Upward-only reviews aren’t confined to the rental property market. In the cauldron of irrational exuberance that is a TV studio, rapturous acclaim is the only feedback most broadcasters want to hear. Even brass-necked anchors can be thin-skinned, so production assistants are frequently required to bolster the confidence of the onscreen talent with torrents of excessive praise. Every observation uttered by a programme front-person must be applauded, every quip greeted with convulsive laughter.
On most shows, the burnishing of the presenters’ egos is treated as a chore best conducted beyond the viewers’ earshot. On The Seven O’Clock Show, however, the backstage cheerleading is loud and proud. Behind the camera stands a team of support staff who hoot and holler their amusement.
A live magazine programme usually hosted by Lucy Kennedy and Martin King, it looks and moves like a thousand other sofa-centred smarm-fests. Its mix of cookery, celeb chat and consumer advice is identical to that of Late Lunch Live, a short-lived afternoon show fronted by the same duo. However, thanks to a rash of quirks and glitches, the series is fast becoming one of the most reliably oddball spectacles on TV.
Kennedy and King are an engaging double act. Their “professional amateurism” makes the job of co-presenting look easy and natural. He does the corny gags; she does the scornful guffaws, indulgent head-shakes and mock scolding. King is the man of the house, Kennedy wears the trousers.
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In other circumstances, Kennedy’s cackling would steal the show. It takes almost nothing to set her off but, once triggered, almost nothing will stop her. Here, however, her helpless mirth must compete with the racket produced by the unseen howlers. Last week, the TV/movie previewer Brian Lloyd seemed genuinely startled by the volume of the noises off. “Jesus,” he gasped in response to the whooping.
Though it takes its name from the striking of the hour, The Seven O’Clock Show is more noteworthy for its clashes than its chimes. Given the rate at which the series gets through guests — about 15 per week — everyone in Irish public life will eventually make an appearance. The beauty of this churn-over is an abundance of entertainingly unlikely juxtapositions, as guests from multifarious backgrounds rub shoulders and sometimes butt heads in a way that used to happen on The Late Late Show.
Politicians have been turning up with a frequency that suggests party strategists see it as a chance for soft-soap coverage. Recent editions have brought us such incongruous delights as Fianna Fail’s Willie O’Dea discussing celeb culture with the former E! News reporter Ruth O’Neill, and the tanaiste, Joan Burton, exchanging barbs with the stand-up Eric Lalor.
In truth, the show’s treatment of politics is a little clumsy. O’Dea was introduced by a caption identifying him as “politician and TD”, which is a bit like describing a cardinal as “priest and bishop”. The habit of plying politicos with a sanitised selection of viewers’ questions is particularly frustrating.
The summer stand-in carousel has broadened the range of curious attractions provided by the show. The holidaying King was replaced on successive weeks by George Hook and Twink, two of our best-known panto divas. In fairness, both acquitted themselves well, revealing more interesting sides to their often cartoonish media personas.
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Last week’s guest hosts were Louise Duffy and Ian Dempsey, an amiable pair of troopers from Today FM. The limits of their amiability were vigorously tested on Monday when their main interviewee was Marco Pierre White, soon-to-be resident critic on TV3’s The Restaurant. White’s culinary speciality seems to be having his cake and eating it. His most famous TV shows were overheated affairs with titles such as Hell’s Kitchen and Kitchen Wars yet he complains cooking is too often depicted as macho combat. His appearance on The Seven O’Clock Show was another cordon bleu feast of hamminess, as he appeared determined to upstage his interviewers at every turn.
It was only after White stopped talking that his camera-hogging really began. Domini Kemp was the featured chef, whipping up a chocolate mousse. White was invited to cast an eye and sample the fare. Instead he started pacing around the kitchen, a considerable feat as the set is little bigger than a small pantry. He then picked up a dishcloth and began wiping down the surfaces. “I’m just doing what a good apprentice would do, clear up after their chef,” he said. The audience behind the camera cracked up.
The Seven O’Clock Show is TV3’s most interesting lifestyle programme — less sexist than Midday, less promo-fixated than Xposé, and more unpredictable than Ireland AM. It isn’t high art, but nor is it a series that panders to the lowest common denominator. There is an intelligence and sense of mischief about the enterprise that is increasingly rare on magazine TV. Now, if only those who work on the show, offscreen and on, would develop the confidence to let the proceedings speak for themselves.