Laura Godfrey Issacs, curator of home an arts venue based in a family house in Camberwell, and Joshua Sofaer, performance artist and academic found themselves, by a bizarre set of circumstances, in a television nightmare. Here Joshua tells the story of how they let Changing Rooms into their homes.
Laura Godfrey Issacs, curator of home an arts venue based in a family house in Camberwell phones me up to tell me she has been approached by Changing Rooms. They have asked her if she would like to be on the programme. Do I want to swap houses with her? A Bazal researcher has seen an article in the Guardian on 'home 2', a performance art event at Godfrey Issacs living/gallery space. Along with a melange of other performance makers who had taken over various rooms in the house for a weekend, I had performed a piece called 'The bourgeois bedshow' in the master bedroom, which was a gentle critique on the current penchant for designed living, and the explosion in productivity of DIY.
Laura was doubtful about Changing Rooms and thought the programme trash television but she was prepared to cast caution to the wind - just to see what would happen. But why did I say yes? Well in truth I didn't, I said no. Until drunk on a champagne cocktail in the St.Martins Lane Hotel I phoned Laura back to say I'd changed my mind. Normally I would make a piece about Changing Rooms; surely I should have the courage to be in it. I could treat it like a performance platform, indeed a platform witnessed by up to twelve million people, rather than the couple of curious punters or performance art groupies that hang around the usual east-end underground performance venues (or private houses in Camberwell). Indeed it has been part of my artistic aim to try and escape the elite esoteric world of institutional, or for that matter counter-institutional, artworlds, both of which attract the same audiences anyway. Here was a perfect opportunity; or was it? And so commences the contestant selection process. After months of recce, counter recce and endless phone calls finally the first day of shooting has arrived. They move in en masse. My one bedroom flat soon becomes engulfed by endless plastic crates full of DIY paraphernalia, camera equipment, and of course the crew themselves.
In my vain attempts at trying to interpose a self-referential knowingness within the strict formula of the programme I have devised a number of interventions that I hope will somehow act as an ironic counterpoint to my participation in the show. I have for instance labelled many of the items in the room to be changed: brown cardboard suitcase labels with instructions on them like "do what you want with me" or "leave me alone". I have devised a key-ring for the filmed key swap with a photograph of me looking dreadfully anxious. I have left a card for Anna Ryder Richardson in which I am holding up a sign that says "be gentle". I have learnt the various Changing Rooms ident tunes with the intention of singing them at key moments in the filming.
So the farce commences. Anna Ryder Richardson has been assigned to 'do' my flat with Laura Godfrey Issacs and her friend and colleague Mimi, and Laura McCree a newer addition to the team, famous for her first ever Changing Room design being described by the home owner as "crap" in front of millions of viewers, will be working on Laura Godfrey Issac's house with me and my friend Natalie.
At first I get a bit of an awkward vibe from Laura McCree, but by the end of the shoot I really quite liked her. Although her design for the bedroom bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to what we had discussed prior to the filming, the colours were really quite nice, and well, Laura G-I has loads of other rooms she can go into. I felt a genuine moment of bonding with Ms McCree when just before the 'designer chat' towards the end of the show, she asked me for my opinion on whether or not she should wear her shearing coat for the shot. I said yes, though as Carol pointed out, it did look as if she was about to make a quick get away. "Oh, didn't you know!" Laura jestingly replied. Actually, she did stick around to see what her namesake thought of the room. It soon became clear that most of the production team think Changing Rooms is a pile of shite. Without dissent none of them would reply in the affirmative to the question 'Would you let them into your home?'. Many are using it as a stepping stone; the most common desires being to get into documentaries or sports programming. None of them seem to think the programme better than ok.
I know this may seem incredibly naive, but I really didn't realise that Changing Rooms is nothing at all to do with interior design or DIY. No one ever refers to these matters during the shoot except on camera or in a completely perfunctory way. It is and entertainment show. The contestants are cast for their 'personalities' - charged in whatever way and with whatever dynamic is going to cause the most contention, make the designers look good, and make the best television. No one cares less about your decorative requirements. Two days before the shoot all us contestants were phoned up individually and it was stressed to us that we should challenge 'design' decisions we didn't agree with vehemently and that where possible we should argue. This was repeated continuously throughout the shoot. Basically you are set up. The way that it works is that each 'design idea' (or rather 'design decision' because there are scant few 'ideas') is revealed to you on camera. This is done with the intention to maximise the contestant reaction, and in the hope that over the course of the shoot you will become increasingly anxious in order that the final reaction to the room is highly emotionally charged. No wonder people cry - through relief or despair - as you are wound up solidly for two whole days.
One of the most irritating things about the shoot is that the production team continually whisper about you in your presence deciding on the best way to spur on the provocation - a performance which really does make you paranoid after a while. The producer was a bit alarmed that my reactions were not big enough, and stressed that I should react "more". I told him that I found it impossible to react with hostility (knowing this to be what was required - and oddly wanting to satisfy him) because each 'design decision' was ok in itself, but as they revealed the plans piece meal, smidgen at a time, I had no sense of whether it would work overall. There followed a protracted whispering fit. In his desperation for a bit of a scene, precedent was broken and the whole plan was revealed to Natalie and me - on camera of course. I mean it really was crap, and I did react pretty much on cue. I shouted my alarm and dramatically questioned the pertinence of Ms McCree's design. Indeed I did go a bit inappropriately far with this, talking about the "chromatic range" and the "deployment of materials" until I realised that Carol was staring open mouthed directly into camera and that I was being truly stitched up, heading to look a complete and undeniable wally in front of Britain's millions.
It was then that it occurred to me that no matter how much we contested the plans revealed to us (on camera) that there was no way that anything much could be changed in the time given over to the programme, and that if I was going to stop myself from appearing a complete twit, I was going to have to comply more readily with the suggestions proposed.
On to the next 'scene' then. You don't do much decorating, you just get manoeuvred from one shot to the next. You might have to act out a 'reaction' to something, pretend to be arriving somewhere for the first time, or mock up some mdf structure with a bit of jig-sawing under Handy Andy's supervision. The truth about 'Handy Andy' is that he isn't so handy. Handy Andy is a celebrity - and he knows it. What does it matter if he does a shoddy job - as long as it looks good on TV. He was happier discussing his recent trip to Disney World paid for by 'Hello' magazine, and the "beautiful" pictures resulting from the shoot, than the structural possibilities of mdf (mind you so would I be). It wasn't particularly surprising that his assistants did most of the work (I suggested to one that he should launch a career as 'the real Handy Andy' - maybe there could be a whole new show). What really did surprise us was Andy Kane's need to mimic a Pakistani accent continually, the motivation of which was very unclear, and certainly embarrassed the Assistant Producer.
Another thing that shocked us was the extent to which they really do just build a stage set. Everything is one sided, and when you look behind the cut out facade there is often a huge mess behind it. There is no attempt at even a reasonable finish, and when they want to know what something looks like they check it out through the camera monitor rather than confronting it in the physical world. Things are made, and I quote the production team here, "TV Perfect".
I liked Carol Smillie. She is completely unpretentious and I would be happy to have her as my next door neighbour. It struck me as really quite liberating that someone could be worth a purported £30 million (the Producer's figure) for being so utterly ordinary. It gives us all hope.
But an hour or so before the 'reveal' when I am waiting to be taken back to my flat, sitting in Laura G-I's kitchen with Natalie, just hanging around I am really upset when Carol comes in and quite aggressively challenges us for participating on the show. Why did you get involved? she wants to know. Most people whose houses we go round to are in a dreadful state and anything we do will be better. Most of them don't have any ideas, and you do have ideas. I don't think you really understand the concept of the show, she says. (I imagine my flat is a complete wreck because of this.) She really is irritable. This has obviously got to her. And it gets to me too. I mean have Bazal no responsibility for their contestants? It was after all they who contacted us and I tell Carol this, but I still feel a fool.
Led to the foot of the communal staircase in preparation for the moment of truth, it became apparent that the reason Natalie and I were hanging around so long to see what had been done to my flat was because Anna Ryder Richardson was to be ushered out before we could blame her. We did get a quick glimpse of her scuttling off. Natalie called after her "Oh trying to run off before we get to see what you've done eh?" but she was gone. I mentioned this to Paul the Producer later on and he replied, "Well it has been a particularly tough shoot for her... I mean there were tears and everything". The changing of my room clearly caused quite a set to. Stress all round then. Laura G-I and Mimi obviously gave her a run for her money.
Carol's arm is round my shoulder. I open my eyes. Everything is white gloss. And I mean everything. Conceptually its not too bad. A minimalist white box. Built in units. But its just so crappily done. The camera is rolling I must react. Knowing what a twit I have made of myself so far, I have already decided that I must react like its not too bad. Kicking up a fuss is only going to make me look even more sanctimonious and ridiculous.
The cameras are switched off and I am allowed to look around properly. The first thing that I am told about is that the ceiling lamp given to me by my grandmother has been smashed. I am particularly upset about this as I had specifically mentioned that it was of personal value, and was told not to bother removing it. Everywhere I turn the white gloss walls are sweating like a public lavatory. My dining table has also been painted in white gloss, and put together when wet so that it is stuck with fluff and hairs. The blinds that have been put up are of very poor quality, do not cover the whole window, bunch up when opened, and the pull chords are too short, meaning that I will have to climb a ladder every time I want to open them. But the real disaster is in the fitted units that have been made. On camera Carol assures me that there is "plenty of room for all your books and your computer" but that the paint is wet and that I shouldn't go and have a look. Camera off, and I open one of the mdf unit doors. There is literally nothing there. Not one shelf. Nowhere to put anything. I have a one bedroom flat and a massive amount of stuff. Seeing my distress the producer suggests he take me out to the pub in an attempt to calm me down.
Before we leave as I attempt to inventory the devastation done to my flat I make to open my bedroom door - but Carol is in there changing for her next engagement. Leaving my Lambeth Council flat in her canary yellow evening gown, Carol nervously waves good-bye to me only to be whisked off in a waiting car to the National Television Awards at the Royal Albert Hall. As I open a copy of 'Hello' a week later, there she is, living up to her name, smiling cheek to cheek in chiffon. I also smile, to myself. She got changed into that dress in my cluttered, messy, dusty, bedroom that looked like a bomb hit it. Oh the glamour of television.
I down a pint with the Producer. He tries to make me feel better. When we get back to the flat the situation is even worse. The whole place is a complete mess. Nothing has prepared me for the war-torn state. The kitchen walls are covered in tea-stains from the giant urn which was keeping the crew's tea hot; the steam from which had been so intense that it has also split one of the kitchen shelving units; the kitchen floor paint has been pulled up from the gaffer tape that they had used to put down dust sheets (ironically to protect the floor) and this was not even in the room being changed! My books have been brought back from the basement storage in black plastic bin bags, some are crushed and battered, others are ripped. There are sizable paint splatters over the new carpet they have laid down, and also in the hallway. Even the front door has two chips taken out of it. But the biggest problem is still that there is nowhere to put any of my stuff.
Once everyone has gone I sit in the middle of this utter chaos and, too late for the cameras, burst into tears.
Next day, under the watchful eye of the Assistant Producer Nick they are back to try and sort out some shelving in the built in units (because I have absolutely insisted that they do). It takes them a whole two days (the duration of the shoot) just to fit these, and me with some help from friends another two weeks to get the place in a livable state. So what will the programme be like? I dread to think. Of course we as participants have absolutely no editorial control and are not party to any such decisions. My requests to see a copy of the cut prior to screening were scorned. There must be at least eight possible versions of the programme in the footage shot. Over twenty hours, for a half hour show. There is the one where we are all really fun people who are up for the laugh. There is the one where Carol and the designers look completely out of control. Then there is the one where we contestants (Laura G-I and myself especially) look like complete stuck up pretentious twats. Well which one would you go for if you were the producer of a prime time entertainment show? In their official thank you letter one of the researchers tellingly writes "The success of the programme is all down to your star performances and so you can feel very pleased with your efforts over the two days even if the room wasn't entirely to your liking. Paul has put together a rough version of the programme and I can assure you it is very entertaining." I can well believe it is.