I’m posting this now on the off-chance that I’m right. Then I’ll be able to boast about being brilliant at figuring things out. If you’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, earlier on Derren Brown “predicted” the lottery result live on TV – and got all six numbers.
Obviously, to rule a few things out, it couldn’t have been a delay or a pre-record as Camelot lottery rules are tight as anything, so the draw was definitely real. The bit about not being able to show the prediction before the results was obviously bullshit – not least because there’s nothing wrong with guessing some numbers, and they can’t worry about disproportionate ticket sales as machines stop selling lottery tickets at half seven in the evening.
The way I think it was done is through clever motion tracking camera trickery – I think the numbers were digitally imposed on the balls. Real time live digital tracking has been around for a few years now – like how the ITV News studio, which is mostly digital greenscreen background moves around with the camera and acts like a “real” backdrop would. This explains why the numbers on the balls looked so real.
Think about it – what is used in TV and film production to track camera movements? Ping-pong balls of course – its why they wear green skin-tight suits covered in ping-pong balls – and ping-pong balls are what the numbers Derren predicted were printed on. How easily tracked.
Rather horrifyingly, from the second the show started I knew it was being filmed at Riverside Studios in Hammersmith – I recognised the pallets just outside (!), and when Derren walked in and it showed the empty audience seating I recognised it from when I went to see Charlie Brooker’s You Have Been Watching being recorded a couple of months ago. A quick look on the Riverside Studios website confirms this. Now why would a TV production rent an entire empty studio?
Renting a studio is phenomenally expensive and thanks to advances in technology such as small cameras and digital production it is much cheaper to do things on location and stuff -massive old-style TV cameras aren’t needed. This is the reason BBC TV Centre is being sold off – studio production simply isn’t needed and isn’t economical (The One Show, for instance, isn’t a “proper” TV studio with lighting rigs and the like – it’s just some converted offices in the BBC Broadcast Centre next door to TVC). So why go to the expense of renting a big TV studio? Especially the biggest one in the Riverside complex… why would the hour long live show afterwards that has a studio audience be relegated to another studio in the Riverside complex?… Why not put them in the biggest studio?
Could it be that Studio 1 at Riverside Studios is the only one equipped to deal with digital motion tracking stuff?
Sure, the camera was shaky and stuff – some might say suspiciously so – but modern digital production techniques can get around this (it wouldn’t surprise me if the shake itself was artificial – steady-cams do exist after all).
The only thing that goes against this “theory” is that it doesn’t fit in with the theme of misdirection that Brown mentioned in the trails for it and stuff.
What do you think? Could I be right? Let me know in the comments.
Update:Peter Price, a man who unlike me actually knows what he is talking about, says that Riverside isn’t equipped for the sort of Free-D technology I speculate about. Though if it did, it would apparently easily put numbers on balls. I’m also well aware that CGI trickery isn’t really in the spirit of what Derren Brown does. But now I’ve speculated this, I may as well stick with it to save face for the time being. So I still think that I’m definitely right.
It’s Saturday night, I’m watching TV and on screen I can see a singing and dancing extravaganza that it making me feel a little bit sick. No, I’m not watching the X-Factor, as I’m far too elitist for it. And besides, I’m annoyed as it’s not fair that when I suggest they parade the mentally ill on TV to be laughed at I’m labelled a monster, yet when Simon Cowell does the same thing, it is apparently labelled a ratings smash.
No, I was watching one of the obscure religious channels on Sky, Inspiration TV. I know I shouldn’t be surprised at the transparent money-grabbing and the open contempt they show towards their viewers – after all, I compiled a video of much the same thing a couple of years ago – but it really reminded me just how sickening the whole thing is.
I tuned in to see a large man of about 60 wearing an expensive looking suit, hosting something akin to a church service on what looked like the set of Blind Date. At the bottom of the screen was prominently displayed phone number and a message soliciting for donations – or for viewers to “sow their seed” in religious channel parlance. Apparently a £120 donation will get you a free “Prophecy Bible”, because obviously the eternal love of God isn’t a big enough draw on its own.
What’s interesting about the language of “sowing seeds” to describe donations is that I’ve heard it before on other religious channels, where the on-screen charlatan will promise miracles in return for donations. Presumably there must be a loophole in the Ofcom broadcasting code that makes it acceptable to promise undeliverable rewards in exchange for money, as long as you express it as an agricultural metaphor.
What made this even more remarkable though was that the text occasionally changed to say that if the caller makes a donation of £1195 ($2400), then they are guaranteed to get a miracle that is ten times larger. That’s right: £1195.
So somewhat bemused by the precision at which indulgences were valued I sat and watched a large man, who must have been somewhere between 60 and 70 years old tell a long, rambling story about a trip he made, interrupting himself every few sentences to ask a man off-camera how many people had called in so far – as they were trying to find 12 people to make the big $2400 donation. What he lacked in charm and charisma he made up for in shouting.
To cut a long, rambling story short, the gist of it seemed to be that he got back something he gave away one time – the moral being that donating can only be a good thing. He said at one point: “Call in now and sow your seed of $2400! I’ll give it back…” which sounds surprisingly generous, but he then added “…but it’ll be by miracle”.
He kept referring to how he himself was a prophet, but I’m still sceptical that of all the people in the world that God would choose him, and even if he did, whether God would let this man write black miracle cheques as he seems to be doing.
The most enjoyable part though was as the end of the programme neared, he became more visibly anxious about not getting enough callers – the checks with the man off stage became more frequent and the presenter/reverend/pastor character became more visibly ratty. “You gotta act tonight” he said, slightly exasperated, “NOW!”.
He sounded pretty angry that people seemingly weren’t willing to send him over £1000 at the drop of a hat.
As the programme began wrapping up, the huge choir behind him started to sing “Yes Lord, Yes Lord” over and over whilst the man shouted “Pick up that phone! In Jesus’ name, pick up that phone!” repeatedly, whilst the cameras cut to the people taking the calls.
Having not hit the targets they were aiming for, right at the end another man appeared and informed us viewers (I’m assuming it wasn’t just me watching) that lines were going to remain open after the programme, and that we should “obey the voice of the holy spirit, obey the spirit of obedience”.
And at this point I got a little bit depressed thinking about the naked profiteering that these charlatans manage to get away with, and the poor, credulous people who buy into this shit and throw away their money.
It was still better than Children in Need, though.
At risk of my blog turning into a list of TV programmes that I’ve appeared somewhere in the background of, I was in the background on telly again last night!
Last year I went to see four episodes of Dave Gorman’s Genius being recorded – I think it was during perhaps my second or third week living in London. The episode shown last night on BBC Two – actually the fourth to be recorded – had Frank Skinner as the guest and brilliantly, myself and my friend Katy were visible in a few of the shots:
That’s us on the right. Bottom row of the seating. I’m wearing brown trousers and I’m slouching, as usual.
There we are again! Enjoying watching a maths teacher do a dance!
Just to prove I haven’t been photoshopping myself into the audience… here’s another picture!
And another!
If you watch the whole thing, there’s some pretty good shots of us when the camera is on Dave at the desk – we appear just to his right.
Whilst perhaps not as exciting as appearing in shot at a political protest, or y’know, on the Weakest Link, I still think it’s exciting. If I appear on anything else, maybe I should start invoicing TV companies for my work as a supporting artist?
I like to think of myself as the anti-Amish. Not only do I love technology and hate Amish people, but I think that rather than steal your soul, only photography or being filmed can truly validate your existence. It’s why I moved to the CCTV capital of the world, and why today, I appeared fairly prominently in the background of a news report.
No, I wasn’t in Austria sticking up for Joseph Fritzl (though I’d still argue that the default reaction to “secret underground dungeon” is “that’s cool” rather than “that’s horrible”), but I went to a protest organised by TV’s Mark Thomas. That’s right, TV’s Mark Thomas. Not the other one.
The cause was noble: it was calling for the government to invade Jersey.
Jersey is known to be harbouring billions of pounds, having spent years avoiding tax inspections, and is thought to have links to a number of rogue corporations and shadowy groups known as hedge-funds. What makes the need for this action even more imminent is that the UK government has in fact sold off various buildings to private companies (who then lease it back) based in Jersey – in practice, this means that HMRC, the tax inspectors who collect tax and track down people who are avoiding and evading tax rent a building from a company who avoid paying tax. You don’t have to be a genius to realise that this is not on and thus support the military action.
Brilliantly, the story made More4 news tonight. Here’s their report, in which if you look closely you can see me in a suit:
Obviously though, what with this being the future and all, it was I, the citizen journalist who beat Channel 4 to the studio. In fact, I did a live broadcast to the internet. Here’s my report, as it was broadcast live:
When I got off the tube earlier today I was surprised to receive a flurry of texts and tweets telling me some exciting news: My appearance on the Weakest Link was being shown again on BBC One! It was recorded in November 2007 and first shown on March 3rd 2008. If you missed it first time around or want to watch it again, it’s going to be on the iPlayer for the next week.
I feel so conflicted. Against my better judgement, I’ve got into watching the latest series of 24. I just can’t help it – it’s so damn compulsive. Sure, it jumped the shark several series ago and the story lines are pretty much a case of ticking boxes that you’ll be well aware of after watching a couple of series (Jack goes rogue? Check. There’s a mole in the government? Check)… but once you start, you just can’t stop watching.
Thankfully though, it’s only fiction – no one would really think that its appropriate for a federal agent to suffocate a suspect with a plastic bag, right? It’s not like Fox News would ever cite 24 as justification for advocating torture, surely?
Oh.
What amazes me is how it blurs the lines between fact and fiction. Does this open the door for citing The Dark Knight and the threat the Joker poses as a reason to keep close surveillance on all citizens? Or are the risks posed by Jumanji enough to justify banning board games and/or Robin Williams?
Living in London has changed me, and I’m not sure I like what I’m turning into – because I seem to be turning into Nathan Barley – Charlie Brooker and Chris Morris’s parody of London media twats. I think today was a good example of why.
I left the house today dressed in my trendy new London gear. As I’ve previously described on this blog, I’m now a regular user of a Trilby, and a few weeks ago got a new coat that makes me look vaguely smart, but trendy-smart, like they wear in This is England. (I am slightly concerned that my fashion sense also implies that I’m a horrible racist).
Where was I heading? To trendy Shoreditch, of course. Shoreditch is basically like Camden Town* if it were on an independent label, and is populated almost exclusively by young professionals and shops that don’t display any products, and in which you have to ring a bell to enter.
After this with a couple of hours to kill I went and sat in a Pret with free wifi and used my trendy white laptop and read the Guardian. Just like everyone else in there. The only thing that showed me up as a media-industry fraud aside from my lack of meeja columnist job was that rather than use a Macbook I was using an Eee PC.
It was what happened later though that really made today Barley-esque. Inexplicably, some sort of PR firm have offered to lend me a new INQ1 mobile phone for a month – a device not until the Wasp T12. The only difference is that instead of having an extra-large 5-key, it has some Facebook and Skype integration.
So I went to the office to pick it up and I was stunned at just how much like Barley it was. Obviously it was a trendy modern new-media office. There were trendy sheer brick walls and it was converted from what looks like a former industrial space, and the office was almost completely empty, save for a few computers (probably Macs) – there was even a trendy kitchen area, and not a tie in sight.
Being a PR firm, they don’t make tangible things for people to buy, like bricks or hammers, or other things paraphernalia people in the north use, they’re people who care about brand image and social-media and buzzwords and things. And for some reason, they must have thought that I’d be the perfect vehicle in which to get in with the target market of young, urbane, affluent professionals. I tried my best to bluff being urbane, affluent and professional.
I couldn’t work out when I got there whether or not they were licking their lips at the number of demographic boxes that I ticked or were disappointed that underneath my trendy coat I still wear a five year old blue fleece rather than some sort of “ironic” Mr-T t-shirt.
I asked them “Why me?”, and it turns out it has something to do with me being moderately prolific on Twitter and Facebook and the like, and surprisingly, not because I used to write about phones and stuff for Tech Digest. They even said they weren’t targeting geeks and techies with this phone. I kept my mouth firmly shut.
The upshot of all of this is that now we have proof that I’m some sort of zeitgeist defining cultural leader. And a bit like the Canyonero episode of The Simpsons where Krusty briefly stops selling out before selling out again, I totally sold out and took the phone for a month. I’ll probably do some sort of review at the end of it as it’d be polite to do so.
The craziest thing has just happened. I went to my local pub for once – literally the pub nearest to my house – this isn’t the crazy thing. Now, my town is one of those small towns where everyone knows each other, and don’t take too kindly to outsiders, so it wasn’t terribly surprising when we saw the man who owns the music shop in there (he was the man who leant me my trumpet, incidentally) – what was surprising was what he said.
“Didn’t you win the Weakest Link?”, “Yeah”, I replied. “We’ve got another winner here!”, he said, introducing me to another Weakest Link winner. Which is a bit of a weird coincidence – what are the chances of that happening?
Apparently he was on in January last year, and took away nearly £3000, figuratively shitting all over my £1970. His programme was repeated recently, but I was disappointed to discover that there are no repeat fees.
It was a pretty amazing coincidence, although one thing about it did bother me. It means that I’ve lost my “Thing”. I’m no longer going to be the guy who won the Weakest Link, I’m just going to be the guy with no unique traits whatsoever. Which is slightly frustration, considering how much I’ve gone on and on about being on the Weakest Link. I now need to find something unique and noteworthy about myself, otherwise I risk falling into obscurity. No one remembers Buzz Aldrin, because of the other guy who was on the moon before him, And Christopher Marlow is an obscure footnote in literary history, because Shakespeare hogged all of the limelight. What can I do to re-gain my lost fame?
Assuming I’m not the victim of an obscure (and late) April Fools joke, apparently Richard Dawkins is going to guest star in Doctor Who. All Russell T Davies needs to get now is Adam Hart Davis and the Misery of Others to cameo and all four of my favourite things will be united at last.
Apparently Davies, who is pictured in the article dressed as a middle-aged Neo at the weekend, is a big fan. Which makes me wonder just how Dawkins will be incorporated into the show.
I think it’d be pretty good if Dawkins would become the new companion – its not as if the Doctor has too many after all. He could provide a level-headed rationalist counter to the Doctor and the villains they encounter.
He’d be great fun – he could sneer at any credulous villains who speak of what they believe, and demolish their arguments academically.
I guess the only downside it would prevent the Doctor from so wrecklessly ignoring the laws of physics and using his sonic-screwdriver to get out of every situation, because Dawkins would tell him that there’s no way it could work, and there’s no evidence to suggest it could.
If you missed the rather oblique hints I’ve been posting over the past week, you may be surprised to learn that I was on the Weakest Link on Monday. And even more remarkably, I actually won.
It’s fairly probable that a couple of million people saw my glorious victory on the telly – on (almost) primetime BBC One. I’m not going to delude myself though. The grandeur, the celebrity, the immense wealth… are all factors I’m going to have to cope with in my new role as a prominent figure in the public consciousness.
Obviously, despite being a quiz show champion and presumably able to take my seat next to Judith Keppel and Kevin Ashman on the Eggheads team at my own discretion, I should probably resign myself to the fact that at best I’m going to be a rather low-rent celebrity now, rather than face the crushing disappointment later. I don’t want my pursuit of fame to lead me to milling around the town centre in the same brown shirt I wore on the programme, pen in hand ready to sign autographs, approaching people and saying “You are the Weakest Link, Goodbyeâ€, in a desperate attempt to be recognised. I don’t want to slowly die a little inside every time someone looks at me and raises my hopes, only for them then to cross the road to avoid me.
This said, I fully intend to take my duties as a low-rent celebrity seriously. Without people like me, the trashier end of the gossip magazine market would crumble, and the general public would have nothing to read in waiting rooms the world over.
In fact, I’ve already started phoning up the gossip magazines and newspapers to report “wicked whispers†of myself, just so that I remain in the public eye. It can’t belong until “Psst… which Weak Link was spotted filling his car up with petrol last Tuesday?†or something equally inane appears inset in a box on the 3am Girls page.
My concern at this time though is prolonging my fame – I imagine its going to be pretty fleeting. I’m already bored of talking about the programme, so my legions of fans probably are too, so I’m going to have to try and reinvent myself. It’s going to be difficult, but as this is the entertainment industry we’re talking about, luckily a lack of talent isn’t actually a barrier to remaining famous. The fact I can namedrop Kerry Katona or Richard Blackwood and you know who I’m talking about illustrates this nicely.
So I’m thinking there are two routes I could go down. I could take up drugs and have myself referred to as “the troubled star, James O’Malley†whenever I’m mentioned, or slightly less self-destructively, acquire myself an equally low-rent celebrity girlfriend – say, a former Eggheads contestant, or someone who once appeared in the background of an outside broadcast on the regional news – that’s the sort of level of celebrity we’re talking about. Interest in me would be revived as the press would, for some reason, care about the ups and downs of our relationship, as if it somehow makes a difference to… well, anything.
Obviously after the difficult and highly public split I’ll have another short lived career revival as everyone wants to see what I do next.
I think this is starting to sound like a plan. Sure, there’s at least a case for bowing out of the public eye gracefully instead and not perpetuating our societal addiction to the cult of celebrity… but where’s the fun in that? If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Britain’s crowded shopping centres and precincts, waiting for someone to recognise me from off the telly.
![Album art for 005 Warped Tour Compilation [Disc 1] by Dropkick Murphys](http://jamesomalley.co.uk/blog/wp-content/lastfm_album_art/2005_Warped_Tour_Compilation_[Disc_1]^Dropkick_Murphys.jpg "Dropkick Murphys - 005 Warped Tour Compilation [Disc 1]")
_Noise_Conspiracy.jpg "The (International) Noise Conspiracy - 002-09-17: 9:30 Club, Washington D.C., USA")
If you missed the rather