A MIRACULOUS CONCEPT
Television continuity announcements are one of mankind's achievements that really bring home to us all what flawed beings we are compared to a truly miraculous concept like broadcasting.
If God had been thinking straight when he made us then he would almost certainly have included a voice in our head that told us what would happen next. Imagine being in a pub and a disembodied home counties voice saying, "and after the next drink the man by the fruit machine will launch an unprovoked physical attack on you. Except for viewers in Scotland, who will get their retaliation in first." Sadly, no such facility will ever exist and we must instead pay tribute to the men and women whose foresight steers us safely across the airwaves. Folk whose names and lives have remained, until now, one of television's last and most enigmatic secrets.
FILLING THE BLANKS
Continuity announcers are the people who fill in the blanks. The ones who must seduce us into staying with our chosen channel. The ones who must make phrases like "next it's Nicky Campbell with Watchdog" sound more seductive than suicidal. The ones who must break the news that the programme that holds your life together like glue "is back in two weeks' time" because of some golf. All this and other things besides. They are our invisible friends, but what do they really get up to? The popular notion that they are immobile (and quite possibly drinking) for 59 minutes of every working hour is swiftly dispelled as soon as you track one down.
Jim "the voice" Colvin has done continuity for the BBC, ITV and is currently the sound of Channel 5 in the evenings. "It can be very serious work at times," he says in a voice that is instantly familiar, "and it can also be suffocatingly boring." Colvin and his peers write their own scripts and spend much of their time between announcements watching forthcoming shows and deciding how to pitch them to viewers. "Invariably," he says, "you won't be watching the programme that's going out."
As any square-eyed insomniac knows, announcers are, on occasion, capable of saying things that make you wonder if you're dreaming. How much freedom are they allowed to pursue their own opinions? "Well Channel 5 did start off by being very informal," says Colvin, "but it's since moved more mainstream. In the daytime they used to show quite naff US soaps that lent themselves to a bit of light-hearted stuff. The announcers had a field day but there was a feeling that after a while it was beginning to sound a little bit naff. A lot of what people were saying wasn't funny or clever. It was getting a bit cringe-making."
COUNTING THE SWEAR WORDS
Channel 5's Sunset Beach infancy was a world away from Colvin's experiences at the BBC. "There, you would have to vet absolutely everything that was said, and you'd have sit down in the evening before a large table of executives and read through everything you were going to say that night. They would pick over it and say that the 'and' should come before the 'the' in that sentence, that sort of thing. If there was a contentious film that had swearing in it, it would be the announcer's job to view the entire film and count the swear words, go back to this august panel and say, 'Right, tonight's film, we're looking at two fucks, three bloodys and a bastard'. And they would weigh up what sort of warning should go in front of it. Ha ha!"
But it wasn't all laughs. "On the Saturday shift at the BBC you'd arrive at midday say, 'Here's Grandstand!' and you'd be literally sat there for six hours while it was on just in case there was a major royal death or something. With a major disaster, for sensitivity reasons, other programmes have to be changed and then your work's really cut out for you. Most of the time those things don't happen but when they do you can see the importance of having someone like us there."
In spite of his evident preference for the freedoms of a commercial network, Colvin is quick to stress that adverts are potentially the announcer's harshest adversary.
"The ads will come in come what may and obliterate what you're saying mid-sentence. The timing needs to be quite precise or you'll be cut. The best example of that was Jack Hargreaves, the old bloke who used to be on How! He subsequently had a programme called The Old Country. Someone, I think on Channel 4, had to say, 'Next, Jack Hargreaves, The Old Country,' and lost the last syllable."
THE HUMAN FACTOR
Between the outbreak of war and the rigours of advertising, announcers also offer a valued point of human contact to the viewer. Mike Brewster, the man behind continuity-booth.co.uk, a website devoted to the announcer's art, views ITV's recent decision to dispense with regional continuity as a retrograde step. Whilst much of Brewster's site is devoted to the bygone era of "In-vision" regional continuity and the Alan Partridge-style local legends that it spawned (step forward Fred Dinenage et al) he sees more at stake than simple nostalgia.
"Back in the days of three or four channel TV these people were in your room every night and people remember them fondly," says Brewster. The death of that local aspect with or without the visual contact is, he argues, "a huge error for ITV. Regional identity is its unique selling point and it's the only broadcaster than do it. But it looks like ITV is married to the idea of becoming a national network. Beyond that you're losing something that's a little bit special and a little bit different, not just some disembodied voice from the BBC talking to the masses. When continuity is done well you don't really notice it. When it's done badly it sticks out. It has a potent subconscious effect on the perception of the viewer."
A shining and, as it turns out, wondrously amiable example of good continuity is BBC2's voice of the evenings, former actress Beccy Wright. So recognisable and reassuring is her voice that speaking to her on the telephone is the kind of therapeutic experience you'd normally expect to pay for.
PUSHING THE PROGRAMMES
Continuity, she says, is all about "trying to get to the essence of the programme ... BBC2 viewers are pretty intelligent and sophisticated so I'm always looking for ways of matching that. I'm passionate about TV. I'm a viewer as much as anything else, and that's what I try and put across." So can she allow herself to get enthusiastic about the shows she likes? "Absolutely. 24 had a big push but a lot of people were missing out on it." So you made a point of flagging that up? "Of course! Ooh, I was glued, I just loved it, and it's my job to watch it! The tone we try and take is less like pronouncement and more like someone sitting next to you saying 'This is great, watch it'."
A year ago Beccy faced perhaps the most significant change to the published programmes in broadcasting history. "I was there on September 11, and that was extraordinary. We rearranged the BBC2 schedule to take some of BBC1's stuff so I was re-writing and announcing in quick succession but at the same tinme watching that incredible news and trying to be calm and reassuring."
And indeed she was. Good continuity, then, is an essential part of good television. One of the few parts of it that can stem the alienation that it fosters. And with that, Beccy Wright puts down the phone and says she'll "speak to me tonight". She will as well. |
