Here, from Ray Richmond of the Hollywood Reporter, is an allegedly humorous breakdown of the unwritten rules of the television critics press tour, a twice yearly gathering of largely self-important scribes who get to spend several weeks a year getting their ass kissed (quality of smack depending on what paper they work for).
I am, as you can probably tell from the tone of my post, bitter at never getting the full-on open-mouthed love like, say, Bill Carter of the New York Times. But one soldiers on.
I will also admit, right here and right now, that I have asked for autographs. And I don't regret my Mary Tyler Moore "Oh Steph" on a glossy of her from the Dick Van Dyke show. I just don't.
Let me also say a word here about alcohol, which goes unmentioned by Ray. But suffice it to say that plenty gets consumed by critics at network expense. And seemingly enjoyed. I'm not much of a drinker, and had about 57 stories a week to file, so I didn't go there. But I felt as though I was darn near alone on that front back in the day (mid-'90s).
Just like I felt like I was darn near alone in actually enjoying television. I remember raving about ER before anyone knew what ER was and most people were predicting that it would get crushed by Chicago Hope. My enthusiasm, sincere though it was, was viewed with tremendous suspicion. Sad, really.
Anyway, now it is Ray's turn:
http://www.pastdeadline.com/2006/07/at_the_tv_criti.html
When at Press Tour, Kindly Check Your Unbridled Enthusiasm and Garden-Variety Toadiness At the Door
We all need someone we can lean on. That became apparent to me the day I started work as a talent coordinator and segment producer for "The Merv Griffin Show" in 1985, during the seminal talk show's dying days. My job was to edit movie promo clips and conduct pre-interviews with guests, feeding Merv questions and answers based on that advance chat to ensure that the show contained no spontaneity whatsoever. What I wasn't told by my fellow talent coodinators prior to my first pre-show meeting with Merv was that you were never to try to be funny in Merv's presence lest he grow offended at the sheer audacity of your thinking you might succeed in drawing a smile. So of course I pretty much immediately launched into a joke. Merv responded with complete silence, literally turning his back on me. Once the meeting mercifully concluded, one of my fellow coordinators frantically took me aside and gasped, "Oh God, we forgot to tell you: nobody can be funnier than Merv!"
Uhhhhh...yeah. Thanks for the tip.
With this 20-year-old story in mind, I'm committed to being there for any TV critics who may be new on the job and taking in their first Television Critics Association press event (currently going down in Pasadena) with the goal of sparing them the same sort of excruciating pain I experienced when Merv put a well-meaning neophyte in his place.
You see, the TV critics have unwritten rules at these affairs, an ingrained code of conduct that first-timers no doubt find perplexing, not to mention unnerving. If you don't know how to properly behave, there is guaranteed to be embarrassment, admonishments, angry stares, wagging fingers and, in rare cases, the outright withholding of meaningless chit-chat. You risk being ostracized, isolated, gossiped about, possibly even placed on the TCA's version of probation (having your key access to the prison cell-size official association suite at the hotel taken away).
To guard against such public humilation and potential trauma, I submit the 10 Iron-Clad Unwritten Rules of TCA:
1. Critics do not applaud at any session no matter what! And when company drones in attendance take to clapping, critics are expected to assume the "Buddha Position" (arms crossed, legs crossed, staring blankly straight ahead, all of the body's muscles in complete repose). The louder the surrounding applause, the more blank and emotionless the expression and inert the limbs.
2. The more popular the star attending a session happens to be, the less outwardly impressed the critic must appear -- demonstrating a palpable indifference to the celebrity's standing via what's known as the "You ain't all that!" line of questioning and level of recognition. (Does not apply if the star is too hot to speak to and simultaneously breathe properly, such as in the case of Salma Hayek.)
3. When asking a question of anyone (executive, producer or star) on a panel, never address he or she by first name. It's not "Ted" but "Mr. Danson." You are not their friend. You are their journalistic overlord. And asking for autographs? Only if you want to be strangled to death. You are not a fan and are not in attendance to help them feel good about themselves or their project. At TCA, skeptical is the new curious. Always has been, come to think of it.
4. If you ask any question during a session that smacks of ass-kissing, your chances of ever achieving the respect of your fellow critics hovers close to zero. Better to let others do the asking until you get the lay of the land.
5. If you still insist on asking a question and are fortunate enough to draw the attention of one of the network pages who control microphone access, be as rude as possible. Jump up and down. Interrupt with impunity. Wave your arms frantically. Holler "Over here on your right!" at three-second intervals until acknowledged. Fall to the ground clutching your chest, feigning a heart attack. Then scream, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" or, while experiencing a miraculous and instantaneous recovery from the heart episode, yell, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm not gonna let these bastards get away with this!" If you don't approach this task with the firm conviction that you are the center of the universe and the other critics mere orbiting pieces of space trash, you'll never get a chance to speak. But again, don't worry about making a scene to get your shot. It's simply how this game is played.
6. If a fellow critic asks a question of a network executive that elicits a shifty, evasive, awkward, uncomfortable, testy or ignorant response, be sure to follow it up by asking the same question in a slightly different way. And then again if necessary. Be sure to work yourself into a hostile lather. Rinse. Then repeat during each subsequent network executive session.
7. Laughing during sessions is permissible, but it must be driven by the proper motivation. You cannot chuckle because you genuinely like the person and believe he or she is a stitch. The laughter can only emerge as a temporary, reflexive, otherwise dispassionate reaction to a single amusing moment and then immediately followed by a quick recovery and a mumbled, "Ha. Funny."
8. You can eat the free food supplied by the hotel and covered on the networks' dime but cannot appear to be enjoying it excessively. It is adequate sustenance, nothing more. To imply otherwise is to effectively abandon your power. The meals must be reflected as moderately satisfying at best. Regular and increasingly frustrated complaints about the poor quality of the gratis grub are encouraged.
9. If you speak to a fellow critic about the general news value of this year's press tour while it's in progress, it must pale in comparison -- using such descriptions as "sucks" or "bites" -- while recalling the quality and excitement of every past event. And if someone misses a session and inquires as to how it went, you are duty-bound to reply, "Oh God, it was painful. Didn't get a thing out of it. (Insert names here) were so lame."
10. If you try to sneak a "plus one" into any network party, expect to be fixed with the evil eye by many out-of-town attendees who are there by themselves. Taking along a friend or family member is not the politically savvy thing to do, implying that special (read: unethical) favors have been sought and unjust enrichment bestowed. Like smoking a cigarette in the bathroom in 7th grade, it is unlikely to escape the attention of someone with an ax to grind and will surely haunt you to your grave.
So anyway, there you go, newbies. No need to thank me. It's all just about giving back for me.
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