TEN YEARS OF TEA ROUNDS
For the last ten years, I have spent a large amount of my time working in unscripted entertainment television. Unscripted is anything with a format as opposed to a fictional series arc: panel shows; quizzes; travelogues; documentaries about lawnmowers; primetime chat shows which transition wildly from a video about weight-lifting dogs to an interview with someone whose nephew has been decapitated in a helicopter accident.
I love it. It has taught me so much about storytelling, joke writing and the process of hiring Mr Blobby.
Of course, just because these shows are “unscripted”, doesn’t mean they aren’t densely written and structured. Indeed, in my decade working variously as Writer, Producer, and Nervous Person Who Makes Tea For Writers And Producers, I’ve observed a push towards heavier scripting and the inclusion of more and more segments per show. You will have noticed this as a viewer as well.
I’m not talking about the demand for a clear format. A simple format is one of the hardest things to create and is absolutely to be applauded. However, much of the magic in unscripted occurs when something unexpected happens, and we keep filming. This becomes harder to do when you’ve got a big whack of explanation to hit before and after every part of the show.
This change has taken place for complex reasons (especially in comedy), so I’m going to grossly oversimplify: it’s because channels have much less money than they did pre-2008. That means less room for risk, less time to muck about in the studio on the day and, crucially, fewer lines of coke for your commissioner.
FOR THE LOVE OF…
Therefore, it’s not surprising that this week I’ve become totally obsessed with a strange late night Channel 4 series from the 90s. The show is called For The Love Of…. and it is utterly captivating.
In it, a disarmingly sweet Jon Ronson moderates a conversation between six people who have a shared interest, for example: ghosts, celibacy, or Diana conspiracies. I say moderates, but aside from posing a few key questions to the group, our softest-of-boy-hosts barely intervenes.
At times the gently-gently approach is maddening. In one episode about Kabbalah, a confused man stumblingly misremembers the entire story of the Book of Job while a knowledgeable and eloquent Rabbi sitting opposite him becomes increasingly frustrated… for 10 minutes. In the EDIT! 10 MINUTES! IN THE EDIT!
Ronson listens thoughtfully throughout, like a kind friend at 4am who should really be putting you to bed rather than indulging the drunken anxiety spiral you’ve fallen into about whether you embarrassed yourself by telling everyone at the party about about your 90s cult TV crush (you did).
The thing is though, this presenting-style doesn’t feel disingenuous from Ronson. This format is so watchable for two reasons: the host genuinely respects the contributors, and the contributors are completely unselfconscious.
THE SHOW
Ronson’s journalism is all about listening, whether he’s spending time with extremists (Them), or talking to people who’ve been victims of life-ruining online pile-ons (So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed). He’s a great humaniser of people we want to vilify. For The Love Of… definitely shares a theme which runs through his work: uncynically allowing people to speak until they arrive at the undisguised truth of what they are saying.
Watching in 2023, where every moment of TV is required to be crammed with shiny analysis of What Just Happened, it is insanely compelling to watch a witty host…. let other people talk. Like a taciturn therapist, Ronson’s quiet observation means that guests are simply compelled to reveal deeper and deeper truths about themselves.
For a taste of the hosting, watch the opening of this episode. It begins with what I can only describe as a masterclass in delivering a piece to camera without having your introvert card revoked.
Then there are the guests.
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From the UK’s first consecrated virgin to a founder member of “The Ancient Tree Forum”, the contributors are eclectic and fascinating. But they’re also pretty much just normal people being asked to chat about something.
In today’s media landscape, this feels dangerous. It’s bizarre to see people talking in a relatively uninhibited way on TV; they’re obviously not worrying about being monstered online after the broadcast. If this show was made today, contributors would be speaking in the cagey legalese of a PR officer for a bank which has just been caught smothering kittens under a pile of money.
It’s thrilling to see people talk, how people talk.
Of course, the show isn’t perfect. From what I have seen, the series features mostly white panellists, which does undermine the (implicit) claim that it’s fairly representative of various interests in Britain. And you could say that it is, at times, interminable. But overall it is an exciting relic of a period where channels had a little more room for experimentation.
If you’re curious, the most 90s moment is when, in the Ghosts episode, a man is endlessly describing “the other side” and Jon audibly lights a cigarette out of frame:
CONCLUSION: THE BLACK LODGE
The studio is pretty consciously dressed to look like The Black Lodge in Twin Peaks: the big armchairs, the red drape behind the host, the utterly incomprensible conversations.
For The Love Of…. is itself a strange waiting room: a liminal space between produced reality we are used to seeing on TV, and a weird conversation down the pub. Like The Black Lodge it offers an odd reflection on everyday life, even if it’s one we are left to interpret ourselves. Which is what television at its best should do: let us listen to something we wouldn’t normally hear, and give us time to form our own thoughts about it. Also, 5 drapes are cheaper than a set.
Most of For the Love of…. is available on YouTube. Full disclosure: I did have a quick look for contemporary reviews because the show was probably considered fairly experimental when it went out. I couldn’t find much so, like all good journalists, I’m assuming I am the first and only person to have worthwhile thoughts about it. Do email me if you remember watching it at the time, or have seen any press about it.
And if this inspires you to indulge in a Jon Ronson binge, I’d recommend listening to So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed which is available for free as an abridged audiobook on BBC Sounds.
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