The Advertiser, May 1, 1987
It’s not all laughs on the D-Generation

MICHELLE FINCKE

THE D-Generation has never had to rely on forced laughs. But this time the laughs were right on cue, and for exactly the stipulated length of time. It’s not that the second series of The D-Generation, which started last night on the ABC, isn’t as funny as the first – the applause, followed by bursts of totally unspontaneous laughter, were for technical purposes. Sound checks, we were told. Part of the serious side to making a successful comedy.

If it’s hard work for the crew and cast, it’s not all gravy for the audience either. At the ABC’s Elsternwick studio in Melbourne, we sat under the hot lights and waited for the fun to begin. First there was the compulsory doomsday advice about where to run in case of fire in Studio 31. Then there were those dreaded sound checks.

First applause – that’s easy enough. Then laughter – all together, again, right side, then left side join in according to the commands of the apparent sadist who spoke to the floor manager through the headphones. It is difficult to laugh at absolutely nothing, but after a few seconds the chuckles come thick and fast, most of us laughing at the ridiculous spectacle of 200 or so people laughing at nothing.

Finally the fun started. That is, the show started. The first few skits and segments were all pre-taped and screened on the monitors. There was laughter, spontaneous this time, particularly for the sketch about supermarket checkouts and items without price stickers.

The first live sketch required a medieval, religious atmosphere, so the studio (and audience) was filled with smoke. The sketch began, with The D-Generation throwing off their habits to reveal bright garments for a cute song and dance routine about Queensland.

“Right you lucky people, you get to see that again,” the floor manager said to the bewildered audience. It looked all fine to us. The cast slithered back into their costumes, quickly fixed make-up and assumed their positions. Take two, with fewer laughs than the first take. This time there was a thumbs up from the floor manager and the cast scattered quickly to get ready for the next routine. Meanwhile, more taped material under the hot lights in the stuffy studio.

Eventually, another live sketch featuring an irreverent shot at the safe-sex campaign. The first take seemed fine, but there was a second. This too was fine until a garbage bag had to be brought from under a pillow (can’t say too much, but there is supposed to be a parallel between the garbage bag and a condom) and the opening could not be found. Take three.

More taped comedy followed by the third live sketch featuring Magda Szubanski as a current affairs show host and a “panel of experts.” She opens with a tongue-twisting introduction and the group sails through the sketch until just before the end, when someone misses a line. Back to the start. Magda doesn’t make it through the tongue-twister this time. There is whispered consultation, a bit of nervous laughter but it is evident that the players are becoming frustrated. And they’re not the only ones. It isn’t easy to laugh at the same joke time after time, no matter how funny it is.

Eventually they finish the skit. It required nine takes. Magda takes an ironic bow to the applause of the relieved audience.

More taped material. Finally, the last of the live sketches. It takes a little while to set up. “People often wonder why this show doesn’t go to air live,” one of the crew wryly commented to the heat-numbed audience.

Now for the audience participation part. We had to stand up and say in unison: “Bugger that for a joke.” Two rehearsals and we were word perfect. Then that voice in the headphones strikes again. He wants a different inflection on the words. We practise again.

Finally we are warned that there will be a small explosion in the studio. Obviously the way to get rid of an insufficiently responsive audience. No second takes. Everything was fine – except for that second “Bugger that for a joke.” It was disorganised, lame and drew disapproving looks from the crew.

Later, as most of us escaped into the cool night air, there was a small gathering of journalists, cast and crew to talk about the show. Cast members filter out slowly, looking even more tired and worn than the audience. It’s obviously been hard work; most are a little stunned by tonight’s taping. There are usually fewer mistakes, fewer re-takes.

Enter Kris Noble, the man whose voice came through the headphones. The unseen controller of tonight’s entertainment. He is director, producer, executive producer and audience-torturer. He too, felt that there were a few problems in tonight’s show. “We had problems in the studio and you can’t pick up time. We spooled the dress rehearsal.”

All right, what about those laughs at the start of taping? Noble explained that each audience has its own sound, and that sound has to be established. As for tonight’s delays and retakes, he does consider them abnormal. “They have been a bit edgy,” he said casting a slightly fatherly glance over the congregated D-Generation. “This is the third show and I usually do put in a gap between the third and fourth because people are wearing down, and that’s exactly what’s happening.”

It’s not suprising they are wearing down. The cast had been writing for the program since November and produced about 250 scripts before taping began. That’s the fascinating thing about The D-Generation: there is a huge attrition rate for sketches.

Noble said the collection of taped and live sketches lasted close to 50 minutes; it would be cut down to 23 minutes. As it is, only six new shows will be made, to be followed by four compilation episodes from the first series, known as the “least worst” of The D-Generation.

As the cast, friends of the cast and last straggling audience members head for the door, for home, for a pizza, for a headache tablet, Noble takes up a bottle of beer and a glass and heads off to an editing suite. He has to begin the job now, so that the show can be put together on Monday.

At least we could all go straight home after such a hard night’s work.

Copyright: THE ADVERTISER, May 1, 1987