Shooting for Borat

Back in July of 2005, I publicized my love for a certain journalist from Kazakhstan - to which many of you said, "Who?" ... What a difference a year and a half makes. Now, you can't pick up a grocery list without seeing a picture of Sacha Baron Cohen's offensive correspondent staring back at you from behind one seriously obscene moustache. Borat, it seems, has arrived. Of course, those with HBO have known about British comedian Cohen's twisted brilliance for years now - his Da Ali G Show has been splitting sides and confounding sensibilities ever since he got too popular in the U.K. to pull off his pioneering schtick. Now that Borat's dominating domestic multiplexes, his cover in the states is blown as well. But I didn't log in to extoll the virtues of this comic daredevil; I came to talk about his photog.

Now, I haven't a clue as to shoots for Borat - be it his TV show or currently ubiquitous 'movie-film'. But I do know a thing or three about TV cameras and the weirdly hypnotic effect they have on some people. Though I've never accompanied such a reckless satirist as Cohen into the Great Unknown, I have escorted most every personality type into situations both somber and silly. Along the way, I've had more than one interviewee cut glances my way, as if to say "Is this for real?". Sadly, it has been and I've had to feign credulousness long enough for my partner to stop asking any number of inane questions. What it must be like to bite your lip and keep rolling while this badly-accented goofball utters the most God-awful things to gladhanding tight-asses, I. Simply. Cannot. Imagine. So, here's hoping some enterprising entertainment reporter will profile the brave folks who make up Borat's camera crew. Until then I offer these anonymous souls a respectful Dip of the Lens - or as Ali G himself would say, "BOOYAKASHA!"

Ten Things I'd Teach New Reporters

Purloined from The Lenslinger Institute, the Top Ten Things I’d teach at the New Reporter Academy - none of which applies to the fine journamalists I currently toil beside.

1. Write To Your Video!

I know it seems remedial, but this prime directive can befuddle the glossiest of correspondents. Just ask any photog whose jugular throbbed as he tried to stretch three shots of some bit player over a minute and a half of impromptu profile. Scour every second of that fresh footage, embrace its rhythms and fill in the gaps and every the surly burn-out at the end of the hall will want to work with you.

2. Have A Plan

I can set up stories at 70 miles per hour while fondling a dollar menu cheeseburger . Imagine what you can do from the comparative luxury of stationary news cubicle. Make some calls. Hey, I’m not above the occasional cold-call or drive-by - but don’t ask me to circle the block nine times while you try and decide which Cadillac belongs to the city manager . In short, don’t waste my time. I ain’t got a lot of it.

(2.5) The Story Is Not You

This is TV news we’re talking about; reporters shouldn’t be invisible. But if you find yourself knocking the little sick kid off his pogo stick so you can bounce and twinkle on-cue - then you Sir or Ma’am have bum-rushed the wrong spotlight. Don’t fret though, we got lots like you. A little time out in the field and we can beat the drama-queen out of you. Otherwise, look into Entertainment News or Reality Television. But be warned: It’s a long line and the conversation is mind-numbing.

3. Try Not to Over Explain Things

You’re putting a microphone on someone’s lapel, not shoving them through an MRI tunnel. That little speech you like to give about ‘don’t be nervous just because we’re attaching this piece of audio recording equipment to your person’ achieves the exact opposite. Try this instead: Engage them in polite conversation during set-up, then start in with the questions once you know I’m rolling. No one need yell ’Action!’ (Yes, it happened once).

4. DON’T Touch the Radio

File this one under professional courtesy. See, that news unit you’re primping in is your partner’s office. He (or she) knows its every content by heart and has probably already driven the damn thing to the moon and back. Thus, the lowly car radio is an intimate part of the photog’s psyche - it’s probably the only non-logo’d gizmo he has complete dominion over. So don’t jump in and twists its knobs to the new hip-hop station - especially if your driver’s sportin’ Dead Head stickers on his windshield.

5. DO Touch the Tripod

Hey, here’s a contraption your more than welcome to fiddle with - it’s the lowly tripod, that three legged beast that refuses to walk on its own power. Dragging it along will do wonders for your video and chances are your photog will be more than happy to leave you in charge of it. So hoist that baby on your designer-clad shoulder and try to keep up. Just don’t complain. Your partner has easily schlepped that and more up steep gravel driveways and through revolving doors and has yet to bitch about breaking a nail.

6. Mind the Nats (SHUT-UP!)

You know that little black tubular thing hanging off your partner’s camera? It’s a microphone! It records sound - long after you finish your prophetic stand-ups. With that in mind - put a sock in it, wouldya? Natural sound can often drive the drama of a piece, interview subjects will spout out the greatest sound-bites known to man once they’re up and moving. But we can’t use any of this impromptu theater if you’re yammering on about prep school or your famous husband! So do whatever it takes to remain mum for awhile. Remember, there’s duct tape in the car.

7. M-0-S’s - Curse of the Weak

Man on the Street Interviews. Producers love ‘em - mostly because they’ve never had to loiter outside a Wal-Mart and pepper strangers with obtuse questions. Still, they’re a necessary evil in broadcast news - so learn to do them well. Easy in, Easy out, no one gets hurt. As much as we hate them, they can spice up a narrative. Just don’t get carried away. If your nightly pieces each contain forty-five seconds of some yak in a parking lot scratching his head - you ain’t tryin’ hard enough and everyone knows it.

8. Be Nice!

Maybe it’s just the Southerner in me, but I’m a big believer in manners. Remember, a wireless microphone and perfect teeth don’t make you any better than the people at home. It is, after all, their town, their trends, their TV’s. Run roughshod over their sensibilities and you’ll find yourself getting less respect, fewer insider tips and worst of all you’ll incur the wrath of the photog staff - who probably plan on living here long after you’ve ridden an escape-tape out of town. Remember, no one likes a pompous ass - not even the ass himself.

9. Know When to Blend

The greatest story-tellers I’ve ever worked with were gifted with invisibility. Okay, so maybe they never achieved total transparency, but they all knew how to ratchet down their personalities long enough to let their subjects of their stories take center-stage. They also possessed a certain chameleon-like quality, an ingrained ability to reflect the room around them. This comes in handy whether you’re visiting grieving hill-folk, lecherous politicos or senile witnesses. You know - like last Wednesday. Or the day before that. Or the day…you get the idea.

10. Write To Your Video!

So important, I had to include it twice. Why - because no matter where you ate lunch or who you gossiped about in the car, telling the best story possible is your Prime Directive. Your partner thinks so - otherwise he wouldn’t have bullied those three grannies out of the fast lane to get you back in time. Use those well-earned minutes to craft your oh-0-important words around the sights and sounds they brought back. Do this well and every photog in the building will have your back. Slather some crap on a page with little thought to the footage it will adorn and screams of anguish and doom will ring out from the edit bay. Quickly, shooters will wiggle out of working with you and curse your very name. Some of us may even post thinly-veiled diatribes on our personal blogs - and who’d want THAT?

Daughtry Drops By

Before I left to rendezvous with the hillbilly, a smoldering bald rocker rolled through the station's double door. Enter Chris Daughtry - sans entourage, just him in a hoodie. I was waiting for him in the lobby with a camera on my shoulder, a stiff yellow cable in tow. I backpedaled as Chris strode down the hall toward the green room, and he cut me a questioning look. 'We're On The Air' I stage whispered, even though there was no audio being transmitted from my camera. Chris eyes widened and he nodded. I then wanted to blink some kind of morse-code message at him, warn him that a building full of seasoned local TV pros were giggling with anticipation and wanted nothing more than to swoop down upon him with hearty back-slaps and enthusiastic high fives. Instead, I backed into a lightstand and almost made the angst-filled vocalist shoot bottled water out of his nose. There's never a shortage of humiliation when you're a shooter.

Later I tried to redeem myself, shooting handheld footage as Chris and his band tore through a stripped down version of his upcoming single, "It's Not Over". Truthbetold, we weren't expecting the band. When the young hipster musicians began showing up we scrambled for microphones and stools as the second hand ticked toward showtime. When the stoked and steady hand of the morning director took our shot, the edges of the studio were filled with curious coworkers. When Chris' last turbo-note faded, applause broke out and I unplugged my camera. Outside, Unit 4 sat trip-laden and late for the road. I meant to say later to the local boy gone global, but giddy cohorts enveloped him in a sea of adulation. To his credit, he stuck it out, posing for pictures, taking calls and from the looks of this photo, fullfilling his longheld ambition of doing mid-morning weather.

I guess dreams really do come true...

Spot News Apocalypse

While I hunched over my newsroom computer last Wednesday, Eastern Guilford High School burned all around me. Harried coworkers bustled back and forth, barking sentence fragments like soldiers under fire as telephones exploded on evey desk. On the cavernous room's many monitors, flickering images of a smoke plume atop a red brick building signaled conditions at The Front. Four of the screens blared audio as well, a mishmash of excited colleagues - panting voices of people I know, postulating on an event I still didn't quite believe. It was getting hard to focus on the forgettable words before me. But hammer on I did, knowing the minute-fifteen script I was whittling on would probably never air. Not with a fireball swallowing a public school on live television.

For awhile I was giddy not to be there. A fire of that size demands a full-metal racket - wall to wall team smotherage that doesn't come without a few new battle scars. I've stormed that hill a time or ten and no doubt will again, but not today. With a fluff piece in the can and gear to pack for my Nashville sortie, I was initially tickled to loiter at The Rear. But as the compelling pictures poured in I found myself fidgeting in my news cube. History was goin' down a few miles away and I wasn't there to smell it. Foot soldiers like me hate when that happens. So I hunkered low and waited for the hit that never came.

Instead, I watched an awful lot of co-workers and combatants at the top of their game. From the first plume of smoke to the eventual conflagration, lenses twisted and microphones poked, creating a teeming stream of sight sound and data that captivates the audience like no other media can. Breaking news on live television news ain't art, but neither is it visual vandalism. Rather, it's rich with iconic imagery, from the fiery gutting of a public school to the titters and tears of the student body watching. In the end, I was okay with watching this one from afar, but only because my peers provided such a truly bracing view. Can't wait to hear their war stories...

In The Studio

I was gonna hold off telling you why I dashed to Nashville, but a certain giggling hick's rabid fansite figured it out: I went to see Bucky. Covington, that is - former American Idol Contestant, fellow Carolina Boy and official Friend of the Show. I found him in a recording booth outside Music City, slathering swamp grease vocals all over his post-Idol polish. He and his hosts - the fellas from Sawyer Brown - were perfect video specimens, ignoring me completely as my lens and I skulked about their swanky digs. While they twiddled knobs and laid down tracks, I moved around like an assassin and tried not to tap my foot. It was tough, though - as the song being built around me was both highly approachable and surprisingly potent. (Think young Charlie Daniels channeling Axl Rose...if you can.) My bosses ask that I not say much more before our series piece airs and since on their stipend I rely, I'll happily comply. Coming Thursday: Quotes, photos, video links and enough southern fried charm to choke a Possum Queen. For now though, Bucky Fans - scrawl down these two words: Empty-Handed.

Mad Dash to Music City

I knew I should have taken a left at Albuquerque...