Linda Herrick: The cult of self

It was hard not to giggle at aspects of journalist David Lomas' Expose: The Real Mr Asia, which screened on TV One last week. What a lark the dashing druggies had in Auckland in the early 70s. Even the veteran police officer was chuckling as he recalled the mad chase across town after Martin Johnstone when he fled in his magnificent Jaguar, tossing bags of dope out of the window to divert the Keystone Cops, before he sailed across the harbour bridge and heaved the bag of Buddha sticks into the briny.

The Real Mr Asia did remind us that Terry Clark was a sinister if small man (there were repeated references to his puniness) whose ambition and cruelty grew with his bank balance — except he had too much cash to bank.

Curious also to note the archival appearance of his girlfriend Karen Soich, who now practises in Auckland as an entertainment lawyer. She knew nothing, did nothing, according to Clark after the bust in Britain. Oh yes, she did. Soich committed the most heinous fashion crimes. The little hat perched atop the big hair said it all. No taste in couture, or men.

But there were many questions left unanswered in Lomas' production. He might say that was because so many people would not talk to him. Fair enough. But what were the consequences for all of those corrupt police officers in Australia? What fate was meted to Trimboli, the notorious Mafia boss? Did Lomas try to interview any of the surviving members of Dragon, allegedly enthusiastic clients of the product?

And why was the leather-clad Lomas in so many scenes? Whether moody night-lit shots, sitting on the ferry and train studiously taking notes, or striding along the streets, the choice to insert himself so frequently into the production was cheap melodrama.


It's a practice that's become common. It works in, say, something like John Campbell's A Queen's Tour because that's the premise the show is shaped around — a presenter-with-personality driving the ideas along. Campbell and his team bounce around the country in the programme but the show is really about place and people.

So is Intrepid Journeys, which is dependent on its presenter each week, meaning this series has been patchy. So far, highlights have been the charismatic Danielle Cormack in Jordan and Syria, and Tim Shadbolt in Borneo. It was a poignant experience, watching the vulnerable and terribly out-of-shape mayor huffing and puffing his way up a mountain. He really did look as though he was going to expire.

One Intrepid Journeys presenter, Kerre Woodham, who angsted through Vietnam and Cambodia, popped up again in A Drinking Problem, of which she famously had one, once. The production, written and directed by Wendyl Nissen, was strangely flat. However, the four women who revealed the extent of their problems with the bottle were brave for talking on camera about the struggles they had gone through.

Woodham was a gentle and sympathetic interviewer, revealing little factoids about herself, like having to hire a limo to visit mum because she was too hungover to drive. But now she can soberly ride a horse! You go, girl.

There were telling soundbites, too, like "alcohol opens the door to wrong things", and the "ocean of shame" felt by singer Fiona McDonald.

But once again, there was the insertion of the self: too many cutaways to Woodham, nodding (presumably) to the talker. Yes, the format required her to be in frame, sometimes, but the show was not about her.

In documentaries it should be a rule that the makers — reporters, producers, directors — limit their appearances in the product so they can concentrate more on its quality.