THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, January 15, 1995 TAG: 9501140029
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E9 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: MAL VINCENT
LENGTH: Long : 123 lines
THE MOST frequently asked question of the week: ``Would you have asked that question?'' followed by ``Would you have written it?''
The answers are ``Yes'' and ``No.''
In spite of the fact that media-bashing seems to be popular nowadays, it is impossible to rush to Connie Chung's defense. She was in the wrong, although I sympathize with her. Those of us who often try (desperately at times) to get a story from difficult ``names'' understand her plight.
Of course, I'm talking about Connie's now-infamous interview with Newt Gingrich's mom, age 68. To Connie's credit, she didn't ask about Hillary at all. She asked what mom's boy Newt had said about President Clinton.
Mom replied: ``Nothing, and I can't tell you what he said about Hillary.''
What followed was a tease in which Connie ultimately urged, ``Why don't you just whisper it to me, just between you and me?''
Mom (in a loud whisper that was no whisper at all) used a word that rhymes with ``itch'' and starts with ``b'' to describe the first lady.
Connie, who had the camera running, should not have used the quote because she had used the fatal phrase ``just between you and me.'' What's more, the ``just between us'' statement wasn't posed as a joke - or, for that matter, with any touch of humor. That made all the difference.
There were other problems. For one thing, Mrs. Gingrich is an elderly woman. The age factor demanded a bit more formal touch in handling the interview. There was also the situation, as it was later described, that Connie had been at the location for hours; Mrs. Gingrich had baked her a cake and ``informality'' definitely had been established.
``Informality'' is a definite temptation, as well as a tool, in conducting interviews with famous people. But that informality can destroy what might have been a good interview if you are an honest journalist with some degree of integrity. You need the separation of journalist and subject.
That separation can be difficult to maintain. At times, people from John Wayne to Demi Moore have used the dreaded question ``Can I talk to you off the record?'' after you've asked the one important question you had. Their suggestion usually means: ``Now, I'm going to tell you the only good thing in the whole interview and I want you to promise you won't use it.''
There are times, usually when I already have a passable interview, that I agree. Those words have never been muttered by any interviewer who didn't regret it later, but they are final.
On the other hand, if you don't say them, you're in the clear. If I have a notebook in my hand and I've identified myself, whispered or not, I'm looking for a story and we're not here just here to chat.
The line is made more grey by the fact that no one, not even my editors, expect real ``news'' to come from an interview with Brad Pitt or Woody Allen. I have no hopes that Brad is going to reveal that he was once a Communist agent or a psycho murderer. Woody Allen is not going to divulge all the behind-the-scene facts of his Mia court battles. What people want to read is usually covered by the question ``What were they REALLY like?''
Most of us who conduct such interviews hope to establish informality with the subject. That's where Connie got into trouble, and it's often where I get into trouble.
I usually don't use a tape recorder because it inhibits the subject. I find that Clint Eastwood or whomever looks at that little machine and talks to it instead of to me. The diction improves, and so do the defenses.
To put it on the other side of the Connie ledger, I've had lunch (that famous symbol for false informality) with Connie and never wrote most of what she said. Her bosses wouldn't have liked it. She is a delightfully daring and candid person. She's fun to be with. She speaks her mind.
On the other hand, she is not a great interview. When it's on the record, she speaks the obvious. She knows the difference when she's doing the talking - and she just as obviously knows the difference when Mrs. Gingrich speaks.
Recently, Isabella Rossellini told me all about her boyfriend, actor Gary Oldman, going into an alcoholic rehabilitation program. I used the story. She knew I worked for a newspaper. It was never suggested that it not be used. If it had been, after the fact, I would have been justified in using it anyway.
My one and only interview with the late John Wayne was a rather dull affair. It was on the set of a movie called ``McQ'' and he talked mostly about the fact that he was smoking a cigarette, against doctor's orders. Then he said, ``The interview is over. Come on over to the trailer.'' There, he talked at length about his politics and his feelings about life in general. I didn't use any of it. By going to his trailer and by, even silently, agreeing to his statement that the interview was over, I was sunk. Somehow, you didn't mess with Big John - especially when he was flattering you by suggesting that he was talking ``like real people.''
The late Laurence Olivier once came to Norfolk to research a role by visiting the MacArthur Memorial. We had a great time, over lunch, talking about theater. I had not been introduced to him as a writer. Knowing that this was too good to be true, I began taking notes. He commented, ``I am a declining age, and that means I decline to do interviews.''
It was a ticklish situation. I was talking in downtown Norfolk to the man who was widely regarded as the greatest actor in the English-speaking world and he told me that it was not an interview. But he kept on talking.
What to do?
I interupted Lord Olivier (who insisted on being called Larry) and added, ``Lord Olivier, you know I DO work for a newspaper and I'd very much like to use some of the material we've been talking about. Would you trust me?''
``Dear, boy,'' he replied, ``use your own judgment.''
It was one of the greatest honors a great actor could have suggested, and, of course, it resulted in a story that was one of my own favorites.
One of the tricks of the famous is to throw in a dirty word or two, which they know you can't use. Tommy Lee Jones, one of the more uncooperative of all the actors who nonetheless grants interviews, does that.
Young Brad Pitt, currently starring in ``Interview with the Vampire'' and ``Legends of the Fall,'' is the most recent interviewee who peppered his statements with words I couldn't use. Since the name of the game here is to convey personality and mood rather than real facts, there is a real temptation to use these words. After all, they show an emphasis or a tone that can not be suggested without them. Still, in a family newspaper, they usually can not be used.
The more famous a person, the more formal the interview. The more publicists you have to beg and the more ploys you have to use in getting into the room ensures that anything, but anything, said there is fair game. When you're granted a 45-minute interview, those 45 minutes are sacred.
It's when you have lunch and just talk that the water gets muddy.
That's where Connie Chung got in trouble. The mother of the Speaker of the House is, obviously, not a ``hard news'' story. By asking for the interview in the first place, Connie was going for the lighthearted.
The difference between holding a notebook in your hand and going naked is a great one. There's even a bigger difference when there's a camera with you.
The ultimate judgment is in the fact that the three fatal words were spoken: ``just between us.''
Connie, you don't have a high heel to stand on. by CNB