KEY POINTS:
If this column is a bit flaky, blame it on a surfeit of breakfast television. Nutritionists tell us that the first meal of the day is the most important; advice firmly ignored by the content providers in early bird telly land who believe the day's first servings of "all the news, sport and entertainment you need" should be as insubstantial as possible.
The exception, of course, is Sunday, the day most of us want a lie-in and where TV One cleverly conceals the best current affairs show on the box, Agenda (warning contains strong language).
But TV3's out-of-the-box decision to adopt Oliver Driver as co-host of Sunrise proves a strong enough lure to risk the lite'n'brite zone. What, we ask ourselves, is the actor, director, theatre advocate and critic of the critics, doing in a spot like this?
It looked like a question, Driver was asking himself all week as he struggled to make himself comfortable on furniture - "I hate this sofa" - and with the inanely chatty format - "Josh, please stop this mindless prattle!"
Like all tall people cramped into economy class for a long-haul flight, Driver is needing time to unfold. But as he does, he is certainly bending himself, and the show, into some interesting new shapes.
Sunrise appears to be taking on elements from most of the movements from modern theatre, with its pauses, non sequiturs and self-referential ironies that would give all absurdist dramaturges a run for their money. There's a whole strange new theatre of cruelty in Driver's tormenting Josh the weather guy, ordering him to dance, tickle large pigs or ride large, flatulent Clydesdale horses.
And then there's the elusive feedback. "Email us! What would you do if you won $30 million, or even $3?" Alas waiting for feedback is as fruitless as all that hanging around for Godot.
On the rare occasions Driver is allowed to do something resembling a serious interview, he gets into it with gusto and his questions sound a lot less scripted than is usual for the format. Someone must have taken him to task over those horror movie lurches to camera, or over giggly co-host Carly Flynn. On Monday he and Helen Clark were parked at either end of the long sofa for the prime ministerial interview, a distance that would have been judged seemly even in Jane Austen's day.
With Driver so out of his element, he makes rival Paul Henry look even more at home, a hyperactive reef shark cruising the shallows of breakfast television.
Breakfast is a show which believes in no surprises. Henry has been travelling across the US, gauging the mood of the nation - Obama looks like winning, who knew?
The most intriguing thing we learned was that in the US there's a name for every political permutation: the "Bradley Effect", the "October Surprise", the "Schwarz-Mandelbaum Super Tuesday Shuffle" (OK, I made that one up after zoning out on the predictability of Henry's questions to the experts). Judging by his finale at Venice Beach, Henry is a man who is easily startled. The freaks! The crazies! The nutters! he exclaimed, as if none of us has ever strolled down the street and seen a colourful character.
Meanwhile, back at the Auckland studio, co-host Pippa Wetzell maintains her unwavering chorus of enthusiastic interjections - Interesting! Fascinating! Fantastic!
In contrast, Ollie and Carly are nothing if not self-aware. TV3's turning Sunrise into a game of Theatresports could prove an inspired experiment. How's this for a bit of post-modern dialogue. "We're babbling a lot of crap," says Driver. "We're drivelling on," says the ever-agreeable Carly. Brilliant.
