With the fall television season in full swing, our TV critic goes
behind the
scenes to see what most shows go through to get there.
By Ken
Parish Perkins
We'rein a 48-seat screening room, sitting in comfy swivel chairs
andwatching a television pilot. We're also snickering and hissing
insteadof being objective and unobtrusive, as was gently suggested
by ourhosts at ASI Entertainment, a market-research concern that
deals mainlyin television programming. But imagine Lisa Rinna and
Gabrielle Reeceportraying kick-butt secret agents undercover as
volleyball players ina series called, no kidding,
I Spike,
and you'll understand our unintentional insubordination.
Usuallythe people in these chairs are average television watchers
(not cynicaltelevision critics). Reporters aren't normally allowed
here, but we'reparticipating in a mock trial of sorts so that we
can see what goes onat ASI;
I Spike was left to die long
ago. So for now, we arenothing more than normal viewers, the sort
to whom ASI givesapproximately $75 and bottled water in exchange
for their honestopinions, delivered via a dial that registers every
second of desireand disgust. Viewers also fill out a lengthy survey
with questions like"What would you change?" and sit in a room to
discuss everything aboutthe show: plot, dialogue, titles, music,
scenery, and characters. Whilenibbling on finger sandwiches and
fingernails, show creators view itall from behind two-way mirrors,
taking in every facial expression,tic, or twitch of these critics
and even meticulously studying,depending on their heart conditions,
a real-time line graph of likesand dislikes, which is charted right
before their eyes on a monitor.
Sittingin on focus groups like these can be, as one producer of a
half-hourcomedy put it, "like sticking a sharp knife deep in your
gut, and everynow and then, twisting it." Which explains why Carl
Reiner once brokeup a discussion group by bursting into the room
and yelling, "I'll takeit from here."
"He lost it," recalls an ASI employee. Theincident happened after
someone in the focus group blurted, "He used tohave so much class.
And now he's associated his name with
this?"
Testingtelevision pilots before committing to air a multiepisode
series hasbeen a time-honored tradition since pretty much forever
for broadcastnetworks hoping to lower their margin of error.
Because costs ofcreating, staffing, and airing a television series
are well into themillions, the idea is to get as close to
guaranteed success aspossible. Of course, a great pilot does not a
great series make, nor doall poorly testing series go down in
flames. There's a matter of weeklyexecution, as Steven Bochco found
out with the cop drama
Brooklyn South, which tested high but
went, ahem, south after a handful of episodes. On the other hand,
Seinfeld tested poorly but ended up, well, you know
where.
Shows with lukewarm results often use the information to retool and
try again.
All in the Familywas trashed for its lead being
an unapologetic bigot, the wife beingtoo submissive, and the family
dynamic being too chaotic, but a heavilyaltered pilot convinced CBS
to air what turned into a classic. Nowonder few things are as
vital, and as secretive, in television as thefocus group, which has
the power to rewrite dialogue it finds stale oroffensive, dump a
title it doesn't think makes sense, or indirectlypink-slip an
annoying actress.
ASI owner David Castler tells his150 or so clients a year, who pony
up $20,000 a session, to use thefocus groups for insight,
direction, and information.
"It's an excruciating process but a necessary evil," says Ian
Biederman, creator and executive producer of the new
CBS series
Shark,starring
James Woods. "You know from minute to minute
whether they areenjoying it or falling asleep. And you get to watch
12 to 14 people sitaround a table with a leader and answer specific
questions about yourpilot: Did you like this character? Why not?
Were you interested inseeing more about this or that? It's
educational. But you may end upgoing to a bar afterward."
Opinions are registered with dials that go high for good and low for bad; a red button signals you’ve had enough. (
I Spikelost 60 percent of its audience in its first two minutes.) The graphsare so specific, they tell producers which lines weren’t funny andwhich characters caused a downward spike by merely entering a room.Results are broken down by demographics like age, gender, and evenrace. Networks pay more attention to their particular target. CBSwouldn’t want a room full of young viewers, and Comedy Central wouldn’tcare to have older ones. For a series like
Brothers & Sisters, an intense family drama,
ABC wanted viewers who would normally like to see talky family dramas. Mainly women.
Men’sscores dropped considerably during the talky relationship scenes ofthat series, says Castler, while women’s perked up. That’s a given.Another focus group truism: Women often lose interest when scantilyclad women are the focus, but men’s scores, no matter how bad theprogram was beforehand, shoot up. (In our mock test, the male criticswere far more, shall we say,
conciliatory during the fight scenes in a women’s prison. Hmm.)
Thefrustrating part for network execs is that they still never really knowif a show will work or not. Television testing is hardly an exactscience, says Marti Noxon, who was executive producer of
Brothers & Sistersbefore quitting in August. It’s tricky, she adds, since overvaluing orundervaluing the process could get you in trouble. Sometimes changesare good. Other times, they rob a series of its heart.
“It’s aweird process,” Noxon says. “And for creatives, it’s especially hard —to feel that you’re living and dying by dials. But imagine what we’dget if we relied on the tastes of business-minded executives.”
We know:
I Spike.