SIGNING off from Network 2's coverage of Wednesday's Euro 96 semi final between England and Germany, presenter Bill O'Herlihy condemned the murder, earlier that day of journalist Veronica Guerin. It was an eerie conjunction of amass entertainment television occasion and a sombre day for the media.
Sport and murder: we had seen this hideous mix before, when the Colombian defender, Andres Escobar, was shot dead during the 1994 World Cup. But that was so far away and, sure, Colombia runs on cocaine, doesn't it? We saw it in Co Down when unionist paramilitaries murdered six people during the Ireland v Italy match in Giants Stadium. But that was the North and sectarian murders happened there, didn't they? Now, the mix had arrived in Dublin and RTE, understandably, felt forced to reflect the schizophrenia of the national mood. It did what it could.
Normally, we might have expected wrap up pictures of the distraught Gareth Southgate, who missed England's first sudden death penalty, and the celebrations of Andreas Moller, who scored for Germany. Instead, the screen was filled with a standard, lingering obituary picture of Ms Guerin. It was hard not to wonder if the thug who shot her in the face was watching. How might he and his driver accomplice feel after their night's football? Did these deliverers of sudden death enjoy the sudden death penalties?
Maybe they discussed tactics; Darren Anderton's shot off the post; the slack German marking which allowed Alan Shearer to score in the third minute. Maybe they went to a pub you know, for atmosphere and a few pints - and, their day's work done, perhaps they sang and chanted a few oafish soccer obscenities. Who knows? Some people do.
Forget, for the moment, the high minded condemnations which characterised this murder as an attack on democracy, on free speech and on a free press. Yes, it was all those things. But, more fundamentally, this was a cowardly murder in which a couple of brutes on a motorbike pulled up beside a car and shot a young woman through the face. In barbarian Dublin, fuelled by Hollywood nonsense and quasi glorifying local reporting about "hit men" and "drugs barons" with campy, Batman movie nicknames, the Dirty Harry fantasists will have marvelled at the "professionalism" of it all.
Some profession - shooting women in the face. The fact that Veronica Guerin was a high profile crime journalist does, of course, compound the public's sense of outrage. There is not a great deal of investigative journalism in Ireland and those who do it, and do it well, deserve enormous credit. But it would be hypocritical not to remember that the law in this country, was, until Wednesday, just as obstructive as the lawless when it comes to free speech and a free press.
Fear of crippling libel cases and, sometimes, a cosiness between sections of the media and centres of power in our society, inevitably make Irish journalism more timid than, ideally, it ought to be. Restrictions on access to information that, morally, should be in the public domain, are not exactly promoting a free press either.
So investigative reporting is very difficult in Ireland. Compared with the armchair journalism of reviewing, for instance, it is treacherous - death threats being rather more alarming than insults. Now that a death threat has been carried out, the response of the media - television radio and newspapers will be crucial. Naturally, initial reactions from journalists have promised a strengthening of resolve. But squeezed from above by a secretive, patriarchal establishment and from below by murderous criminals, investigative journalism will not get easier.
In Arizona a few years back, the "mob" murdered a reporter. The response of the big citypapers in the US was to send teams of experienced investigative journalists to the scene of the crime. They stayed until they uncovered scores of thugs, who were tried and jailed. For all sorts of reasons we could not replicate this sort of concerted response in Ireland. One of the main reasons is because American journalists work under a First Amendment, which prohibits Congress from passing any law which interferes with free speech or a free press. They also have a meaningful Freedom of Information Act.
Such laws do not stop crime in America. The causes go much deeper than that. But they do recognise the central role investigative journalism can play in a democracy. Irish moves in that direction cannot bring back Veronica Guerin. But they would recognise that what she did was deserving of the official support of the State. They would make an appropriate memorial among other, more obvious, changes to our laws which must follow this murder.
ANYWAY, back to programmes. Since its founding in 1831, the French Foreign Legion has attracted 500,000 recruits. Given its PR as a haven for criminals, forlorn lovers and adventuring aristocrats serving under assumed names, it's not surprising that the legion has attracted its share of deluded romantics. The reality, as shown on Foreign Legion, is more prosaic.
Ian Taylor's two part film was the first to be granted fly on the kepi access. It followed a young Scotsman, Dean Heggie, through basic training to the award of the prized kepi. Along the way, be and the other new recruits among them 19 year old Irishman, John Hogan - suffered immense physical stress, sleep deprivation, mental cruelty and severe (off screen) beatings. It was, in a phrase, dog rough. And there was worse.
There were interminable French and singing lessons. The French was bellowed out by officers with a vigour reminiscent of the Christian Brothers teaching the rules of the fourth declension in Irish. This was a macho education now gone from the rest of the Western world. But the singing provided the purest cruelty. If you didn't sing to the captain's satisfaction, you had to run up a mountain and, on returning, have the daylights punched out of you.
If you did sing to the captain's satisfaction, be made you run up the mountain anyway and have the daylights punched out of you, for the hell of it. "They need to come out of themselves " said the captain. If they didn't, they got a hiding. Oh, and if they did, they got a hiding too. Basic training, you understand. Anyway, after the singing and hidings came sleep deprivation, turning over perfectly made beds and another few hidings.
After that, basic training could get rough. Almost comatose from lack of sleep, a typical wake up call could involve being hosed down with cold water, after which the recipient might stand, naked, for a few hours, in the freezing night. Still, this was just basic training. The real stuff would begin when the recruits landed in French Guyana. After a good hiding, of course.
Snakes, crocodiles, insects and AIDS awaited the lads in French Guyana. A new captain warned them about all of these dangers, stressing that they must use "ultra fortified condoms" if they visited a local brothel. As he described them, these practically bomb proof prophylactics sounded as though, they afforded all the sensitivity of a Wavin pipe. Then it was time to enter the jungle.
They were shown mantraps and had to complete an assault course through the rain forest which was a sewer of mud, water and tree roots. Beside it, Deliverance looked like a stroll in St Stephen's Green. But, typically French, all of this just led up to the piece de resistance - the camp entertainment. A cross between a Gazzaguzzle and It Ain't Half Hot Mum, this was torture indeed. Still, it was a first rate documentary and given the French, the singing and the entertainment, these lads, whatever their sins, had, completed the mother of all atonements.
BEFORE Ireland entered the jungle of the EEC, Justin Keating featured in a controversial condom buying scene in 1967. There he was, presenting a programme titled Into Europe and buying a packet of condoms in a Swedish street. Shameless. The 13 part series was RTE's first major overseas production. Now, 29 years later, RTE is screening The Gap in the Mountain... Our Journey into Europe. An older, bearded Justin contributed to this first episode of a six parter.
The years have seen great changes in the grammar of television. The original series was pretty much an on site, talking heads to camera effort. In contrast, the new one is as busy as a pop video. It uses archive footage from Dev to De Gaulle, from the Irish Civil War to Auschwitz interviews; flashbacks to the 1967 series; repeating continuity images and it even has a built in, retrospective real life soap opera. This is ambitious documentary making and it is admirable.
The main character of the soap is Pasquale Mastropasqua, who was filmed for the original series. Then, he had left his small farm in southern Italy and was living in Germany. Now he, is back home. His journey lends a continuity to the new series. But it was the visual aspects of The Gap ... which were most impressive. Just those few seconds of Brendan Bowyer doing the Hucklebuck back in the 1960s, reminded us of how remote that period is now.
As a visual history, this is compelling because, in truth, the story of Ireland's entry into the EEC is not the sexiest. Oh, it is worthy and it is good to tell it, but it is primarily an economic story. This treatment puts watchable history on earnest statistics and plays to the strengths of television. Mind you, it's on the edge of ambition - any further elements would risk clutter - but it is sufficiently controlled to be lively without being frustratingly fussy. A commendable first episode.
FINALLY, A Handful of Snow. This too was a winning, if more traditional, documentary. Team Theatre brings theatre to primary and post primary schools and it was clear from this celebration of the company's 21 years that issues, well dramatised, can be very thought provoking for children. Conversely, it is therefore alarming to consider the damage which morally dubious theatre and/or television can do.
Oh, all the actors played their parts in this programme but, in many ways, the stars were the audiences. Young children, in particular, seemed transfixed by the dramas and the moral dilemmas they raised. The fun, energy and commitment in the documentary risked being theatrically sugary. But it wasn't. It was, though, in marked contrast to the mood of the week which raised not a moral dilemma, but a frighteningly acute legal one. Next move to Nora Owen.