Talk shows these days tend to rely to a large degree upon their presenter - usually a comedian or entertainer of some kind - who uses his guests as a springboard for his own jokes, but in the past the guests were the most important element in a show’s success. In fact, whether it worked or not would depend entirely on how interesting its interviewees turned out to be – and that could be quite a problem at times. When you have twenty to thirty minutes of air time to fill on a prime-slot talk show, there’s nothing more daunting than being presented with someone who has very little to say. This can be especially true of certain actors and actresses who may well be riveting on a cinema screen (after all, their words have been scripted for them by capable and talented writers) but who are completely lost when it comes to entertaining a live audience. However, one lady this definitely did not apply to was the legendary dancer, Ginger Rogers. Ginger was bubbly, vivacious and utterly captivating. Before we went on air, I said to her, “If you recall any anecdotes from your golden years in Hollywood, please feel free to recount them.” Big mistake! After a fascinating twenty minutes, she launched into an interminable story about some dress she’d insisted upon wearing which her partner, Fred Astaire, had hated. She went on and on and on and on. Several times, I tried to steer the conversation onto a more interesting topic but once having got the bit between her teeth, Ginger was determined not to let go. Finally, she paused for breath and I leapt in like a shot. “That’s the longest story I ever heard.” “I haven’t finished yet,” she said – and promptly started up again. The minutes stretched and stretched and still the story continued. I could see the eyes of the studio audience becoming glassier and glassier. By the time she reached the climax, the interview had virtually ground to a standstill and, desperate to pick up the pace again, I did the first thing any man would do when faced with the celebrated Ginger Rogers. I asked her to dance. It was entirely unrehearsed, a spur-of-the-moment thing, but our resident band, Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen launched into a lively number (with, coincidentally, Formula One racing driver James Hunt playing trumpet) and there on the studio floor, in front of the live cameras, Ginger and I began rock and rolling. (See photo) I don’t know what she thought of my left-footed attempt to play Fred Astaire but it inspired the studio audience so much that they promptly took to the floor themselves. I may not have accomplished much in my life but at least I can claim to have once danced with Hollywood legend Ginger Rogers. How many men can say that?
Posted on: Mon, 27 Jan 2014 14:07:21 +0000
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