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FeaturesNovember 12, 2014

A Sleeping Giant Begins to Stir: TVNZ’s ‘Episodes 2015’ New Season Launch

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The Spinoff editor Duncan Greive went along to TVNZ’s new season launch and left with ringing ears, an LED lanyard and dreams of a reality juggernaut. //

Six million people are stalked every year in the United States. 3.5m New Zealanders view TVNZ weekly. 18,000 paid their condolences to non-existent person Sarah Potts. Kleenex quadrupled sales expectations (?!) in three weeks. Two and a Half Men. Two Broke Girls.

“If the numbers are anything to go by, they’re absolutely loving it,” said Jeremy O’Brien, TVNZ head of sales. He was the opening speaker, beaming and extremely self-assured, gazing out to hundreds of staff and clients. Tonight wasn’t just about numbers for O’Brien, though.

It was about family: “At this event last year I shared with you a story about my son Harrison. He’d given up his dreams of being an All Black in favour of the magician Dynamo.”

It was about food: “Now he loves to cook.”

It was also, weirdly, about guns: “Your most effective advertising shotgun will soon be joined by a rifle.”

Things were getting a little homicidal. So were the audience. We were at ‘Episode 2015’, TVNZ’s new season launch to advertisers, and had been in our seats a half hour watching singing and dancing and eventually speaking. It was TV’s biggest night of the year. But where were the stars?

There’d been a little Ferndale: Honour and Grace Kwan and Kylie at the pre-drinks. Then Roimata palling about with Jacquie Brown on the way in. We were knew there were more here, lurking somewhere.

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Dubsteppy dancers. Maybe krumping? idk.

It stood to reason. If you have the numbers, you have the stars. The drought ended with O’Brien’s salving, wrong but still thrilling words: “Now, here’s New Zealand’s most dynamic TV duo: Mike Hosking and Toni Street!”

Then that voice. Like butter and chloroform. It boomed down from the Royal balcony: “my usual seat,” he said drolly. He was so damn droll!

But y’know what? Hosking might be a horrible badperson, but he’s pretty funny. “Let me do it alone,” he recalled, candidly, about his move to Seven Sharp, “don’t let me have any accoutrements.” It was true. He did ask management to make it Ho(lme)sking. The man. Alone. So Hosking to so breezily reveal it.

Street yucked it up, but somewhere inside she must’ve died a little. Inside her grows a child. Inside Hosking grows only his own garden of self-love. Where some monstrous television talents eventually reveal a quasi-sociopathic ability to replicate human emotion without ever really feeling it, Hosking has a psychopath’s indifference to the pain of others. He’s the anti-John Campbell, who feels too much.

Hosking’s reveals tonight: No one is allowed in his Ferrari while it moves. His favourite show of the year was Vote Compass, possibly seriously. He describes Orange is The New Black as “the one with a lot of boiler suits and lesbians”, sounding legitimately spooked. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

I laughed, and hated myself for it. I was laughing at how well Mike Hosking plays himself. As a pompous ass, contemptuous of the world’s non-Hosking population. What can you do? Mike Hosking is funny in that role! But his self-abusive comedy was also awful in a way that Paul Henry’s “I’m everywhere all the time”-riff at the MediaWorks launch somehow wasn’t.

Because Hosking is the king. Fellow reprobate Henry, despite what might well be a bigger paycheque, is aware on some molecular level that he’s down with us plebs, shooting catapults over The Wall.

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The Wall is TVNZ’s knowledge that they have the ratings, and will have them until every staff member over 50 (AKA Senior Management) is safely out to pasture. That’s the legacy effect of your two channels having been the only channels for precisely half of New Zealand’s 50 year television era.

It’s a real thing: TV3 didn’t launch until 1989. Anyone then under 50 gave it a go, most over 50 never bothered. So at 6pm One News went on. In more progressive families, from the early ‘90s, 7pm allowed a move to TV2’s landmark Shortland St.

Want to know how the disparity of audience looks in one cold fact? The number one comedy on TV this year was Mrs Brown’s Boys. This is definitely akin to the Pauline Kael urban myth about Nixon voters, but seriously – do you know anyone who has ever watched an episode of that show? Who even knew it existed? Super Gold Cardholders is the demo.

Now that era is coming to a close. You could sense it in the energy of MediaWorks’ all-in launch. It’s game time. But you know what? Tonight you could also sense that TVNZ – for so long rich, dumb and flabby to the point of somnambulance – was aware that winter is coming. They’re starting to turn up the heat. And that ultimately bodes very well for us at the other end of the remote.

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It took a while to get there though. Horrible Hosking gave way to the stars of Step Dave, who did this bit about watching The Walking Dead at “Aunt Mavis’ funeral” that made you think she had the good spot in her casket.

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Matt Gibb talks bacon while Tim Wilson inspects his rump.

Matt Gibb and Tim Wilson were up next. They’re two of the sharpest of TVNZ’s on air talents, so naturally are selling us product integration. This is good, important work – increasingly the fuel of modern network television and the modern media environment. They nail the comedy shilling. But give these dudes some leading roles over the bit parts they’re filling right now.

The on-air stars, long held back, then become a torrent. Jesse Mulligan and Wilson have fun sending a Go-Pro into the crowd, and Wilson makes a good joke about Mulligan and Seven Sharp and a beneath-him one about his legs (he’s wearing shorts) being “a bit like the other network. Promising very little, but delivering even less”.

No one ever gets near Hosking’s candlepower. Simon Dallow comes closest – a young Don Brash: frothy, frisky and self-confident. Jack Tame is over from “Spanish Harlem” (a McRoberts-esque humblebrag) and riffing with Breakfast Sam about his own beautiful face and Sam’s “ripe grapefruit” guns. It works.

Vinnie Kruse and Nicole Miller come out and play with the network’s gleaming diamond Shortland St (aside: watch out for our cool tribute ‘Street Week’, coming on The Spinoff from December 8th). Their stagey back-and-forth is fun, but too short.

Everything’s too short. But the event itself is too long. It’s relentless. Where MediaWorks lingered over their coming franchises, TVNZ were lacking in internal self-confidence. They couldn’t pick their winners so sold us everything.

Did we need to know crappy-looking superhero shows like The Flash and Arrow are coming? How about the return of The Voice Australia and My Kitchen Rules Australia? A show with David Duchovny swearing?

The local content rushed by in a blur. Nigel Latta Blows Things Up sounds like a good joke but is a real thing. I’m very into it but what the hell is he up to? 800 Words, from SPP and ‘the makers of Outrageous Fortune’, was nothing but a stylised title and a picture of an old man. My bet’s on it being a biopic of James Griffin’s endless Canvas columning.

Kiwi Living was even more opaque. Title Case arial in white on black, with an ‘in production’ sash across the top left. A big box retail thing for sales to sell. Maybe no one knows what it is?

By then we were close to an hour in. It had been loud, splashy, a little too chaotic.

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Baller lanyard.

I don’t want to give the impression that I didn’t enjoy the production values and the flashing lights and the pass-it-round Go Pro and the moment our lanyards came to life (“like a Colplay concert,” I heard more than once). And many of the shows are gonna be great. More Orange Is The New Black. More Broadchurch. Great, great. But there was something missing.

It was the shock of the new.

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That finally came during the most fulfilling section of the night. The factual lineup started strong. TVNZ’s banker classics are coming around again you guys! Neighbours at War, Highway Patrol and Police 10:7, those endless pen portraits of New Zealanders at leisure – they’ll all be back and bleeping in 2015.

They were expected, though. Where TV3 has franchises, TVNZ has startups. Namely Bogans and I Am Innocent and Our First Home.

All three look great. Bogans vibed like a series-length documentary about Hamilton, with a blissed out young woman talking about her love of burnouts and “sinking piss”. She was awesome. We saw too little, but sign me up, obviously.

I Am Innocent showed glimpses of intensely harrowing footage featuring a guy claiming that he shouldn’t be in prison. For rape. He looked like the ’00s-era McConnaughey from True Detective, which is to say like our stereotypical rapist. But amongst the flash and boom the conviction in his voice caught in the throat. The show looks legit.

The night’s big win, though, was Our First Home. Admittedly it’s a goddamn legobox of a title, a trio of sellwords clumped together in the hope of honey trapping those advertisers shut out of The Block. But hear them out. Because the premise is incredible.

Our First Home is about three young couples buying a house and trying to flick it on in an attempt to raise money for their first home deposit. The twist? They’re doing it all with their parents!

Money? Their parents. Builders? Them and their parents. Living in the dust-coated shithole? Them and their parents!

Have you ever tried doing anything with your parents? Or your children? Imagine doing it for months on end. It’s The Block meets Big Brother meets The Apprentice! It’s going to be on around 15 hours a week, according to my munter guesstimates, but if anything that’s too little. Because it’s a triangulation of three ultra-stressful situations, and regardless of the outcome it guarantees a social media lightning storm of hatred toward Aucklanders, middle class people, capitalism and fiat currency.

Our First Home is an original concept from TVNZ. It deserved more play, over the good-but-who-really-cares American space fillers. As a presentation it lacked for a coherence. But the gleaming light of the new original reality programming – particularly the inter-generational televisual apocalypse in-waiting Our First Home – more than made up for it.

The show is the first sign in a while that our old publicly-owned warhorse TVNZ is aware it’s in a fight. The first shot in anger at the impending The BachelorMasterChefThe BlockGrand Designs franchise hydra that’s coming their way. That it contains antagonistic multitudes shows what creative talent remains at TVNZ, chilling behind their endless win streak.

It portends a multi-front reality war, coming in 2015.

Bring it on.

This post is a sequel to our review of the similarly OTT MediaWorks equivalent, covered here a couple of weeks back.

Keep going!
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FeaturesNovember 11, 2014

TV Autopsies – Wayne Anderson: Singer of Songs

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For TV Autopsies The Spinoff ventures deep into the TV universe to check in with New Zealand’s fallen stars, away from the spotlight’s glare. In this debut instalment Alex Casey went to Manurewa to meet four-octave powerhouse and Harry Warner hater, Wayne Anderson. //

Wayne Anderson, the greatest singer in Manurewa, first bellowed his way onto our screens in the 2005 series Wayne Anderson: Singer of Songs. The late-night seven-part “documentary” followed the aspirational singer and his bumbling manager Orlando Stewart as they clawed their way through resthome gigs and buckets of KFC – all in the pursuit of fame.

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Wayne and his records

At the age of 47 in the show, Wayne was part Tom Jones, part Engelbert Humperdinck – and all showmanship. Decked out in a far-too-tight, far-too-unbuttoned white suit and a halo of frequently permed thinning hair, Wayne was determined to break out of the South Auckland scene and rival his vocal idols on the world stage. It all seemed too good to be true. Turns out, the show itself was – but Wayne definitely wasn’t.

Through a sordid turn of events involving an afternoon John Rowles casino gig and a G&T that I drank far too quickly, I found myself approaching Wayne and pocketing one of his giant (laminated) business cards. With the return of both Singer of Songs and second season Glory Days to Heartland next year, what better time to check in with the man himself and see how fame and fortune is treating him?

Wayne Anderson’s voicemail threatens to delete your message unless you correctly guess the name of the song that follows. Four minutes later (just enough time to google the lyrics in their entirety) I was in the inner voicemail sanctum. It was “Dommage, Dommage” by Engelbert Humperdinck, just in case you ever find yourself in the same situation. I left a message. He called me back at 11pm that night, explaining that although he was sick, he’d love to talk, “Wayne on two cylinders is still better than anyone anyway.”

Wayne's kitchen
Wayne’s kitchen

Several days later, I found myself at his infamous record-laden Manurewa abode. From the outside, a chilling cardboard cut-out of Tom Jones in the window assured me that I was in the right place. Wayne took me around his house, opening all the kitchen cabinets which were filled with CDs, cassettes and VHS tapes. “Where people have their cups and saucers, I have Tom Jones,” he said proudly. I asked him where he kept his cups and saucers, he pointed to two lone mugs sitting on top of his fridge. It was surreal, but also completely as expected.

Sitting alone in his darkened lounge whilst listening to a deafening version of “She’s a Lady” by Tom Jones (he kindly put it on for me before leaving to make coffee), I inspected the folder of hand-written lists of his top 240 CDs in order of preference, and then alphabetically. Layers of twink weighed the paper down as he had changed his mind over the years. It seemed like an administrative nightmare.

“I put the blinds down because the sun fades the records,” Wayne explained, putting me slightly at ease as he frantically paced around shutting out all sunlight. He held up two identical Glen Campbell records, one of which was faded, “see that? Thank God I’ve got six extra copies. This one’s called Light Years and I call this one Extra Light Years.” After several minutes quizzing him on the tracklists of his favourite records (because he asked me to), he finally sat down and removed his Dame Edna sunglasses. I noted that he had applied a very strong cologne.

one of many record quizzes
one of many record quizzes

When did you first get started in music?
The career probably began when I realised I could reach the same notes as Englebert and Tom [Wayne clears his throat and holds an enormous note for 20 + seconds]. I’ve always been musical. Music is in my heart, it’s my passion. I went on New Zealand’s Got Talent and I did really well, I went into the quarter finals. But I think they wanted 24 year olds who can’t sing, not 55 year olds who can.

I’m surprised they let you audition considering you already had a bit of a TV profile.
I think thats why I got booted. They were probably looking for fresh talent and I was a bit too established already.

How did you find the NZGT process? Are you a fan of talent shows?
It was bloody boring. Me and my girlfriend stood for about seven hours in a line in Epsom. I finally got there about 10 o’clock at night. Those talent shows are a joke. Most of the contestants can’t sing. I know that because I’ve got the best singing voice in the country. John Rowles told me that. I can match the best singers in the world, I’m not a dreamer.

Would you ever consider being a judge?
Oh yeah, definitely. I would know exactly what to look for.

tinseltown tom
tinseltown tom

I actually pegged you earlier this year for it.
I’d love to do it. I’m still waiting to hear a voice as good as Tom Jones. I’m better than any of them. And that’s really what my TV show was about. How my talent had been overlooked.

Do you have any interest in modern music?
Yes, because I’m open-minded. The mind is like a parachute – always keep it open. But, nothing impresses me. Everything took a nose-dive when Elvis died. The modern crap people play me wouldn’t feature on my top 500. Like Justin Beaver, I wouldn’t cross the road to see that.

I see you’ve got Bic Runga’s album there though, she makes the cut?
I got given that, I’ve been meaning to throw it away.

So, how did the first TV show get started?
I had a guy called John Baker who took an interest in my voice. Then Glenn Elliott stepped in and said “We’ll put you on TV. We’ll get you a computer and a car and a bank account and put out a CD.” Not a lot of that happened. I went on TV which was very good. You know, all exposure – good, bad, or indifferent – is good.

Wayne goes swimming in S01E04
Wayne goes swimming in S01E04

I didn’t realise they were mockumentaries, not documentaries. I thought they wanted to take me seriously as a serious singer, and when I found out they were comedies – oh boy, I felt like cutting a throat.

I’m a really funny dude, but I want to decide when I’m being John Cleese and when I’m being Tom Jones. I don’t want to be the butt of someone else’s stupidity. There’s good, witty humour – clever humour – and then there’s silliness. There’s a lot of things recorded for those shows that should have made the final cut, but it was all replaced with so much superfluous muck.

Do you feel like you were tricked into it?
Definitely. I also have Aspergers which makes some things difficult for me to understand. I know that I’m different, and that’s why they wanted me on the television. I’ve never been a conformist. I’ve never been a New Zealand sheep. The easiest thing to do when you’re gutless or have no spine is to bow down to peer pressure and do what everyone else does. The smart thing to do is to stand up and be who you are. Be true to thine own self, regardless of what other people think.

outside promo work
outside promo work

So with that attitude, you clearly didn’t let the TV show get you down too much?
There are some things that made me really angry – mostly the things they left out. For example, they should have put it in the footage of me singing with John Rowles onstage at the Hawkins centre. I stole the thunder from him completely for about a minute and a half and the crowd loved it.

You’d think me jamming with John Rowles would be the first thing they’d put in, instead they have me down at Countdown shaking tins of baked beans and wondering if they’ve got sausages or meatballs in them. Just stupid stuff y’know?

I can crack jokes really good. See if you said to me, “tennis is a racquet!” That’s tennis and racquet, y’know? “I’m having a ball” Y’know? Whatever. Say you want a joke about chicken…”oh, that’s a bit foul isn’t it? Nothing to crow over is it?” I can come up with them just like that.

Seems like you might come from a slightly different school of comedy
Yeah, it’s clever English comedy. If you have a good command of the English language, a lot of words have double meanings you know? So you gotta be switched on to get that. I mean, you’d have to be half-pissed to put up with the crap they were churning out.

It’s an insult to my intelligence, some of the things that went in there. I don’t like being patronised, I like people that take me seriously. Except if we are joking or clowning around you know?

I will say that they did a very good job of writing it – it’s a fine line between the humour and the reality. It confused the hell out of the public, people still come up to me and ask if it was real.

wayne the suave and orlando the scruff
wayne the suave and orlando the scruff

I had my own questions about it. When I first watched it I wasn’t sure if Orlando was your real manager or not.
No, he was an actor. Imagine being my manager and not even tucking your shirt in! I’m a suave sophisticated lounge singer of quality and class – he looked like a clown. Orlando looked nothing like me and knew nothing about music. I mean, I like the guy but he really was clueless. Then it started to click – it’s a piss-take. They wrote all this total nonsense.

How did they get you back for the second season Glory Days?
They promised me that it would be a chance to redeem myself from being the retirement home singer of season one, but I realised quickly that it was more of the same. A few episodes in, I realised it was just Wayne Anderson Piss-Take Volume 2. I went to Japan in Glory Days. It was the worst ten days of my life. Bloody cockroaches in the hotel rooms.

Wow, whereabouts did you go in Japan?
Shibuya, Tokyo. We stayed in a place called The White House. It should have been called The Shit House. It was a broken-down cockroach infested little hovel. This cockroach had an ashtray over it and I was so angry I said “John Rowles wouldn’t put up with this shit.” It wasn’t a holiday.

Do you have a problem with the shows still running on TV?
In the end, it’s basically a good thing. People who get to know me in real life know what I’m like, they know that I look better and I sing better than I do on TV. I’ve actually got quite a bit of work out of it, which I’m thankful for.

I would just like to say that, despite the circumstances, I think your shows are incredible pieces of New Zealand television. And that’s largely thanks to you and your character.
I’m glad you think that but, it’s like Jeremy Kyle says, always remember that these are real people and real lives. People like to see other people fall on their asses. They want people at their worst, which is sick to me. Seeing reality on TV is good, but you should always remember to seek permission.

Wayne is a big TV fan
Wayne is a big TV fan

Are you a fan of other reality TV?
No, I think its an indictment of a truly sick society. I really only like to watch comedies on DVD. Mr Bean, Fawlty Towers, Some Mothers Do ‘Ave Em. Some of the New Zealand shows, where everything is an ‘F’ or a ‘C’ are ridiculous. Thats NZ humour. That’s not my humour. But don’t get me wrong, I like Shortland Street, I like Neighbours and Home and Away. All sorts of different things. Jeremy Kyle.

You’re a Shortland Street fan?
Yes, but I can’t stand the kids answering parents back. When I watch Harry Warner answering Chris back… he’s an absolute brat! It encourages a lack of respect for parents. He owes Chris for food in his mouth and a roof over his head. You’re 16, talk to me when you’re 48 or 52 and you’ve done something with your life.

On that note, is there anything you would like to say to people who watch your show?
Watch it and enjoy it. Bear in mind that they are mockumentaries, not documentaries. I sing better now and I look better now. Don’t use them to define me, because I’m better than that. My sense of humour is definitely a lot better than that, as you can probably tell.

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Wayne Anderson Singer Of Songs begins on Heartland on Wednesday 21 Jan 2015 at 10pm.

Wayne Anderson Glory Days (follow on series) begins Wednesday 11 Mar 2015 at 10pm.