The Silent Country (2 page)

‘That might change. Andy was looking for you.’

‘I’m travelling. See you, Stu.’

As he took a bite of his toast he watched the pretty senior producer stride down the hallway. The word ‘petite’ certainly described Veronica Anderson. She was average height but with a narrow frame and tiny bones, yet her slim shape belied her energy and vibrant personality. She was strong, too. He’d seen her lift camera cases, help a crew carry equipment and she never seemed to tire. She was firm and determined but could also be a lot of fun. Veronica had a gutsy laugh and could tell a good story. At twenty-nine she was younger than some of the production team she oversaw, but everyone liked and respected her.

She went into what had been the lounge room of the house, which now served as the central production office.
In the centre was a large table covered in newspapers and magazines with a dozen chairs pulled up around it. The rest of the room contained a sofa, a small desk with a computer, phone and fax machine, filing cabinets, a large whiteboard and two TV sets both going at once. A tall, distinguished-looking man with glasses pushed back on his dark, grey-streaked hair was rifling through a pile of files and newspaper clippings.

Veronica put down her coffee. ‘Morning, Andy. How was your weekend?’

Andrew Fitzgerald, the executive producer of
Our Country
and Veronica’s boss, answered in a soft, well-modulated voice. ‘Quiet. Did you go out raging? Dancing? Indulge in riotous behaviour?’

‘Nothing of the sort.’

‘Pity.’

‘If you recall, you gave me a fat file on Aesop Gardiner to read. And I planted some herbs.’

‘How nice. So what’d you think of slippery Aesop and his dubious art collection?’

‘He’s got one of the world’s best collections of fake Buddhist art. I don’t know that it’s a story for our audience though.’

‘I like the fact that those big sculptures were found in a machinery shed in a Victorian country town. What on earth did the locals think about that? And have you had any other ideas?’

‘Why don’t we wait till the rest of the team arrives for the morning powwow?’ she answered as she flipped through the newspaper cuttings one of the researchers had collected as possible story ideas.

‘I’d like to bounce some thoughts around with you first,’ said Andy warmly. He liked to tease and chat with Veronica on a one-to-one basis before the rest of the program staff came in. While he regarded Veronica as a great
producer, organiser, a details person, he knew that if there were a potential story where he needed someone to get people to open up and talk freely, Veronica was the one to do it. As she worked behind the camera and was not a familiar TV face but a sensitive young woman prepared to listen, people seemed to want to share their stories with her. And while she was adept at uncovering information, she never abused people’s trust but was candid and sincere, getting them to agree to talk on camera, allowing them to tell their story.

Veronica, thought Andy, could easily have faced the cameras. She was very attractive in a classical way, long dark hair, wide brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a slender, shapely figure. He often thought she looked feather-weight, as if she’d blow away in a decent wind. But Andy knew of her terrier-like determination, her tireless energy and drive and how forceful she could be. Anyway, Veronica preferred to work behind the cameras because, as she had told him, ‘I get to determine what makes a good story. It’s my call and my responsibility and I like that.’

When it came to fighting in the trenches, Veronica would be his first choice to have beside him and, with this in mind, he said, ‘Maybe we have to start rethinking our audience. The new regime is sure to start shaking things up.’

The network had recently been bought by a very rich entrepreneur, William Rowe, who’d made his money in mining among other enterprises. He had a reputation as an astute businessman, but was also a generous philanthropist who had donated millions to various Australian charities and was the patron of several cultural organisations. Indeed, he had been rewarded with an AO as much for his services to charity as for his successful business dealings.

Veronica and Andy had recently attended the full station staff meeting when everyone who worked at Network Eleven had been summoned to the main studio. This meant the people in administration, the creative departments, wardrobe, make-up, props, electrics, the technicians, the editors, as well as the staff of the big weekly and monthly shows. Veronica listened to William Rowe who, dressed in a suit and flanked by several younger men, also in suits, addressed the staff and suddenly she felt as though she was working in a bank. These were not media men. Mr Rowe, AO, made big promises to improve ratings, break new ground and promote and use cutting edge technology. He assured the staff that he had no intention of sacking anyone, as long as they produced quality shows and he asked for their co-operation to regain the number one ranking in TV land – ‘despite the severe financial constraints of the current climate’.

‘That means no extra funding. How’re we supposed to make better programs with less money?’ hissed Veronica.

‘T’was ever thus in television,’ Andy had whispered back. Veronica now reminded Andy of the impending budget cuts as she thought about some of the stories she wished they could afford to cover.

‘What do you think is going to happen under Big Bill’s regime? The rumour mill is working overtime.’

‘Probably pub gossip. But I have been called to a meeting on Wednesday after next. Heads of departments and programs. In the main board room.’

‘That sounds ominous. Do you think our program will suffer?’ she asked. ‘Become more tabloid? Having money restrictions on travel means no more far-flung locations. Do we stick to suburban backyards?’ Veronica was aware that while their ratings were good and
Our Country
had a loyal audience who enjoyed the quirky, intelligent and offbeat stories about Australian places and people, new
management always wanted to tinker with a tried-and-true formula.

‘New blood likes to reinvent the wheel on occasion and we shall see,’ said Andy, confirming her thoughts. ‘But that is my concern. You and the team just concentrate on finding stories that are different from those that everyone else does. No state of the roads, disaffected youth or shonky builders for us.’

Competition, beat the others to an interesting story, that’s what it all came down to, thought Veronica as she collected her papers from her tiny office.

The rest of the production team wandered into the central office and took their seats around the old pine table. Three researchers – two young women and a young man, two road producers, one of the editors, Tom, the new cameraman and Howard, the head of the camera department, spread coffee cups, notepads, files and mobile phones around the table. The two reporters who appeared on camera and who generally sat in on these meetings were both away on stories. Veronica didn’t miss their presence since they weren’t really involved in the creative side of the program and they didn’t make decisions on what stories to cover. Shelley was brittle, ambitious and bitchy. Kenneth – never Ken – walked around with an air of importance and a constant Bluetooth earpiece, a BlackBerry as well as a smart phone, which were never turned off. Veronica was amused by his self-importance as he really had little to do except read an autocue and convey earnest pieces to camera, many of which were edited out.
Our Country
was a show that didn’t rely heavily on the talent of the presenter, but allowed the story to tell itself.

Veronica sat on Andy’s right and ran the meeting. The researchers each made several suggestions for story ideas that were discussed, dismissed, put in a possible pile or
given a green light to be followed up later. Suggestions and jokes were made, all the staff enjoying the swift repartee that existed between the closeknit members of the professional team.

Andy leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together with an air of having seen and heard it all before. It was a tactic that made the researchers want to dig a bit harder and try to come up with clever and original ideas. Veronica listened, made notes, fired questions to the researchers about how they thought each story could work, who would be interviewed for it, what visuals they had in mind and what they thought the impact of the story would be on the audience. Howard was consulted about the availability of camera crews and the best way to cover the story from his point of view.

‘I think we should be very careful with our budget at the moment, so helicopters are out,’ said Veronica. ‘Accommodation is the local motel, not starred resorts. While our show is national and we want to include as much of the country as possible, when it’s way beyond woop woop – like the Buccaneer Archipelago,’ she raised an eyebrow at Irene, one of the researchers, ‘then we must use stringers. We know plenty of good ones all around the country, although there have been mistakes.’

Howard nodded, acknowledging the fact that he’d once hired an unknown young man in an outback town to shoot some footage which had proved to be unusable.

‘And we want to get away from picture-postcard kind of stories. And eccentric characters. I know there are a lot out there but let’s cull them. Injured animals, unusual pets, animals with party tricks are also off the list. And while we want to cover environmental stories, we can’t ignore the big end of town either. We need meaty stories. Gutsy stories. Heart-wrenching stories that mean something, that make grown men weep and rate through the
roof. But stick to the facts. Start digging. Don’t take any story at face value. There’s often more than meets the eye. Right, Andy?’ Veronica turned to Andy who was staring out the window looking thoughtful.

‘That’s for sure,’ he agreed. ‘Maybe you might want to think about story segments with a theme – towns, groups, people doing something together. People with things in common, people who are diametrically opposite but are flung together. Find people who’ve made their lives succeed despite what misfortune has been thrown at them. People who’ve found their dream and are living it. Think about stories that can run the length of the show instead of different short segments. Think about digging deeper, we’re not a shock investigative show but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t scratch below the surface. Basically, viewers are interested in other people.’ He grinned and sat upright. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard.’ He got up from the table. ‘Bring the list in when you’re ready,’ he said to Veronica, then he nodded to the others and went back to his office.

‘Are we running out of stories or has everything been done?’ asked Tom, the new cameraman.

Veronica glanced around the table. ‘There’s a bit of pressure ’cause of the new boss. Just because we’ve been a popular show and have rated well for six years doesn’t mean that we aren’t stale in his eyes. We just have to be more creative. He’s brought in number crunchers but no new talent or fresh ideas, so we don’t really know at this stage what he’s after. Okay, let’s go through your ideas and come up with a shortlist.’

Veronica listened to the debate among the team over the merits and flaws of each idea. While she was senior producer, she did occasionally file stories but she went out on the road less now, since her promotion. Previously, it was her and Eddie. The two of them were a great team. He was the cameraman and she was producer and journalist
as well as running the sound equipment as Eddie had taught her.

They’d been mates, part of the gang initially, but after a few road trips covering stories, just the two of them slogging it out during the day chasing interviews and lining up shots, sitting around at night sharing a few drinks and their life stories, dreams and opinions on everything, inevitably, they’d become lovers.

But after fourteen months it had fallen apart. They briefly tried living together but that hadn’t worked. They were happier in their own space and they began working less and less together, each being sent out on different stories and then, with her promotion, she’d left the studio infrequently. She knew Eddie had been unfaithful to her during their time together and he’d had no trouble finding new relationships once they split up. She’d been hurt and become reclusive and she found that she was relieved when he was transferred to another station interstate. Everyone at work was tactful enough not to mention Eddie in her presence.

Now that her anger towards Eddie had dissipated she remembered the fun and good times, so when she glanced over to where Tom was sitting, it irked her that he was using the sunflower mug that Eddie had always used. Veronica rose and went into Andy’s office to give him the shortlist of ideas. He was looking at his computer.

‘Just had a reminder email about the TV and Film Pioneers’ Reunion on Saturday night. I think I’ll go this year.’

‘You’re a pioneer, Andy?’

‘Listen, I might appear doddery and decrepit but there are people who come to this annual get-together who were there when TV started in this country in 1956. I was just a kid at school when television started in Australia but I remember standing outside the local electrical
shop that had a TV in the window. We used to go down at night and watch those early shows till Mum and Dad got a set.’ Andy smiled at the memory. ‘I loved some of those old programs, mostly American of course. It was a big deal when we started making our own Australian shows. Many of the people who come to the Pioneers’ Reunion were responsible for that. You should come along,’ he said suddenly.

‘To the reunion? What for? I wouldn’t know anyone,’ said Veronica.

‘It might sound like a gathering of boring old people but some of them are legends with a stack of anecdotes,’ said Andy. ‘I’m just thinking . . . we might find a story there that we can use in
Our Country
.’