Working as a researcher is different from any other television job in one very important way: researchers help create things for the other people to do. If you’re on cameras or sound – or a floor manager on a studio-based show – you come on board once the programme has been shaped and the scripts have been written; it’s your job to bring the programme to life. But a researcher starts with a blank page. For this reason alone, working as a researcher is thrilling and terrifying, in equal measures.

I remember when the enormity of this concept dawned on me. I was a baby researcher on a Yorkshire Television regional programme called Calendar Calling. It was a great show in its day: we would go to some village in the middle of nowhere, and capture the eccentricities of the community in a glorious half-hour of local programming. For reasons I never quite understood, we didn’t just take a film crew, we took an entire outside broadcast unit. An OB unit is really quite something to behold, and back then it was like an army rolling into town: three enormous trucks, scores of riggers and electricians and props people, six camera operators, boom operators, and van-loads of other people who seemed to have important things to do.

I had set up for us to shoot a ‘well-dressing’ ceremony in a sweet little Derbyshire village – roses round the doors, thatched roofs, tiny twisting lanes – where, once a year, everyone in the village would get together to decorate the village well in flowers; hence ‘well-dressing’. (I seem to remember it was a thank-you ceremony, because the well had saved villagers from the plague 400 years earlier. Or something like that.)

Fast forward to early morning on the day of the shoot. I’m standing in the buttery sunshine of the village square, listening to birdsong and watching the villagers at work, congratulating myself on the lovely programme we’re about to make. Then the OB unit rolls in. Truck after truck. Van after van. Cables everywhere. Mess. Noise. Broken paving slabs.

One by one, the villagers dropped their floral tributes and stared, astonished at the circus unfolding in front of them. And I thought: ‘I am responsible for this.’ It was a salutary moment.

Try to hold that thought, because later on in this chapter we’ll look at the responsibility of programme makers: how to treat people, and how to do your job without causing good people distress, damage or any other sort of upset. But first, let’s consider the other big difference between working as a researcher and doing any other television job. Camera operators, sound recordists, editors, PAs and floor managers are all trained before they’re expected to be able to do the job. But most researchers get thrown right in at the deep end, where they either sink or swim. Here’s a guide to staying afloat – a look at the things you may be expected to do when your get your first job as a researcher.

PRE-PRODUCTION

Having ideas

Whatever research job you get you’ll be expected to contribute ideas, and by their worth shall you be judged. Producers just love researchers with ideas. People who don’t work in television always ask: ‘Where do ideas come from?’. A friend of mine tells them they come from a special book.

But here’s the secret of where ideas really come from – from everywhere. They’re all around you: on the television or radio, in newspapers and magazines, on advertising hoardings, in the music charts, in books, and in the conversations you have with your friends. Starting from now, you need to train yourself to look for ideas that will be talking points, because that’s what makes a good story – one that’s worth repeating. Be open to new experiences, and think about things that are happening in the world. Good ideas come to people who ask questions like: ‘How does that work?’, ‘Why does that happen?’, and ‘How do they do that?’.

Keeping an ideas file

I’m going to pass onto you the best bit of advice I was ever given on how to have ideas: keep an ‘ideas file’. All good producers and researchers have one. Some keep notes of carefully thought-out ideas and lists of contact numbers, others have an old dog-eared folder stuffed with cuttings ripped from newspapers and magazines. However you do it, just do it. Then, every time you start on a new project, trawl the ideas file to see if there’s anything pertinent.

Sometimes, the best ideas come from the synergy of a production meeting, when everyone gets together to pitch in thoughts. At times like this, don’t just sit there, say something! Researchers who say nothing at meetings are generally mistrusted: colleagues think that they’ve got nothing to say because they’re a bit dim. Or even worse, that they’re being precious with their ideas, jealously guarding them to use at a later time. Always be generous with your ideas. There are plenty more where they came from, and the truth is that the more ideas you give away, the more you’ll have. Besides, an idea shared is an idea improved, and the more people who have ownership of an idea, the better. Say you’re at a meeting to come up with ideas for a new sports show. One person says: ‘How about an item on skate-boarding, it’s getting big again?’. Someone else says: ‘I read a piece about people who’re using big kites to pull the skateboards.’ A third person chips in: ‘I read that too, it was Bristol, wasn’t it?’ Someone else says: ‘We could set up a record attempt – the biggest kite ever to pull a skateboard, or biggest number of skateboarders to be pulled by kites. Bristol Downs would be a good location.’ And so on ...

So who has ownership of that idea? It was a team effort, and that’s a good thing because it means that everyone on the team is behind the idea. But if you were the researcher who made the first suggestion, you could be extra proud of yourself – you sparked a good discussion, which produced a good story.

Getting passionate

There’s one more tip about having ideas, which may seem blindingly obvious, but I’m going to say it anyway: know and love your subject. May you always work on programmes dealing with something that you’re passionate about. It’s so much easier to come up with great ideas when you know your subject inside out. You may be lucky, and sail through your career working only on programmes that delight you. But more than likely, you’ll have to research subjects that definitely do not float your boat. There’s only one thing to do in this situation: make yourself passionate! I can think of at least a couple of times when I’ve researched subjects that I didn’t find the least bit interesting (for the record, they were farming and computers). So I did what I had to do – I immersed myself completely. For the farming programme I got up at dawn every day to listen to the early morning farming show on the radio. I subscribed to Farmer’s Weekly. I made friends with the local farmers’ union representative, and visited farms and cattle markets. And do you know what – I loved it! Soon, I found farming just the most fascinating thing ever (I still can’t get excited about computers, though ...).

How to tell if your idea is any good

Eventually your idea detector will become so finely tuned that you’ll be able to sniff out a good one at 20 paces. But until then, here’s a surefire way to tell if your idea for a story, or a programme, or a series, is a good one: ask yourself, does it stand up to the Vest Test? Nothing to do with old-fashioned underwear; it’s a simple four-part test to tell if your idea has legs.

• ‘V for Visual: Imagine your idea in pictures – what will it look like? This may sound like an obvious thing to do – television being a visual medium – but you’d be surprised how many people get carried away with an idea without thinking through the visuals. Try to think what locations you’d need to tell the story, and what the action would look like. If there’s an interviewee, think what she could be doing while she’s talking. The best story in the world won’t work on television unless you have something interesting for viewers to look at.
• ‘E’ for Emotion: Will your idea provoke an emotion – any emotion: fear, sadness, excitement, happiness, compassion, envy, wonder, recognition? A good story or programme should make you feel something. Envy, in the best sense of the word, can make for excellent programming (‘Oooh, I would love that car, or that dress, or that house or that holiday ...’). Happy television is always watchable: comedy stirs the senses and makes you feel good, and everyone loves the glow you get from a happy ending. Fear, sadness and excitement keep you glued to the screen, to find out what happens next. Recognition makes you feel involved because it has a resonance of your own life: it provokes a kind of ‘yes, I feel like that too’, or ‘worry that will happen to me’ sort of feeling.
• ‘S’ for Surprise: Programmes with the ‘gee whiz, I never knew that!’ factor are always good. We all love to be told exciting stories about why things are and how things work. It needn’t be a completely original thought (television has few of those), but it’s a good story if it tells you something unexpected, in an unexpected way.
• ‘T for Topical: If it’s in the news, it’s at the front of people’s minds, and therefore it’s a subject that will get people talking. Lots of television programmes – from consumer shows to daytime programmes, to children’s magazine shows – feed on topical ideas: the unseasonable weather; the split of a girl band; or a new movie release that’s causing controversy. Topical is just another word for gossip, and everyone loves gossip. In TV news a ‘good story’ is deemed to be one that everyone will be talking about down the pub that night. In children’s programmes, a good story is one that all the kids will be talking about in the playground next day. Do you see a theme developing?

If your idea has a V, an E, an S or a T, it has a good chance of working. If it has all four, you’re a genius.

Budgets

There is one more thing to talk about before we leave the subject of ideas, and that’s the horrible reality of budgets. As a researcher, you won’t be in charge of a programme budget, but it’s everyone’s responsibility to make sure there are no drastic overspends, so your ideas should be practical. The basic rule is, beware of actors, archive, movies and music, and not necessarily in that order. Once you enter the territory of copyright and contracts, you’re in a dangerous minefield, and you could end up horribly maimed, with your budget blown to smithereens. And the producer will hate you. In a perfect world, all your ideas will be brilliant and cheap, but if you do need to dabble in the above, check out Chapter 8 for detailed information on copyright and other tricky stuff.

Setting up stories

Finding contributors and locations is called ‘setting up’ a story. If you love the thrill of the chase, you’ll have a lot of fun doing this part of the job. It’s a bit like being a detective: there’s lots of finding-out and tracking-down to do, and you must be thorough and dogged in your approach. It’s important to get as much right at this stage as possible. This is cheap time, because it just involves you – once you get a crew or editor involved, you’re into premium time. Mistakes made during the setting-up process will need to be sorted during the shoot, or in post-production. This will cost the production money, and ruin your reputation. And as we’ve already established, producers don’t like researchers who cost them extra money.

Finding people and places

The internet is a fantastic research tool. If you’re looking for an expert, or a good quote, Google (or a similar search engine) is a great place to start. But there are two problems with internet research. First, you’ll be overwhelmed with information. Say you’re looking for a child psychologist. Type ‘child psychology’ in the search box, and watch what happens: thousands of results. You could spend the next three days trawling through the information, and still not find what you’re looking for. Much better, then, to locate the homepage for the British Psychological Society – phone them, and ask their press liaison person for some recommendations. It’s always better to talk to a real, live human being. All universities and most organisations have a homepage, complete with a list of contact numbers. Online magazines are a good resource: make friends with the editor, and you might get access to his specialist knowledge as well as his contacts book.

The second problem with the internet is its democratic nature – anyone can publish anything, so your search will bring up academic papers as well as wild conspiracy theories. Always check every piece of information you download. Remember, the internet is only a tool, and like all tools, you have to know how to use it.

Stage one

Let’s take an example of a story that was set up using the internet – remember that rodeo story I told you about in Chapter 1, The Story of a Shoot? I was looking for some very specific things:

• A family who lived within a couple of hours’ drive of New Orleans, who were nuts about rodeo.
• The children had to be the right age for our audience to identify with (10-17).
• The location had to look good, and also be a safe environment for the presenter to learn rodeo skills.
• Finally, we had to be satisfied that the animals were loved and well-cared for.

So, how would you go about finding this mythical family? The first thing to do is to search the net, because it’s a cheap way to do research. I typed in ‘Louisiana Rodeo’, and eventually ended up at a home page run by a bunch of rodeo kids down in the far south-west of Louisiana. And hallelujah, there was an e-mail address. I became cyber-pen-pals with a teenage girl, who gave me her dad’s e-mail address at work – he organised rodeos all over the state. I told him what I was looking for and he said he’d help. But he went quiet for too long, so I had to put stage two into action, and spend some money.

Stage two

Stage two involved going to the library and asking for help. I was working for Yorkshire Television at the time, and they have the most marvellous library. (A note about libraries: if you’re working for one of the big network companies, or the BBC, it’s worth getting to know the librarians. They are clever people who are wizards at finding information.) Like all good TV librarians, the YTV people have access to an information search tool called Nexis. It’s a worldwide service which tracks newspaper and magazine articles from all over the world – from Newsweek and The New York Times to tiny local papers in the middle of nowhere. (You have to pay, but it’s worth every penny.) The search turned up several articles about kid rodeo stars, one of which mentioned a rodeo class in the Baton Rouge area. Getting warm! I phoned the arena mentioned in the piece, and got an ex-directory phone number for the man who ran the classes. He turned out to be a great character, with two teenage kids – both rodeo champions – and a backyard kitted out like a real rodeo ring. Eureka!!! Two days later, the ‘e-mail man’ who’d gone quiet got back in touch, with the same phone number. Bad luck, but you can’t hang around waiting forever.

The snowball effect

Once you’ve made one good contact, he should put you in touch with other people you need to talk to. It’s a kind of snowball effect. I had the distinction of being the person who had to find some naked people for the UK’s first ever all-naked game show (I can tell you’re impressed). I had 24 hours to discover whether the show had legs (if you pardon the anatomical pun), and whether enough naturists could be persuaded to take part in it. My first port of call was a naturist home page run by a retired military chap who spent his golden years wandering around in the buff, somewhere in the south of England. I talked to him, explained the show – which was to be a sort of naked Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, if you can imagine such a concept – and asked him if he would care to take part. He gracefully declined (probably a good move), but put me in touch with dozens of other naturists who would be delighted to appear on national TV, naked as the day they were born.

Making that first call: how to persuade people to help you

The first time you contact someone will probably be on the phone, and the tone of your voice will influence how they react to you. Don’t be embarrassed, tentative or apologetic, but equally don’t come over all cocky and pushy like a double glazing salesman. Before you dial the number, take some deep breaths, think positive thoughts, and smile. Take care to sound sensible, intelligent, and most importantly, enthusiastic. If you think that the programme you’re calling about is the best idea in the world, and a really worthwhile piece of television, your callee will too, because enthusiasm is infectious, and almost always charming.

Don’t be put off if the person at the other end sounds harassed or grumpy – you’ve been psyching yourself up to make this call, but they weren’t expecting it. Suggest that you call back at a better time, or say that you’ll fax a request through first, so they can consider your needs before you call back, and a set time and date to make the next phone call. Sometimes this is a good idea anyway, especially if your request is a complicated one; it gives people time to take in the information before you bombard them with questions. And it’s always a good idea to follow up with a fax or e-mail anyway, confirming your conversation – it lets people know you’re serious, and it ensures that they have the details written down.

Looking after contributors

Once someone has agreed to be on your programme, you have to make them your friend (unless, of course, you’re working on an investigative programme that aims to expose the corrupt and the criminal). This sounds awful – really callous and calculating – but it’s true. It’s your job to make sure that people don’t back out at the last minute, leaving the production in the lurch. One of the best ways of doing this is to make sure they have some sort of relationship with you.

The relationship side of things can go a bit awry sometimes, as some people persist in getting hold of the wrong end of the stick if you show any interest in them.

There are worse things than being hit on by aging celebrities. At some point in your career you’ll have to cope with real people, who are struggling with real emotions.

Alice is a researcher who’s worked on documentaries dealing with all sorts of difficult subjects. Here’s what she had to say about the researcher-contributor relationship:

Very often, the people you’ve persuaded to take part in your programme didn’t really want anything to do with it – they only agreed because you talked them into it. So it’s your duty to protect them.

And she added this warning about finding contributors for programmes dealing with sensitive subjects like, say, anorexia, or alcoholism:

‘Sometimes taking part in a programme can stir up bad emotions for people – they’re coping okay until you come along with the cameras, then they go to pieces. So you’ve got to be there for them. It can be a 24-hour job – you can’t just switch your phone off at 6 o’clock and go to the bar.’

Take these stories as a warning if you like, but don’t let them stop you trying to have a good friendship with the people you have on your programmes – contributors need to feel that they can trust and confide in someone, and you are that someone. Friendship is a two-way thing; once you have struck up a relationship with your interviewees, it’s your job to make sure that they are not damaged by the experience. Most people are straightforward and fun to get to know, and it’s a privilege to be allowed into their lives. Don’t ever abuse that privilege.

What to check

Quite simply, everything you can think of! It’s a good idea to write yourself a check list before you call – just headlines to jog your memory – because people will get fed up if you start calling them every day with the lame excuse: ‘Oh, I just forgot to ask ...’. I found the following in one of my old notebooks. The story was about Double Dutch rope-jumping in New York. Double Dutch is fancy skipping which would knock your socks off. It came to New York hundreds of years ago with the Dutch settlers, and since has become a street game, particularly popular with African-Americans. Lately it’s become a serious sport with strict rules and regulations. I’d already established the shooting date in an earlier phone call, so these were the things I needed to check:

What’s the location? Describe. Will there be lots of people around?

How many girls in a team?

How old are the girls, roughly?

Who’s the fastest? What’s the record?

Will you bring the ropes?

Will they be wearing uniforms — what colours?

Will you bring refreshments for the girls?

Will you be able to teach the presenter to do something simple, so she can join in?

What should the presenter wear?

Will you show us how you develop a new freestyle move?

Will one of the girls be able to explain the differences between the different styles?

Why don’t boys do it?

Will there be music – can they do it without!!!!

Pretty obvious questions really.

• You can check what the location looks like at the recce – we’ll look at the importance of recces later in this chapter – but it helps to imagine the location when you’re trying to think of ways to write up the story.
• It’s also worth knowing whether you’re going to be shooting in a busy street or a quiet park where no one will bother you.
• You need to have an idea of how many people you’re dealing with, and whether the set-up will be manageable.
• Also whether you’re expected to bring any props, or feed and water the contributors.
• If you have a presenter, it’s worth checking what she will be able to do, so she doesn’t just stand around like a spare part.
• It’s always good to ask what people will be wearing: tight checks or stripes or chevrons can look awful, and as a rule white shirts make things difficult for the cameraman, because if he exposes for the bright white shirt, the rest of the picture will look too dark.
• And always, always, ask about music, especially on a story like this!

The money question

I didn’t mention money in the example above, because I never do – it’s best not to put ideas into people’s heads. As a rule, there will be nothing in the budget to pay people a contribution fee, not nowadays, although you should always cover their expenses, and it’s good PR to bring coffee and biscuits and generally look after the people who are taking part. But it’s a sad fact of life that the world is closing up, and more and more people expect to be paid for taking part in a television programme. If someone has money on their mind, they will ask; it’s then up to you to negotiate with the producer how much you can afford to pay them.

But what happens if someone goes through with filming, then demands money afterwards; even going as far as to threaten an injunction on his interview? This is a tricky area. It’s always a good idea to get a contributor to sign a consent form before you film him – in fact, some television companies insist that all interviewees sign consent forms – but that’s not always practical. And some people believe that consent forms are unnecessary anyway: if a contributor allows you to point a camera at him, and goes through with the whole filming process, he has given implied consent, which he can’t just withdraw on a whim. Besides, unless money changes hands, the consent form isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. You need to pay someone a fee before a written agreement like this becomes a legal document.

If you’re really worried that someone will wriggle out of your spoken deal at a later date, there are two things to do:

• a)Put something in writing: a letter confirming all the arrangements, with an extra sentence to the effect: ‘I’m so sorry we can’t pay you a fee for all your help, but our budget just won’t stretch to paying contributors ...’ The good thing is, you’ll be legally bullet-proof; the danger is that you put ideas in their heads about payment.
• b)Contract them through your company’s legal department, paying them a token fee. This would be a good idea if the interview was a controversial one, and you suspected that the interviewee might get cold feet at a later date. It might also be a good idea to contract anyone whom you suspect may chicken out of filming, or get a better offer. No one can argue with a contract. And sometimes you may want to contract contributors to protect them. We contracted the contestants who took part in the all-naked game show, so that they had some protection from other television shows, that could have tried to use clips of the programme out of context.

Writing a script

Scriptwriting is a skill that every researcher needs – more and more programmes use presenters, and presenter-led stories nearly always need scripts. If you can write a good script, you will soon become the producer’s favourite researcher. There are four types of scene you can use in a presenter-led script:

• 1.PTCs. A PTC is a piece to camera, where the presenter talks directly to the camera.
• 2.V/Os – voice-overs. These are bits of commentary script where the presenter talks over footage, out of vision. They’re often recorded later, at the dubbing stage.
• 3.Interviews.
• 4.Unscripted presenter action. This is often the best part of a story – you put the presenter in an interesting situation, then sit back and watch what happens.

It’s up to you to weave these four types of scene together to tell your story. Think of your script as a symphony with four possible movements, and vary the pace and tone by shifting from one type of scene to another. Say you’re writing a script for a holiday show about a little town in Portugal. You’d probably start with a piece to camera from your presenter. Then you’d go to a sequence of holidaymakers having fun, with a bit of voice-over explaining what sort of people would enjoy a holiday in this particular spot, and maybe a bit of information about the area. Then you’d cut back to your presenter doing something visually interesting – perhaps splashing in the village fountain with some local children. Then perhaps you’d cut to an interview with a happy holidaymaker. And so on ...

Everyone finds writing scripts difficult at first, because they all make the same mistake – they don’t think the story through, before they sit down to write it. They’ve done all the research, and they want to cram every bit of information into the piece, so their story goes something like this: ‘and then ... and then ... and then.’ This is a terrible way to write scripts. What you leave out is just as important as what you put into a story; a good script uses words sparingly. Here’s a failsafe way to make sure that your script flows effortlessly:

• Think of your script as a story.
• Tell the story to a friend. This will give you the spine of the story, and let you know which are the important parts – it will also prove to you how easy it is to tell the story. All you need to do now is write it down!
• Block out your story, either on paper or in your head. This means deciding where you’re going with the piece – every story needs a strong beginning, an interesting middle bit, and a satisfying ending.
• Keep it simple. You may think you’re writing the most fascinating script ever produced, but it’s no use to anyone if it’s crammed full of complicated facts. Before you write your script, read your notes through once, then put them aside and don’t look at them again: if you can’t understand and recall the information, how do you expect the viewers to grasp it when they hear it for the very first time? (For this reason, big numbers should be avoided.)
• When you’ve finished your script, put it in a drawer overnight, and look at it again the next morning when your mind is fresh. Your first reaction is the right one – if you think it needs more work, it does!

Bearing all that in mind, here’s a version of the script for that holiday show story about the town in Portugal. What do you think of this?

(THE PRESENTER IS STANDING ON THE SEA FRONT LOOKING OUT TO SEA. SHE TURNS TO CAMERA)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

Welcome to Porta Marina on the south-east tip of the Portuguese Algarve, a picturesque town that was founded in 1323 by Moorish invaders, and flourished as a fishing port in the sixteenth century. In the eighteenth century, the town became infamous as the place where English artistocratic families sent ignoble noblemen who had disgraced the family name.

(CUT TO PRESENTER AT CAFE TABLE, SURROUNDED BY TOURISTS EATING AND DRINKING)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

Today it’s a popular holiday destination, mainly with British and German tourists, who travel here predominantly to savour the area’s famous seafood.

(CUT TO PRESENTER IN FISH MARKET)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

This is Porta Marina’s fish market, where the selection of fish available is overwhelming. I’m going to try some of the sardines for which this region is justly famous ...

Yes, you’re right, that’s a terrible script. Everything is wrong with it. It’s flabby, over-written, and boring. The opening piece to camera is ridiculous. Even assuming that a presenter could remember all that information, and present it in a meaningful way (which is unlikely), it’s too early in the story to introduce all that history – nobody cares at this stage. It’s just a gabble of impenetrable prose. And the words are all wrong: a script should sound like normal conversation, and people just don’t say things like ‘ignoble noblemen’ or ‘predominantly’ or ‘justly famous’ in normal conversation. Nor, for that matter, do you say things like ‘impenetrable prose’ – what works in print doesn’t necessarily work on television. Just try saying ‘impenetrable prose’ out loud.

There’s one more big mistake in this script – the presenter talks to camera in every scene. This is bad because it makes her jump around from one location to another; much more elegant to allow a bit of voice over in between pieces to camera. Also, the viewers will get fed up looking at her if she appears in every scene, no matter how glamorous she is.

Let’s take the same information, and try the script again.

(THE GLAMOUROUS PRESENTER IS STANDING AT THE QUAYSIDE. A ROPE LANDS AT HER FEET. SHE TAKES IT AND TIES IT ROUND A METAL POST WHILE SHE TALKS)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

You might think that Porta Marina is an unusual place to come on your holidays...

(WE CUT TO AN OVER-THE-SHOULDER SHOT TO SEE THAT SHE HAS TETHERED A SMALL FISHING BOAT. THE FISHERMEN ON BOARD WAVE THEIR THANKS. CUT TO TIGHTER SHOT OF PRESENTER)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

It’s a working fishing port, and there’s not a beach, or a water park, or a shopping mall, for miles around.

(CUT TO MONTAGE OF SHOTS AROUND TOWN – TOURISTS EATING, SHOPPING ETC)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER V/O:

But this is Portugal’s new family holiday hotspot. Here’s why ...

(CUT TO PRESENTER AT TABLE EATING FISHY MEAL)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

For a start, there’s the fish – the people of Porta Marina know how to catch fish, and they know how to cook it. The food here is fabulous, and amazingly cheap!

(SHE TUCKS INTO HER MEAL)

(CUT TO SHOTS OF HOLIDAY COMPLEX, WITH KIDS ENJOYING THEMSELVES IN THE POOLS)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER V/O:

Then there’s the accommodation. These old farm buildings have been turned into villa complexes, complete with their own pools. There are several places like this, scattered around the outskirts of Porta Marina – and they’re perfect for families with young children.

(CUT TO SHOTS OF PRESENTER WITH LOCAL CHILDREN, SPLASHING IN FOUNTAIN IN TOWN SQUARE)

GLAMOROUS PRESENTER:

But best of all, there’s the people of Porta Marina. They really want you to come here, and share their town with them.

(SHE SPLASHES KIDS, AND THEY START WATER FIGHT. SHE GETS SOAKED)

That’s much better, for three important reasons:

• It has a point to it – this is an unusual place to come on your holidays – and this point gives the story a spine. The first script was just a forest of information, but the second one has a path through the forest, so everything is easier to understand.
• It sounds like normal conversation; like something your friend would tell you. It’s fine to put history into the piece, but you need to do it later on in the story, once you’ve given the viewer a feel for what the story is about. And if you do want to include the stuff about the Moors and the ignoble noblemen, you must illustrate the information, by showing shots of interesting Moorish architecture, or by visiting the tea houses where the disgraced British aristocracy used to hang out.
• It flows much more elegantly because there’s some breathing space between the presenter scenes; she doesn’t jump around all over the place.

By the way, if you like the sound of Porta Marina so much that you want to go there on holiday, then I have a confession to make – I made it up. Sorry.

Writing a treatment

If you don’t need a script, you certainly need a treatment. A treatment is just an outline of the story you’re going to shoot: a rough draft on paper of where you see your story going. Think of it as a script without the speaking words. Whatever sort of programme you’re working on, you should always write a treatment – it concentrates the mind. Remember, research time is cheap, but shooting time and editing time are expensive, so it’s mad to go out and shoot lots of stuff and try to make the story work in the edit.

Writing briefing notes

Some producers like to write their own scripts and treatments, in which case you’ll be asked to provide briefing notes, which means producing a clear, easy-to-read version of your research notes. This should include contact details for all your interviewees (so that someone else can get in touch with them if necessary) and a bit of background on their personalities, and how you think they’ll cope during the shoot. Keep briefs simple and short.

THE SHOOT

Why recces are vital

The preliminary research work is done, and it’s time to nail things down, ready for the shoot. It’s time for the recce. Recce is short for reconnaissance, which is an army term. A television shoot has much in common with a military campaign: it must be planned in exhaustive detail; and everyone should follow every order immediately, and without a word of argument. Or at least that’s what most directors would have you believe... You may have to do your recce alone, or you may get to take a director along with you. But you should never plan a shoot without doing a recce, unless you’re working on news, or an undercover documentary, or some other special circumstance. Here’s why:

• You need to check that your interviewees are happy with the arrangements, and that they understand what’s going to happen – this is much easier to do face-to-face than on the phone. And it’s easier to build a relationship with someone you’ve actually met.
• You must check directions to the location(s) well in advance of the shoot day, so you can produce a ‘call sheet’. A call sheet has directions, maps, lists of contacts and times to RV (rendevous on location) and WRAP (finish for the day. TV legend has it that WRAP stands for ‘wind reels and print’, something that early movie directors used to say. It’s a cute story, but probably WRAP just means ‘wrap it up for the day’.) Without good directions, your crew will turn up late, and you will lose valuable shooting time. The best-thought-out, most wonderful story in the world is no use to anyone if there isn’t a crew there to film it.
• You need to check parking for the crew and production. If the crew can’t get parked, ditto the above.
• You must check that there’s somewhere nearby where the crew can get coffee, or lunch, and take a toilet break. It’s amazing how many new researchers forget about the needs of the crew. Researchers only get out filming now and again, so it’s an exciting time for them – who needs lunch! But crews do long days every day, and they need to be looked after properly if they’re going to do good work.
• If you’re shooting indoors, you need to check that there are plenty of electric sockets, so the crew can plug in lights if necessary.
• You need to check the location(s) for strange noises: is there a generator nearby? Is the location on a flight path? Is it next to a building site? (A confession: in my time as a researcher, I have failed to notice all these things on recces.)
• You should check if the crew will need special equipment: for example, if the camera is going to be a long way away from the action, you’ll probably need walkie-talkies. Also check if the crew will need special clothing – will the location be very muddy, or very hot and humid?
• You need to check what time things happen: if you’re shooting at a school, what time is break? If you’re shooting at a factory, what time does the shift change? If you’re shooting on a beach, what time does the tide come in?
• And finally, you need to start thinking about pictures, so you can bring your script to life. Everyone has different views on the subject, but I like to do the recce once I’ve written a draft script, so I know what I’m looking for – it concentrates the mind, and gives you a plan. You can re-write the script when you’ve done your recce.

Dealing with directors and presenters

Directors and presenters have the sharp-end jobs. The director has to drive the shoot, which is exhausting. And the presenter knows that every time she fluffs her lines, everybody on the crew takes a sharp intake of breath, and mentally shakes his head. With this in mind, make it your job to look after them. Make sure their every need is catered for; from getting water for the star, to setting up the next shot for the director. If you do this, they will love you, and you will get a reputation as an excellent researcher, one that everybody wants to work with. And when things go wrong, never, never get defensive – take the blame manfully, and get on with your job. Because here’s the thing about being a researcher: it’s always your fault!

Dealing with the crew

Know this: crews work very hard, for not a lot of money. Look after them too – bring them cups of coffee, and help carry the equipment. Just because it would be a nice thing to do ...

The importance of time-code

If your production doesn’t have a PA, you must learn how to take time-coded notes and mark up a script. Time-code is important; it helps your editor find the brilliant stuff that you shot. It’s a message sent from the camera to the editing machine, by way of a series of numbers which are encoded onto the videotape. There are two types:

• tape-elapsed time-code
• and time-of-day time-code,

and the camera operator can set the camera to record either of them. Both types of TC have their advantages and disadvantages, but you’ll probably find it easier to use time-of-day time code. Tape-elapsed TC is a record of the amount of tape that’s been used in the shoot so far, which is a nice clear way of recording the information, but the disadvantage is that you have to read tape-elapsed TC off the side of the camera, or buy a special bit of equipment to read it remotely. Time-of-day TC is much simpler to use – you can read it off your watch – but the disadvantage is that the numbers can jump around (say, for instance, you finish shooting at 18.37, but you’ve only used half a tape. The next morning when you start shooting again, the time-code will jump from 18.37 to 08.15).

If this all sounds terribly complicated, don’t worry – keeping time-of-day TC notes just means writing down a list of the time when you shot stuff. PAs make very clever notes, using jargon and special PA techniques, but you won’t be expected to do that – as long as your notes are clear and easy to read, the editor will find them useful. Here are some things to know about taking basic time-code notes:

• 1.You’ll need a good digital watch.
• 2.Always ask your camera operator to use time-of-day time code, and synchronise your watch with the camera before you start to shoot.
• 3.Every time the camera operator turns over, take a note of the time on your watch – to the second – and write down a brief description of the shot.
• 4.You need to know the names for the most common types of shot: BCU = big close up. CU = close up. MCU = medium close up. MS = mid shot. MLS = medium long shot. LS = long shot. WS = wide shot. And the most common descriptions of shots: H/A = high angle. L/A = low angle. O/S = over-the-shoulder. POV = point of view. GVs = general views (a useful phrase when you’re not sure exactly what the camera operator is shooting). PTC = piece to camera. C/A = cut away (something happening away from the main action). And so on.

Here’s what a marked up script looks like:

PTC 1: Tape 3:10.46.23, Take 4 (also look at take 2:10.42.35)* Take 1 n/g – camera Take 3 n/g – sound	GLAMOROUS PRESENTER: You might think that Porta Marina is an unusual place to come on your holidays ...
O/S: Tape 3:10.57.12 C/As fishermen: Tape 4:11.03.16-11.22.17*	(CUT TO AN O/S SHOT TO SEE THAT SHE HAS TETHERED A FISHING BOAT. THE FISHERMEN ON BOARD WAVE THEIR THANKS. CUT TO TIGHTER SHOT OF PRESENTER)
PTC 2: Tape 4:12.40.57, Take 6 (also look at take 1:12.20.34) Take 2 n/g – words Take 3 n/g – action Take 4 n/g – camera Take 5 n/g – performance	GLAMOROUS PRESENTER: It’s a working fishing port, and there’s not a beach, or a water park, or a shopping mall, for miles around.
WS people eating: Tape 6:17.34.56 and 17.35.13 Singles people eating: Tape 6:17.55.10– 18.03.20 (good shots @ 17.56.40 and 18.01.12)	(CUT TO MONTAGE OF SHOTS AROUND TOWN – TOURISTS EATING, SHOPPING AND ENJOYING THEMSELVES. KIDS FISHING OFF PIER, KIDS WITH PARENTS ETC)
CU food, hands etc: Tape 6:17.40.33 – 17.44.20 (good shots @ 17. 41 (ish) Good shots of kids with parents: Tape 4:12.43.17 Shots of kids fishing off pier: Tape 4:13.01.13 Shopping GVS: Tape 6:18.28.02-18.38.45 (interesting shots @ 18.30 (ish)*** – nice looking people!	GLAMOROUS PRESENTER V/O: But this is Portugal’s new family holiday hotspot. Here’s why ...

The asterisks are there to highlight some important points about time code:

*The director kept going until Take 4, but you thought that Take 2 was worth looking at, perhaps because there was a nice boat in the background, or the presenter seemed more relaxed in this take – this is important information to tell the editor, so she can look at both takes and decide for herself. It’s also helpful if you tell her what’s wrong with the other PTCs (n/g means no good, because of camera problems, or performance, or the presenter fluffed the words, or whatever). As a rule, it’s always helpful to note good shots, so the editor can make a point of looking out for them. This is easy to discern on a PTC because the director will say something like: ‘Okay, let’s go again,’ or something else helpful like: ‘Do it again please, but make it better this time.’ And once you strike up a relationship with your camera operator, he will let you know the good shots, by slipping you the wink, or saying: ‘That was a good shot.’

**The camera operator shot a lot of cut aways of fishermen. You don’t need to detail all of them, just give the editor a rough idea of where the shots are.

***You weren’t paying attention at this point, obviously – perhaps you’d gone to get the presenter a bottle of water – but when you got back, the camera operator said that the crew picked up some nice shots at around 6.30. Your notes don’t need to be frame accurate – the editor will look at all the shots anyway – but your edit will run more smoothly (and much more quickly) if there’s a record of roughly where all the shots are.

Doing interviews

On some programmes – mainly documentary programmes where there isn’t a location presenter – researchers are expected to do the interviews on the stories they have set up. If you are asked to do an interview, don’t be scared. An interview is just a conversation, and you have those every day. Once you’ve done a few, your interview techniques will become second nature. Until then, here are some things to bear in mind:

• Ask the obvious questions. Assume nothing. You may have been researching this story for weeks, but the viewer knows nothing about it.
• It’s good to have a checklist of questions, but don’t keep referring to it – look the interviewee straight in the eye and listen to what he or she is saying. If you’re studying your list and thinking about your next question, you could miss something interesting; something that demands a follow-up question. If you do decide to use a checklist, don’t write the question out in full – just use key words to jog your memory; you should retain eye contact with your interviewee for as long as you can.
• Don’t ask questions that can be answered by a straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Say things like: ‘Tell me about your holiday that went horribly wrong.’
• Never, never, ever interrupt. Keep your mouth firmly closed until the interviewee has stopped speaking – don’t even murmur an agreement or encouragement; nod and smile instead. The editor will find the piece impossible to edit if your voice keeps interjecting.
• If your interviewee is painfully shy, there’s an old TV trick you can play on them to stop them seizing up: tell them that you’re going to do a rehearsal of the interview, then record the rehearsal. Works wonders every time. (Be sure to warn the crew what you’re doing though ...) Unless you’re going to play this trick on your hapless interviewee, I would caution you not to rehearse the interview, otherwise when you go to record for real, the interviewee will say things like: ‘As I said before ...’, or even worse, they’ll forget to tell an important part of the story because they thought they had already recorded that part of the interview. Try to keep your interviews spontaneous – they’ll feel fresher.

Studio discipline and etiquette

If you are shooting in studio there are four things to remember:

• 1.In studio, the floor manager is king (well, actually, he’s the manager, but you know what I mean). It may be your story, and your interviewee, but it is the floor manager’s floor, and don’t ever forget it. Always introduce your interviewees to the floor manager, and, if you want to stay on the studio floor, it’s polite to ask the floor manager’s permission. (It’s also important from a health and safety point of view that the floor manager knows exactly who’s in studio at any time.)
• 2.The studio is a scary place for a novice interviewee – much scarier than being interviewed on location. It’s big, and full of bright lights, and TV professionals who’ve seen it all before and then some. If your contributor is a sensitive type, he may need extra TLC.
• 3.Never enter studio on a red light.
• 4.Never enter studio on a red light. This is worth saying twice because it’s so important. If you screw up an otherwise perfect Take 20, everyone on the crew will hate you. Forever.
• 5.And never, ever, ever be late back from coffee break or lunch. Studio runs like a well-oiled machine. It’s highly unprofessional – not to mention rude – to be late for studio. You don’t want to keep 50 highly-paid people hanging around waiting for you. Trust me, you really don’t.

POST-PRODUCTION

Editing

You may or may not get to see your programme through to post-production; depends on your contract. But if you get the chance, try to sit in on some editing – even if you have to do it in your own time. Editing is a fantastic process. It’s supremely satisfying to see your ideas taking shape, and you can learn a lot from watching the editor: what works, what doesn’t, and whether your time-code notes were any good or not!

Dubbing

You won’t have to organise a dubbing session until you’re a fairly senior researcher, but you may be asked to write voice-over scripts, to be recorded during your production’s dubbing time. There are three golden rules to writing V/Os, or commentaries:

• 1.Don’t write what you can see. It’s tedious for the viewer if all your script does is describe what’s happening on the screen – your words should add to the pictures. So if you’re writing voice-over for a game-show where the contestants are racing over an assault course, don’t say: ‘And Tristram is running towards the rope swings.’ Everybody watching the show will be able to see that he’s running towards the rope swings, and they will be irritated to be told something so patently obvious. Much better to say something that the viewer doesn’t know, like: ‘Tristram needs to get a move on now – he’s three seconds behind.’
• 2.Leave plenty of space. The basic rule for commentary writing is to allow three words per second. It’s a good rule, as long as you also leave some extra space for the action to breathe, and for the pictures to speak for themselves. Wall-to-wall voice-over sounds terrible.
• 3.Keep it simple. Television is not a good medium for communicating complicated facts. Introduce one thought per sentence, then leave a gap so that the viewer can digest the thought.

The main reason people get commentary wrong is because they sit in the cutting room, watching a sequence over and over again, and it seems boring. So they ‘liven it up’, by adding voice-over. What they should really do, of course, is re-edit the sequence to make it less boring.

Clearing up

Don’t worry, you don’t have to tidy the office – this is the TV term for tying up all the loose ends at the end of a production. Three important things to remember at this stage:

• Make sure that the PA or production secretary has details of any music or archive you used in the programme, before you disappear off to work on a new project (see Chapter 9).
• File all your notebooks and contact lists from the programme. Throw nothing away – you may need to justify your research at a later date.
• And always, always write a nice thank-you letter to every one of your contributors, letting them know when the programme will be aired.

Finally, here are my five golden rules for having a happy career as a researcher:

FIVE GOLDEN RULES FOR RESEARCHERS

• 1.Never be late. Whatever you’re working on, turn up half an hour early, well prepared and ready for action.
• 2.Never say anything bad about anyone else’s programme. Always find positive things to say. Remember that everyone sets out to make the best programme possible. So be kind. If you do feel you have to make a constructive comment, say something innocuous like: ‘I wasn’t sure about the presenter.’ This is safe territory: nobody is ever sure about their presenter.
• 3.Always be free with your ideas, there are plenty more where they came from. The more ideas you give away, the more you’ll have; your idea muscle will get bigger with practice.
• 4.Do everything with enthusiasm, no matter how big and important you think you are. A friend of mine joined the BBC as a studio cameraman. Six weeks into his career, he was told to clean the studio (a new floor had been laid, and the whole studio was thick with dust). So my friend cleaned the studio, meticulously and thoroughly, until it was spotless and fit for making television programmes. For one afternoon, he was the best studio cleaner in the whole world. And that attitude has done him proud. He now runs his own department.
• 5.Always remember that television is a team sport – a programme is never made by just one person. So help and support everybody on the team, above, below and level with you. People who bitch and back-stab don’t get asked back onto productions, no matter how good they are, because they’re tedious to work with, and they can’t be trusted.