Back in 2000, as a film reviewer for The Canberra Times, I boldly predicted that Shakespeare in Love would win Oscars for both best film (over the short-priced favourite, Saving Private Ryan) and best actress (Gwyneth Paltrow, rather than Cate Blanchett as nearly everyone else was predicting). As it turned out, I was devastatingly correct.
It’s a story I tell frequently, as evidence of my expertise as a movie tipper (mainly because, well, it’s the only time I was ever right). But I don’t mention it now just to remind everyone of my cleverness (though that’s a bonus). I’m leading to another topic: that strange things in newspapers aren’t always the fault of writers. Sometimes you can blame the sub-editor.
Sub-editors, for those who don’t know, are the hard-working professionals with the thankless task of fitting the text on to a page, in the hope that writers won’t moan about it in their blogs. When a journalist follows the word count, it makes things much easier for the sub-editor. I’ve been a sub-editor myself (though not for the Times), so I know how tricky it is, editing a story to fit the page. I always diligently stick to the precise word count, but at times (not on this page, of course), my work has been sub-edited to make way for advertising or late news
With all the pressure of putting out a daily newspaper, you can forgive sub-editors for occasionally slipping. A majority of mistakes in my articles (not that I’ve had too many, as far as I know) have been my own fault, but at times, when people read my work and think, “What the hell is he talking about?”, I have to protest my innocence.
Back to the Shakespeare in Love stories of 2000. When explaining my prediction that Their Gwyneth would take the coveted best actress Oscar over Our Cate, I noted that a good way to win one of those things was for a pretty actress to “uglify” herself. This was a few years before Nicole Kidman wore her big nose and Charlize Theron was covered in monstrous prosthetics, but there were still a few examples, like Grace Kelly doing a whole film without make-up (man, what sacrifices they make)! Now, Gwyneth Paltrow was continuing the tradition by spending half a film disguised as a man. “Gwyneth is also lovely,” I wrote, “and to paraphrase Dorothy Parker, ‘Men seldom make passes at girls with moustaches.’”
Very rarely do I write something and think, “Gosh, I’m so clever.” This was one of those rare occasions. However, due to space restrictions on the day, the sub-editor shortened that sentence to “Gwyneth is also lovely.”
For over a decade, I’ve wanted that whole sentence to finally see publication. It might lift the veil over those readers who, for all those years, have lain awake at night thinking, “What was that moron saying? Was he so obsessed with this woman’s beauty that he forgot what he was writing about?”
More recently, in 2008, I mentioned the notorious US education system. “We all hear those hilarious stories about how dumb American students can’t spot the planet Earth on a map of the world,” I wrote. This was meant to be a joke. Not the best joke ever, perhaps, but it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously
The sub-editor at the time (and I couldn’t name them even, because everyone denied responsibility) obviously thought I’d made a mistake. It was changed to “can’t spot the planet Earth on a map of the solar system”. As far as I know, that was inaccurate without actually being a joke.
Also, the writer of a story usually has no say in its headline. In fact, if I suggest one, it is usually deleted before the story is handed to the sub-editor. Obviously, this column doesn’t have headlines, but most articles do. And who writes them? Usually it’s yet another task for the overworked subbie.
There’s an art to headline-writing. You can win a Walkley Award for writing clever, pithy headlines. I’ve had some perfectly good headlines above my byline, which is just as well, because everyone assumes that I write them.
However, I come not to praise headline writers, but to moan about them. In 2003, I interviewed Jane Campion about her latest film at the time, a rather explicit murder mystery called In the Cut.
The headline: “Female filmmaker takes another risky gamble”.
Say what? Jane Campion was already a famous woman, with a Palme d’Or and an Oscar to her name. She needed no introduction, and at no point did my story draw attention her gender (except for words like “she” and “her”, which probably gave it away). She’s not a “female filmmaker”. She’s Jane Bloody Campion! Phrases like “female filmmaker” should be relegated to the days when everyone got all excited about Lillian Gish directing herself. (“Gadzooks! A woman can actually make moving pictures!”)
Fortunately, nobody complained to me about that. In fact, nobody talked to me for days.
