Television Commentator
By ROBERT HUDSON (ClELCOME to Twickenham "—with these words, designed to transport the viewer from his drawing- room to the very touchline itself, another Rugby match is launched on to thousands of television screens. For some time now I have helped to provide the commentary for these matches— as well as for some of the more solemn affairs enacted at Lord's and the Oval—and it may be that a glance behind the scenes, and at the problems of the commentator in particular, will be of interest.
Without the astonishing feats of the engineers nothing would happen at all—and, indeed, the fact that (just occasionally) nothing does happen is, as " Beachcomber " would say, "proof if proof were needed." The engineers are to be found housed in several large vans near the scene of the br,oadcast, peering at dials, adjusting knobs, erecting sky-scraping aerials, laying wires and, in general, behaving in a mysterious but quite indispensable manner. Follow one of the wires leading from the control van and you will arrive eventually at the commentators' lair, which at Twickenham is attached rather precariously to the front of the stand and has to be reached by means of a ladder. Inside are two fairly comfortable canvas chairs, two pairs of headphones, two microphones, a tele- vision set and a lot of wires. The television set is quite an ordinary one, and occasionally some clever technician has to stun the picture into immobility when it shows signs of agitation ; normally, however, it is a model of clarity and consistency and often the commentator can see the game more clearlx on the screen than on the field itself.
The television commentator, unlike his counterpart on sound radio, is not an entirely free agent. First, he wears headphones and is connected on a kind of " inter-corn " system to the control van from which the producer can speak to him and give him instructions, but whom he cannot answer back—although, at times, half-stifled expletives have come over the air to give the viewers cause for interesting speculation ; secondly, he is not free to describe the scene as he pleases, but must relate everything he says to the picture which is going out—hence the television set in front of him, and his slightly cross-eyed appearance. The cameramen also wear headphones and take their instructions from the producer. Unless told otherwise, they follow the ball with their cameras, which incidentally, at Twickenham, are all placed close together on the same side of the field as the commentators'. Each camera has a choice of four different lenses, and this gives the producer in his van a variety of pictures from which to select one for transmission.
But to return to the commentator, who by this time is engrossed in his task, with the game on the field in its fast and exciting early minutes, the television or " Monitor " set, as it is called, in animated life, the producer giving instructions over the "inter- com," and the crowd yelling its head off. Amid all this distraction he must contrive to tell the viewer what he wants to know. Above all things, he must not say the obvious. For instance, if a scrum is shown in close-up on the screen, the last thing he should say is, "Now, they are just getting down for a set scrum " ; a remark such as this will infuriate the most placid among his audience. On the other hand, the information that "this is the seventeenth scrum of the game" and that "so far, England have only hooked the ball twice" will interest the viewer and make him wonder whether this will prove to be the third time ; and if the commentator follows this by naming the two "hookers," a rather mundane scrum becomes suddenly a matter of moment. From every picture on the screen the commentator must quickly extract a point of interest ; in some cases, of course, he will just be giving a string of names as the ball is passed quickly from player to player in a combined movement. Here instantaneous recognition is essential, and, in achieving this, the numbers on the players' backs are a valuable aid, provided the commentator has taken pains to imprint them on his brain before the match. Personally, I find it essential to spend several hours doing this on the previous evening.
The diverse nature of the television audience provides other problems. Some of those watching will be experts, some novices, and others utterly ignorant of the game in question. All these must be catered for ; hence the occasional explanation of an elementary principle, which will infuriate the expert, or the criticism of a certain scrum formation, which may well baffle the novice. Usually the viewer will not know why the whistle has been blown, and must be quickly told. Also, in close-up shots, he will tend to lose his sense of geography, and should be constantly reminded by the commentatbr that, for instance, "the scrum is ten yards inside the Welsh half." Personal details about the players can be woven into the commentary when a particular individual is pro- minent in the picture. For instance, if " X " is about to throw the ball in from touch, it would be an apt moment to mention that he is usually a centre three-quarter and does not have to perform this duty ; thus, whEn the throw is crooked, the viewer will have been placed in a knowledgeable position. Obviously, however, when " X " is going full-tilt for the line, it would be inappropriate to recall that he is a dentist and lives at Ealing ; on the other hand, when he is lying prone on the ground after a heavy tackle, and is being coaxed back to life by the trainer, the information that he is getting married next day and that his bride is among the television audience, will make the viewer thoroughly sympathetic and conjure up interesting thoughts of " X " hobbling down the aisle.
An occasional forecast of what is about to happen is valuable. At times I have been lucky enough to predict that So-and-so would drop a goal, and once, at Lord's, Robertson was obligingly caught in the slips exactly as planned ; but fate dealt me an unkind blow at the Oval when I gave it as my opinion that nothing short of a miracle would remove that excellent but obdurate batsman, Harris, of Notts, whereupon he was bowled next ball.
On these broad principles the commentator must base his com- mentary. In addition, he should give the score at least every five minutes—an easy thing to forget and, if forgotten, infuriating to a late-coming viewer. He must also keep his voice fresh and interest- ing even when the play is dull (no easy job). He must, however, be careful not to introduce a note of false excitement; rather, if the play is dull, he should give a logical reason why this should be so, and not attempt to gloss over the fact. Finally, the thing for which a television commentator prays more than anything else is some untoward and amusing incident. Sometimes a stately policeman will oblige by kicking the ball majestically back on to the field or • a cat will earn the commentator's gratitude by stalking out to play with Denis Compton in the deep field, but best of all are the Welsh spectators at Twickenham who score spectacular tries with leeks before the game starts. All thil is excellent stuff for television and enables the commentator to share the fun with his audience—and indeed I believe that, on his ability to exploit the intimate nature of the medium in this way, he will stand or fall.
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