is a briefing on the day’s important events.
It’s a salutary lesson to satirists, unfortunately, that such programmes have no effect. Producers, presenters and reporters continue blithely churning out superficial material, mixing news and comment, begging questions and constantly taking the adolescent attitude that the only way to show independence is criticism and carping.
Why does TV news have to have two presenters, pronouncing one sentence each, the authoritative elder man and the adoring bimbo – look at camera, look at partner, look at notes, speak . . . and again.
Why did something happen ‘back’ in 2006. Why is the Gordon Brown ‘down’ in Devon today or ‘up’ in Scotland, and if I want more information, why is it ‘over’ on BBC2, or obtainable by pressing ‘that’ red button. We don’t have mothers; we have ‘mums’, whose babies ‘weigh in’ at ‘just’ five pounds. Snooker players ‘crash out’ of the World Championship or win it at the ‘first time of asking’. And so on.
But what has been amused irritation became such anger yesterday that I stormed out the house and slammed the door.
I was watching ITV’s Six O’clock News. I should have known better. Even Mark Austin’s ill-fitting suits annoy me and why the hell can’t Mary Nightingale stop walking about? The lead story was, as it should be, the murder of PC John Terry. A simple statement of the facts would have been adequate, but instead we ‘go over to our reporter in Luton,’ who delivers a clutch of clichés designed to end in the words ‘a broken family’, so that – bang – they can appear on the screen as a title: A BROKEN FAMILY. And then there are ten minutes of flowers and widow’s tears. Who advised that poor woman to appear at a press conference just hours after her husband’s death? To these media ghouls, it’s just another story, for all their cant about human interest and the public’s right to know.
Bugger the public.
I have often criticised the media, both TV and newspapers, but the comedy show Broken News did it best. They hardly needed to exaggerate to lampoon the relentless trivialisation and sensationalism that we have to suffer when all we want is a briefing on the day’s important events.
It’s a salutary lesson to satirists, unfortunately, that such programmes have no effect. Producers, presenters and reporters continue blithely churning out superficial material, mixing news and comment, begging questions and constantly taking the adolescent attitude that the only way to show independence is criticism and carping.
Why does TV news have to have two presenters, pronouncing one sentence each, the authoritative elder man and the adoring bimbo – look at camera, look at partner, look at notes, speak . . . and again.
Why did something happen ‘back’ in 2006. Why is the Gordon Brown ‘down’ in Devon today or ‘up’ in Scotland, and if I want more information, why is it ‘over’ on BBC2, or obtainable by pressing ‘that’ red button. We don’t have mothers; we have ‘mums’, whose babies ‘weigh in’ at ‘just’ five pounds. Snooker players ‘crash out’ of the World Championship or win it at the ‘first time of asking’. And so on.
But what has been amused irritation became such anger yesterday that I stormed out the house and slammed the door.
I was watching ITV’s Six O’clock News. I should have known better. Even Mark Austin’s ill-fitting suits annoy me and why the hell can’t Mary Nightingale stop walking about? The lead story was, as it should be, the murder of PC John Terry. A simple statement of the facts would have been adequate, but instead we ‘go over to our reporter in Luton,’ who delivers a clutch of clichés designed to end in the words ‘a broken family’, so that – bang – they can appear on the screen as a title: A BROKEN FAMILY. And then there are ten minutes of flowers and widow’s tears. Who advised that poor woman to appear at a press conference just hours after her husband’s death? To these media ghouls, it’s just another story, for all their cant about human interest and the public’s right to know.
Bugger the public.
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