Capturing charisma

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 13/03/2010 (5684 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

DON’T tell Blair Reekie about your fabulous new house, your way with disobedient dogs or your hipster hang­out  of a tattoo parlour.

He’s heard them all, and he won’t give you a TV series to flaunt your fabulous life to the world.

"Every day, I turn down ideas," says Blair Reekie, president of The Eyes, a Vancouver production company that makes documentary and lifestyle shows, such as Makeover Wish, Animal Miracles, Bulging Brides and The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp.

"People come to me with stories like, ‘I’m going to build the city’s most expensive house. I’m opening a new restaurant. I train dogs and I’m as good as the Dog Whisperer.’"

If there’s any formula for getting a story on the air, it’s rooted in character, says Reekie.

 

The program’s central characters must be at the top of their fields (authors or professionals); they’re wild, super-outgoing characters in action-packed jobs, surrounded by difficult or equally wild characters. Think Gene Simmons, the Kardashians, the Osbornes, the women of Real Housewives of Orange County/New Jersey/New York/Atlanta.

When reality-based TV scores, the rewards are enormous. A successful format will be relatively cheap to produce in proportion to the number of hours of broadcasting it can fill, it will pull in hordes of young, advertiser-friendly viewers, and the press coverage will be immense.

One hopes the colourful, outgoing characters are willing to emote for the camera, and ready to learn from the experience and show their transformation.

And as these shows become more popular, and more numerous, producers’ jobs become that much more difficult.

To tell a reality-based story, producers take advantage of leaking boundaries of the genre, says producer David Paperny, the namesake behind the Vancouver-based Paperny films.

"I think we get confused about what a reality show is and what it isn’t. For some of us, it’s a dirty word. It comes down to exploitation, humiliation, sensationalism. Not all reality shows do that, or are based on having to embarrass or manipulate the subject."

Paperny’s reputation as a filmmaker took hold in the early 1990s, when he followed the emotional and physical journey of the eloquent, thoughtful and HIV-positive Dr. Peter Jepson-Young, for 111 episodes. The series was eventually purchased in the U.S., netting Paperny Productions an Academy Award nomination.

His production team has gone on to produce Kink, a three-city series showcasing sexual adventures, and Crash Test Mommy, testing childless critics on their own parenting skills. It has also won audiences with The Week the Women Went, a series that tests the domestic powers of small-town men who must care for their families when every woman leaves town for a week.

Just don’t call it reality television.

That phrase would get the producers of the shows Canadians watch every day in big trouble — from The Week the Women Went and The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp to decor and renovation shows on HGTV.

People who watch Canadian reality TV are watching lifestyle shows, documentaries and "docu-soaps."

Unlike the U.S., where a good idea can quickly gain a critical mass of viewers, getting a show off the ground in Canada requires a little startup help.

Funding up front comes via the Canadian Television Fund, and the CTF won’t throw its financial support at just anything that falls into the category of reality television.

The CTF’s guidelines offer complicated definitions of the content required in a show before it’s eligible for funding.

A show will be passed over if it’s based on a contrived setup, can be considered a "how to," or if its characters don’t reappear in each episode. However, programs such as documentaries and docu-soaps, if they’re based on research, have recurring characters and present some reflection of history, or the past, may qualify for funding.

However, it gets even more complex: If otherwise eligible programs contain elements that would make them ineligible, they still could get past the CTF’s funding post.

"To some of us, there’s a blurred line between reality and drama," says Paperny. "When does a docu-soap become a reality-TV series?"

Whatever the entertainment value of reality-based TV, it comes through the nearly inevitable discomfort and tension among the main characters.

A series about hairdressers or young model-wannabes or harried mothers or single women looking for love, is usually, at its heart, not about hairdressers or young models, mothers or single women at all.

And though viewers may initially be attracted to the context — the fashion or beauty industry or the dating scene — we’re attracted to the tense relationships in the drama.

It’s not hard to find those who want in, says Paperny. But it’s much more difficult to find people who are suited to good television.

All too often, the subject who seems perfect at first turns out to be too media-savvy, too careful or too cynical. He turns out to be too self-conscious, too shy, or too busy to allow camera crews into his life.

"One thing that people don’t realize is that a great TV series, even though it looks simple once you see it on air, is really hard to cast. It’s not easy to find someone who has an interesting life and is able to explore it on camera," he says.

Reekie says that’s one of the biggest challenges of his job. Powerful people with colourful, influential jobs can make for boring TV.

"On paper, you think, ‘Wow, they’re really successful, at the top of top of their field, perfect."

Then reality sets in, so to speak.

"Very often you ride along with them for one day or two days, and you see that what a lot of successful people do every day is dry and arduous, and there’s not a lot of ‘Eureka!’ moments."

— Canwest News Service