Just like NewstalkZB, Magic Talk is an outlet for racist bilge and pernicious nonsense. (Magic Talk, Monday 8 July 2019, 10:20 a.m.)
Peter Williams always cut a rather ridiculous and awkward figure on television. When he was a young sports broadcaster he was embarrassingly callow and loud, trying and failing to trade witticisms in the broadcast booth with, of all people, Henry Blofeld. But that could be forgiven; other cricket commentators, like John "Mystery" Morrison, also came across as stumble-tongued bumpkins compared to the incomparable "Blowers."
Less forgivable was Williams's insensitivity and lack of common sense, as well as his brassplated bumptiousness and insensitivity. These unfortunate traits are memorably illustrated by two incidents, equally disastrous, but separated by more than fifteen years. The first, showing his insensitivity and lack of common sense, was in 1983. Williams, from the studio in Wellington, fronted what was supposed to be a live broadcast from the World Rowing Championships in Germany. He started the broadcast in his usual voluble manner, chattering as the satellite feed was being teed up. Then the rowing broadcast began—except it wasn't the rowing, it was a telecast of an American college basketball game. Sports fans all over the nation sat up straight with excitement and incredulity—in 1983, our coverage of U.S. sports was virtually non-existent, and this was like manna from heaven. The basketball game continued, unbelievably, for several minutes.
But then something horrible and stupid happened. The basketball game was suddenly gone, and Peter Williams's grinning physog filled the screen. He was snorting with a mixture of amusement and mortification. This is what he said: "Ahhhh, it looks like there's been a MISTAKE! We WERE going to bring you the World Rowing Championships from Duisburg, but—ha ha ha!—it looks like we've inadvertently booked the WRONG satellite and we've got a COLLEGE BASKETBALL GAME from the United States instead! Ha ha ha! So while our technicians get that SORTED, in the meantime I'll just talk to you and go over a few of the New Zealand prospects for the rowing! Ha ha ha! Well…." This playing for time continued for what seemed like several minutes. All over the nation, no doubt, people were screaming at their television sets: "Get that fucking idiot off, and put the fucking BASKETBALL back on! That fucking clueless fucking MORON!"
At any rate, that's what the situation was at Chez Breen. After several minutes of preventing sports fans from seeing the basketball, Williams touched his earpiece and said: "Oh! Apparently we have received many, many phone calls from our viewers, and you're telling us that you want to see the basketball, and not listen to me talking! All right then…." Mercifully, viewers were spared any more of Williams and they were allowed to watch the rest of the basketball unmolested by nincompoops.
For a mortifying example of his bumptiousness and insensitivity, we will fast forward a decade and a half, to the late 1990s. Williams, for some obscure and hellish reason, had been appointed as the "Australian correspondent" for Television One. Now, that's a position that requires someone with "people skills." Even if you do what most of these "correspondents" do, and just ask a few questions of the odd celebrity passing through the airport, you still have to establish at least a modicum of rapport with that celebrity. Williams, who since his early days as a grinning sports guy, had developed into a sour, surly, taciturn grouch, seemed like precisely the last person you'd appoint to the position. Predictably enough, he proved to be even worse in that role than Jack Tame was a few years later as One's "U.S. correspondent". [1] In his short-lived career in Sydney, Williams sent in interview after interview where the subjects winced, frowned, and stared in frustrated wonderment at the questions he put to them. Williams seemed to rub nearly everyone up the wrong way; it's obviously a lot harder conducting an interview than it looks.
The short career as an "Australian correspondent" of this anti-Larry King came to a screeching halt after his catastrophic interview—at Kingsford Smith Airport, naturally—of the supermodel Cindy Crawford. The atmosphere in the room was wrong from the very beginning: Cindy Crawford frowned a couple of times as he asked her highly personal and inappropriate questions, which some mischievous staffer had obviously given to him. But he never took the hint, never divined that she was getting impatient and, eventually, angry. She became extremely agitated and actually ended up shouting her disapproval of his questions, and looking desperately off camera for someone to save her. Cruelly, someone at Television One made the decision to go ahead and screen that abortion. Within weeks, Williams was back in New Zealand and someone else had been appointed to the vital role of sitting in Australian airports waiting to accost a celebrity.
Williams eventually was re-installed as a TV newsreader, where he developed something of a cult following for his Gloomy Gus countenance and his dependably sour, and inexpert, takes on whatever topic took his fancy. In the lead-up up to the 2015 Rugby World Cup, after an item about Ma'a Nonu struggling to find his form, Williams scowled and snarled in a stage whisper: "Get RID of him!" He continued his one-man campaign of denigration and belittlement for months, then lapsed into silence after Nonu made the All Black squad and ended up being the outstanding player of the entire tournament.
Recently, Williams ended his career as Television One's resident curmudgeon and took up a position as a grouch on the pisspoor chat station MagicTalk. Predictably, he's been as awful as people feared: his political opinions are on the Leighton Smith end of the spectrum, and he's still exhibiting a lack of nous about sports—providing a platform for and encouraging the hopeless "Man in the Stand", who sufferers of Radio Sport a generation ago will not be happy to learn is still polluting the airwaves. [2]
Last Monday, July 8th, Williams had the perfect program set up for the morning: a "discussion" (I use the word loosely) about a TVNZ1 program from the previous evening, entitled That's a Bit Racist. Williams informed his listeners that he had not actually seen the program because he had been traveling at the time of broadcast.
For the first hour, Williams took calls from mean and twisted individuals who were outraged at the premiss of the program—the very idea that we are a racist society! They expressed support for poor, beleaguered, saintly Don Brash, a man hated by the "P.C. crowd" simply because he "has the courage to tell the truth." Several callers took advantage of yet another opportunity to castigate Maori for abusing children.
However, at 10:20 a.m. the stream of ridicule and abuse of Maori was interrupted. A caller named Dion pointed out that Pakeha also abuse children, but it's always Maori that are emphasized in the media, and by nasty politicians like Don Brash.
PETER WILLIAMS: Oh, I'm sure, Dion, that if a Pakeha killed a child, it would be ROBUSTLY covered. The media are always concerned about the victim first, and then the perpetrator.
After seeing off Dion, the next caller was "Stephen", and the program was back on track….
STEPHEN: I watched that program for five minutes. Don Brash was on, and yes, what they showed of him, it did make him look like a racist, but they didn't show EVERYTHING he said.
PETER WILLIAMS: The Stuff review I read described him as a "racist". That's a LUDICROUS way to describe one of our leading thinkers.
At 10:40 a Denise L'Estrange-Corbet soundalike rang in and bellowed: "Don Brash tells the truth! Maori seats are JUST LIKE APARTHEID! And that Jack Tame said this morning that he was "ashamed" that the Crusaders didn't announce after the Super Rugby final on Saturday night that they would change their name.
PETER WILLIAMS: [grimly] I wouldn't pay too much attention to anything THAT particular person says. ….
ad nauseam.
As bad as this was, things only got worse in the afternoon. The host was…. Sean Plunket.
