Those who watch television, and even those jaded few who write about it, doubtless assume vast forethought and planning go into the process of deciding what gets sprayed out into millions of homes--that intelligent, organized people are at work seeking to bring you the best in news and entertainment.
It's always enlightening if a bit unnerving, then, to gaze directly into the belly of the beast--especially when the latest trip brought me face to face with a world that seemed plucked out of a Tim Burton film, a place that would have made Dorothy feel like Oz was Kansas.
The odyssey began innocently enough several months ago, when the Fox News Channel called to ask if I would appear on "The O'Reilly Factor," a talk program hosted by Bill O'Reilly, whose no-nonsense approach dovetails nicely with Rupert Murdoch's notion of news as verbal wrestling. A producer had read a column I wrote and thought it would make a fun segment when O'Reilly was in Los Angeles taping some episodes.
Being on television always makes me a little queasy, beginning with the premise that I generally feel I have a good face for radio, and that having one guy on TV who resembles film critic Leonard Maltin is more than enough.
Still, my mother gets an occasional kick out of telling out-of-town relatives they can see me on TV, and after all, it isn't like Fox News attracts so many viewers I needed to worry about saying something embarrassing in front of millions of folks. Screwing up on "60 Minutes" or "Nightline" is one thing. On Fox News, well, let's just say there's a bit more margin for error.
This week, the same Fox producer called to tell me the piece had changed. They still wanted me on, but instead to discuss an article I had written about "Frogmen," an NBC pilot starring O.J. Simpson that miraculously failed to surface even in the exploitative aftermath of the Simpson trial. Granted, it represented a shift to a more tabloid-style topic, but at least it would draw attention to a newly published story I had spent months researching, instead of a months-old column I barely remembered.
On Wednesday, I showed up at the Argyle Hotel on Sunset Boulevard, where--in one of those classic California stereotypes news organizations love--"The O'Reilly Factor" was originating from a sun-drenched rooftop. I was told to relax while I waited for my appearance, probably about 30 minutes away.
