SACRED TIME

by Quentin Crisp


I personally like television. If I have any ambition at all, it is to meet everybody in the world before I die—and I’m not doing badly. You cannot listen to everyone but you can speak to them on television. It’s an excellent opportunity, a wonderful medium. I am, naturally, referring most precisely to that much maligned, although much love, much watched and even listened to form of television call the talk show.

People (often in a panic) telephone me to ask, "I have to go onto television. Have you any advice to give me as to how I should conduct myself?" I reply, "It’s like a party. Dress up and look pleased to be there." After all, the operative words are "host" and "guest." But this advice must be taken calmly. There are strategies, which I won’t go so far as to call secrets, to navigate the territory of television.

Do not wear anything spectacular such as sequins that may catch the light and distract attention from your face. And when I say, "look pleased," I do not mean that you should smile broadly. It will emphasize the lines on your face. Like all people who are in the public eye, you must wear an expression of fatuous affability; turn toward the lights but never blink. The only time you can shut your eyes is when the host is speaking. With any luck, the cameras will be turned away from you then.

The experience of doing a talk show begins long before you are on camera. Some channels lead you straight to a make-up room where an expert paints you bright orange (to counteract the bluish tint of the television lights). It’s a good idea for a guest to carry a pocket mirror so you can take a crafty peek at what he has done to you in case it is absolutely terrible. And remember not to put your hands near your face because he will not have made them up to match. Other stations lead you into a "green" room and from there onto the stage, so be prepared. For some unknown reason, cameramen do not like you to wear large areas of black or of white. Wear smart, new, unemphatic clothes.

I would say that guests have nothing to fear, but unfortunately some interviewers try to score off of you. While the metaphor of a party may be true, to some the metaphor of a boxing match, automobile race or skeet shoot is closer. An English interviewer, now fortunately dead, asked M. Tati why Englishmen thought that all Frenchmen were pigs. M. Tati rose from his chair and left the screen. Somebody had to run after him and coax him back. M. Tati did the right thing. Never argue with a television host. Never defend yourself. In fact, never display any strong emotion at all. It may embarrass the viewers. The same man was interviewing Miss Swanson. She was a woman, about 30 years older than he, a movie star and an American. That placed her just south of being a saint, but when she pronounced the word "schedule" in American (skedule) instead of in English (shedule), he turned to the camera and made a face of disgust. Miss Swanson ignored him. Nothing said in front of the cameras need be taken seriously.

Only one law governs television: the survival of the glibbest. If you’re asked, "What is the secret of the universe?" don’t gasp, don’t cough, don’t say, "A good question." That shows you’re playing for time. Say immediately and calmly, "I’m happy to tell you there is not secret." The remark is inane but you smile and your lips move. You will be back.

A television interview, you see, is like a geography examination. You can’t study the whole world. Therefore, on the night before your exam, you take your atlas down from its shelf and open it at random. The map that you happen to expose is of China. You regard this as a sign from You-Know-Who and study China. The next day the main question in your paper is about France You-Know-Who has sold you a pup. Don’t panic. Your answer begin, "France is not like China, which is . . . "

Let me translate the situation into television terms. You arrive at the studio with a wonderful anecdote about your mother. When you get there, some fool says, "How’s your father?" This give you a few seconds to reply, "My father’s worn out coping with my mother who . . . " In other words, you say what you’ve come to say, no matter what the question.

Americans love what they call "one-liners." In other words, aphorisms. An aphorism is an untidy truth neatly phrased but do not begin an interview with one. The interviewer and the audience may find it too much for them, but when they have become used to your style of conversation, finish the interview with one. It will give people something to remember you by. Begin by addressing the interviewer. End by speaking to the camera. The world must get the impression that you are its friend and have come to tell it something you feel it will like to know.

There is also the question of how much of you the camera can see. This you have to guess. If it seems very near, then only your face is visible. Do not make big movements. Keep your hands near your face. I have known a victim who stood up to demonstrate something he wished to explain. As he rose, he said to the cameramen, "Can they see my feet?" The technician adjusted his camera. They do not mind doing this, if you don’t do it to often. It is your show. You must make the most of it. You have only about ten minutes in which to persuade the world to understand you and, above everything else, to like you.

Though certain famous interviewers try to score off you, most of them are working to show you off. The best in this respect is Mr. Cavett. Whatever he is secretly thinking, he appears to be giving your every utterance his gravest interest and he gives everyone the impression that he likes you. If you do not have the good fortune to be the guest of such a person, still accept any offers. You need all the television time you can acquire. Remain unprovoked, turn a smooth face toward the light and never blink. The only opportunity yo have to shut your eyes is when your host is speaking and the camera is looking at him or her. If you are forced to appear with other guest, you must acknowledge them but do not give them an opportunity to speak. Your television time is short, is precious, is sacred.





Copyright © 1999–2007 by Quentin Crisp and Phillip Ward, from Dusty Answers (forthcoming), Mr. Crisp's final book. All rights reserved.





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