Cutting Edge (Channel 4, Tuesday) The Art Of The Reporter (BBC 2, Monday) The Vincent Browne Interview (RTE 1, Sunday) @ last tv (Network 2, Tuesday) Pulse (RTE 1, Wednesday)
`I like to think I'm carrying on the work of Shakespeare," said Tony Livesey, editor-in-chief of The Sport newspaper. Tony's paper has brought its readers exclusives on such hot topics as "the bionic willie"; "the world's biggest nipple" and "the movie star who has sex with a chicken". For all his acknowledged common touch, it is unlikely that even Shakespeare would have had sufficient imagination to hack it on Tony's reporting or feature-writing teams.
Cutting Edge's Sex, Lies And Aliens, directed by Norman Hull, was more a tragedy than a comedy. Following a week or so in the life of The Sport, it was, in spots, amusing, but ultimately it was depressing. The line between healthy vulgarity and degrading sleaze is, of course, subjective. But headlines such as "Pee On Me - Fr Ted Star" suggest that tabloid journalism really is going down the toilet.
The running yarn throughout The Sport's week focused on Lolo Ferrari, billed as "the woman with the biggest breasts in the world". Given her 71-inch bust, Lolo's billing may well be one of the few truths the paper has ever printed. Tony was holding the front page for the arrival of American Lolo to London. He told the editorial conference that it was "a massive operation" and when we saw Lolo, it was clear that it must have been one of the most massive operations in surgical history.
Indeed, so massive was the operation that British Airways were, unlike The Sport, reluctant to carry Lolo. Airline safety officials were afraid that Lolo's silicon-enhanced chest might explode in mid-air. Nobody suggested that it might bring down a jumbo jet but the deformation which Lolo - and her medical accomplices - had inflicted on herself brought down everybody involved. Even as bawdy buffoonery, this was quite sick.
"I'm told she fancies Ryan Giggs. We'll have her running on the pitch with the players," said Tony. "We can't have her running because her back wouldn't support it," said Lolo's agent. "Then she can walk very quickly after one of the players," pressed Tony, a true editor, who would not be deflected from the journalistic traditions of his own organ. And so it went, leaving you wondering if The Sport was not having sport at Cutting Edge's expense.
Sarah Stephens is the paper's features editor. Her department has been responsible for such investigative masterpieces as "What Do Women Talk About In Bogs?" She was working on two cracking stories when the cameras visited: "The Great Fish Finger Mystery" and "The Cow With Jimmy Hill's Face In Its Markings". The fish finger mystery came to light when a reader claimed that "a big, ginormous object like a space ship thing" had changed her son, Lyndon, into a fish finger.
Sarah visited the distraught mother and in a suitably compassionate tone asked if she might see Lyndon. A fish finger was fetched from the freezer and placed lovingly on a velvet cushion. With the quiet but firm penetration of a psychotherapist, Sarah inquired as to why the mother believed the fish finger was her son. "Lyndon, like the fish finger, used to go stiff too," said Mama. "Apart from that," asked Sarah, "there's no other family resemblance?"
There wasn't and Tony, his journalistic instincts razor sharp, wasn't fully convinced that the story was genuine. He instructed Sarah to buy a box of fish fingers and to mix Lyndon in with them, "to see if she recognises him". If only all journalists were so thorough in checking their stories. In the long run, The Sport ran the story as a "World Exclusive: Mum Grills Fish Finger Kid". It was about as bizarre as this genre gets, but it wasn't funny.
And that was the main problem with both The Sport and this documentary. Though it had its moments (such as when Sarah, with the commendable precision of a sub-editor, inquired "Is trouser snake hyphenated?") it wasn't funny often enough. Its sleaze was boring and boring sleaze is about as awful as newspapers can get. It was clear that Cutting Edge had decided to document the wonders of the paper in Sport style, but, given that The Sport has no style, this was a mistake.
The paper, according to one of its photographers, is aimed at "your average lager-swilling lads that go to Magaluf on holiday and to sad, lonely bastards". It has included, boasted Tony, "a 69 stone nude woman" and in-depth features about "the top 50 female fantasies". David Sullivan is its publisher. "We must always strive to get 10 out of 10," he said. "Nine out of 10 isn't good enough." If only his hacks could add humour to the rubbish, it might be possible to laugh.
BBC foreign correspondent Fergal Keane addressed the other end of journalism's spectrum delivering this week's Huw Wheldon Memorial Lec- ture. Titled The Art Of The Reporter, this was, sadly, an artless and naive BBC love-in, which can not have done Keane's hitherto glowing reputation, whatever about his career, any favours. "Can the art of the reporter be protected in the face of growing technological and market pressures?" he asked at the outset.
Leaving aside the aggrandising word "art", this was a reasonable question. However, Fergal Keane proceeded to deliver a self-congratulatory lecture attacking the "trivia, gossip and celebration of the banal", which, he argued, correctly, characterises too much journalism nowadays. However, given its unctuous coverage of the death of Princess Diana, the BBC, for all Mr Keane's sanctimonious back-slapping, has shown itself well capable of producing howlers of taste and perspective.
Invoking James Cameron, Robert Kee, Robin Day, Charles Wheeler, Richard Dimbleby, Martin Bell and himself as exemplars of brilliant BBC reporting, Fergal Keane pledged himself to "The Truth". If he were ever compelled to forsake adherence to The Truth, he would quit and sweep the streets of London, he said. It should have sounded noble, if precious, but, in truth, it sounded smug and dubiously pious.
Fair enough, the BBC has a splendid tradition of reporting. But that is by no means the whole story. Keane's truth about the organisation he works for was so partisan that he ought to consider buying a broom. "Hard reporting can't compete with The X- Files." he said at one point, neglecting to mention that the BBC screens The X-Files. Referring to "my upbringing and my BBC training" Keane's delivery was theatrical and over-earnest in the worst L&H style.
Insisting, again correctly, that "historical perspective is necessary for journalists", he worried about the Internet and the conspiracy theories which proliferate in cyberspace. Indeed, he voiced the fear that such a rumour-mongering technology "could push us back to the Middle Ages". He railed against the promotion of "looks and image - the beautiful airhead syndrome" in television reporting.
At a cursory glance, it might appear that Fergal Keane said all the right things. But, for all the worthy sentiments, this was a priggish lecture which accepted too readily and too completely the BBC's inherent sense of its own superiority. In that, it was more PR than analysis. And it showed that even distinguished reporters such as Fergal Keane should stick to reporting whatever they genuinely construe to be facts, rather than offering a self-satisfied litany, couched as a cautionary tale, as genuine evaluation. Given expectations, this lecture was, in its own way, even more disillusioning than the crassness of The Sport.
Back on RTE, The Vincent Browne Interview, billed as being with Edna O'Brien was, in fact, with Cardinal Cahal Daly, who is, if you'll accept the cliche, a rather different kettle of fish. Against a black background the black-garbed cardinal looked curiously fragmented - like a Marcel Marceau character. Browne, who memorably squared up recently to another high-profile Catholic (Dana), asked his interviewee if he had ever fallen in love.
"No, but I have had many enriching and real friendships with women without any sexual content whatsoever," said Dr Daly. This led to Browne probing about the role of women within the church. Predictably, the cardinal denied that there is any inequality in barring women from the priesthood. Browne smiled. Dr Daly said that his position on the question can be supported by robust, theological justifications, adding that there wasn't time to go into all of that.
And therein was the central problem with these kind of interviews. Setting its own dogma, the world-view of any church does not have to attune itself to normal, secular logic. When it comes to matters of doctrine, there need not be any common ground, because the church regulates its own belief system. When the church meets the secular world - as in the Brendan Smyth case - the exchanges can be more meaningful.
And they were. Browne put it to his guest that the legal advice the hierarchy had received and pursued in such instances was "not to leave the church open to legal damages". Dr Daly denied this but it is hard not to conclude that the church's behaviour complied, wittingly or otherwise, with such advice. In all, this was quite a thorough interview, but Dr Daly had fielded most of the questions before and even the tenacity of the argumentative Browne could not usher church belief into the pen of secular logic.
Finally, @ last tv and Pulse. The former presents itself as having a youthful iconoclasm. But while it is stylishly made, it seems too vacuous to be genuinely iconoclastic. This week's programme included items on the shortage of taxis in Dublin; a PC version of the Setanta legend; a visit to Powderbubble, where transvestites dress up to get their rocks off and an animated soap, The Chip On Me Shoulder, about a working-class Dublin family.
Perhaps the programme is just too busy. It certainly is pacy, but, like fast food, it seems to get much of its speed at the expense of substance. Then again, it may be that the audience it is aimed at has an attention span sufficiently short to enjoy such a diet. There is imagination and energy in it (as there is in The Sport) but it needs more fibre to make it meaningful.
Pulse has replaced Check-Up as RTE's new health magazine. In place of Ciana Campbell and Siobhan Cleary, it is presented by Carrie "Eurovision" Crowley and Gary "the doctor from Atlantis" O'Toole. Its upbeat report on progress against AIDS marked a change in what remains a very grim story indeed. Similarly, a report on a splendidly engineered device, made at Crumlin Hospital, which could save children's lives. In a week when faith in journalism was dented, faith in medicine was bolstered, even if Pulse's tone was almost as suspiciously PRish as Fergal Keane.