With Married at First NZ beginning on Three tonight, Alex Casey recounts being in the room for the holy union of two complete strangers. 

The weirdest thing about being a guest a Married at First Sight wedding, aside from the obvious, is that there’s no music during the ceremony to tell you what to do. There’s no way of knowing when to make that breathless turn to look at the glowing bride or groom, or knee-slide into the charming flash mob we’ve been working on in secret for weeks. “Just imagine your favourite Ed Sheeran song is playing in your head” the celebrant told us, barely audible above the howling coastal winds.

I was a part of a small wedding party perched on the edge of a cliff, bearing witness to the holy sacred union of two strangers for the television. Everything was top secret, we had to sign NDA forms and drive hours out of the city until our phones lost all service – at the time of writing I am still unable to identify anything about the happy couple that tied the knot that day. What I can tell you is that the bringing Married at First Sight to New Zealand is a “huge swing” for Mediaworks, as described by their Chief Content Officer Andrew Szusterman.

And it’s one that just might pay off.

Using relationship experts – psychology lecturer Pani Farvid and relationship counsellor Tony Jones – to couple up strangers to become legally married, The Married at First Sight arrangement model is both romance reality television on steroids and a super traditional way of getting hitched across various cultures. As Pani would later explain to me at a media event, the irony wasn’t lost on her, “I’m a Middle Eastern woman arranging the marriage of Westerners… on television! In 2017!”

Back at the wedding, the guests were moving coyly around each other on the lawn, excitedly snapping group shots to file away for when the embargo lifts and they can flood their social media feeds. If it hadn’t been for all the TV cameras, and the Mums getting mic’d up, things might have felt normal. A crumpled home-wrapped wedding gift sat alone on a table above a bunch of sound gear. People were also pretty dressed up for 10 am, heels sinking into the wet grass and puffer jackets protecting the frocks from the cold ocean sting. “Nice to see you wore your best shoes” a guest jibed at what were, in my defence, my best sneakers.

It was time to take our seats, and I promptly grabbed a plastic chair at the back, praying I wouldn’t be on camera looking like a casual-shoe-wearing media slob on this special day of days. Behind us, I could make out the first brave contestant, pacing back and forth in the function room. Everyone gasped and turned around as they made their way down the aisle, their new forever love emerging from a flax bush to join them at the altar. As instructed, the first pangs of Ed Sheeran ‘Thinking Out Loud’ began in my head. I wasn’t crying, it was just a really windy day. Honest.

The good news is, the pair didn’t seem to know each other, even if multiple people in their wedding parties did. This is New Zealand after all, it wouldn’t be half as fun without the slight threat of marrying cousins hanging over the whole production. At the altar, both contestants were squirming, avoiding eye contact and instead staring into the middle distance like they had something more interesting and urgent to look at than their new spouse. Suddenly, everyone became a whispering body language expert. Look at those balled fists! Look at those darting eyes! That eyebrow raise! “Either they weren’t super keen… or just really nervous,” the celebrant told me later, in hushed tones over her marital steak, “it’s hard to tell.”

Some of you cynical folk out there might think this whole thing is a stitch-up, but expert Tony assured me, to use an old adage of The Bachelor NZ, that everyone who signed up to Married at First Sight is there for the right reasons. A lot of the contestants have washed up on the show after enduring the tumultuous seas of Tinder, and are plain exhausted with the modern dating game. “They’ve just come to us saying ‘please, someone, do it all for me’” Pani laughed. “You can’t really swipe people in real life, you see,” added Tony. Unlike the Australian version of the show, the New Zealand contestants are getting legally married, no cushy TV safety nets around these parts.

Any awkward afterglow of the swift wedding ceremony was interrupted by production immediately splitting up the couple and whisking them away to film their first impressions of each other. We filed into the reception room, where in-laws began making the first tense small talk of the rest of their lives. The newlyweds slunk in sheepishly soon after but immediately split like oil and water to work the room, the cameras and hawk-eyed guests following their every move. Could it be possible that they loathe each other already? 

I watched as their sad wedding cake was wheeled to the top table. “Hoorah” it read. Guess we’ll soon see about that.

Married at First Sight NZ starts tonight on Three at 7.00pm

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As we bid farewell to the world’s only pub politics show, Back Benches host Wallace Chapman looks back at the series’ weird and wonderful nine years on air.

Well, a big part of my life is over. I don’t want to hype the point, but that’s how it seems. We just had our last show on Wednesday, and in true Back Benches fashion, Winston Peters turned up to the show unannounced, as did original co-host for eight years, Damian Christie. The marijuana crowd was out in force and the pub was pumped for the final outing of New Zealand ‘pub politics.’

NZ On Air decided not to renew funding for 2018, and I don’t blame them. Shows have a lifespan, and nearly 10 years is one hell of a lifespan. And in all honesty, it was going to be hard to know how to top this year – especially when some of the smaller parties that make up the diversity of the panel have gone.

Way back in March 2008 the show didn’t start well. It was ropey. The audience didn’t know what it was. Was it satire? Humour? Was it a proper political show? Brian Edwards called it an abomination. Jane Bowron called it unpleasant to watch. I wasn’t sure if it would last the 10-week mark.

Yet we persisted, and the commissioners — god bless them — persisted with me. The one thing Back Benches truly had was the hardest ingredient to source in television: originality. It was a unique show. We often hear that about every new idea that gets rolled out, but Back Benches truly was. No other show in the world had (or has) a live show with an unregulated audience, haranguing members of Parliament on television. Whilst drinking.

A Texan judge who came to the show couldn’t believe it. He went away thinking it was a fake pub in the vein of Cheers. And in that respect, there was something uniquely Kiwi about holding a politics show in the pub – with the arguing, the shouting, the din, and every so often, the informed discussion.

It was never used to harvest breaking stories, but in a small way, it was fundamental to how I essentially view politics — that it should be as participatory as possible. That the distance between politician and audience be cut down to an absolute minimum. The ‘public sphere’, to use the famous Jurgen Habermas phrase. I often thought the ideal Back Benches format would be to ‘cut out the middleman’ – to use a topical quote. That there’d be no host. Just a pub audience asking questions of the MPs.

After five years, it was all up for Back Benches when TVNZ7 closed down. After the final episode, I was flying home the next morning to Auckland when I sat next to a gentleman who loved the show. He was high up at Sky TV, and told me to come round to his house with a pen and a napkin to see how we could save the show. From then on, it started its life on Prime, as a co-production with TVNZ.

A few things about Back Benches that I’ll always remember: Hone Harawira tossing a bunch of education badges all across the floor, Keith Locke (hopelessly) trying to roll a joint of synthetic cannabis, Paula Bennett as a young backbencher, Chris Carter doing a series of press-ups in a strange display of strength, and the two Grand Masters of politics – Michael Cullen and Roger Douglas– on the same show, both in explosive form. I’ve now developed a well-honed eye for spotting the next sharp talent seeping up through the backbencher rung.

Back to that notion of the ‘public sphere’, I agonised that some candidates were not allowed on the panel. We had the same rule as TVNZ. You needed a seat in parliament or 3% in the polls. How fair was it that we had ACT or United Future, but not TOP? How was that participatory democracy?

There are many to thank, but I will reserve mention to senior producer Maryanne Ahern. A former producer to the likes of Kim Hill and Paul Holmes, as well as the current election specials, working with Maryanne was a formidable learning curve in television and presenting. She taught me to simply be myself. It’s harder than it sounds.

Charlotte Ryan, to see someone blossom into a star presenter as Charlotte has, has been fascinating. Uniquely engaging and authentic, Charlotte has a fantastic future. Watch this space.

The door has been left open for a Back Benches election season in 2020. Of The Beatles, Paul McCartney said you can’t reheat a soufflé. We’ll see.

But there is one moment that comes to mind as I write this. Paul Holmes, in his leather jacket, is in the Back Benches audience. He comes up afterwards and we get talking. He stands in the presenter’s spot and looks around the pub.  I cheekily say. “Paul you really need to know how to handle a live audience to do this show.“  Paul replies: “Let me know if you need a fill in.”

Paul Holmes doing a Back Benches show. Now that would have been something.

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