By PETER CALDER
He might have preferred to sit somewhere else. The view from the conference room at Sky City takes in the wide sweep of the Waitakere Ranges, but it is dominated by the satellite-dish-topped hulk of Television New Zealand's headquarters on the other side of Hobson St.
It must be galling for Gary McCormick to sit for an hour with that building crowding his field of view. But, ever the professional, he's happy to perch by the window to accommodate our photographer, who could find nowhere else in the endless expanses of Sky City with a ready supply of natural light.
He's spent a bit of time in that building this week, not all of it what you'd call quality time. At least some he spent "shaking with rage" as he protested about the decision to pull the plug on his Saturday night show McCormick Rips.
The show, which lasted just two of a planned 13 episodes, was described by its star in the days before it premiered as having "the freedom of Saturday Night Live," that long-running NBC programme which launched, among others, Eddie Murphy and Mike Myers.
An edited version of a two-hour stage show which, in the tradition of It's in the Bag, went to the provinces (shows one and two were made in New Plymouth and Upper Hutt respectively), McCormick Rips was a sort of variety revue which used locals, famous and otherwise, to create a commercial half-hour of genially aimless mayhem.
"There's more freedom of expression, which is something that I've always thought is good for television," McCormick promised before it went to air. "It's not really the way television is done."
Plainly TVNZ agreed. It was no more impressed than our reviewer, Greg Dixon, who described the show as "a talent quest minus the talent [like] Blerta playing on the worst Telethon ever made." And the public left in droves. The show plummeted to No 57 by week two. TVNZ chiefs announced its withdrawal for "retooling."
It is worth saying that the show's live audience looked as if they were having a ball. Bleached blond and clad in a hideous gold lame suit, McCormick, the closest television in this country has produced to the knife-edge live performance of, say, Barry Humphries, was the willing butt of others' humour and was clearly relishing the adrenalised atmosphere.
Out in loungeland, viewers who wrote to us were divided. John Langdon, of Auckland, said "Gary in glitter was a delight," but most backed our man.
Even the most charitable view had to concede that McCormick Rips was as rough as guts, but even on its second outing it was watched by one in 14 New Zealanders. In ratings terms, that may make television mandarins sweat, but it has to be wondered whether that constitutes a cultural disaster.
McCormick, for his part, though shaken by this week's developments, says making good television means taking risks and the show was not given a fair go.
"We had some rough edges in the first one," he says, "and that's principally because we were not funded for rehearsal. I didn't know who half the people were, so our first show had to be a rehearsal. But it smoothed out a lot for the second one, and the third and fourth were superb - though you'll never get the chance to see how good.
"You can't expect people to be bowled over by a new idea straight away. You have to develop it and make adjustments along the way. My question is: are we going to go for new ideas? How can any sane society say after two shows that we take it off? I'm starting to think I'm from another planet."
If it sounds like special pleading, that is to be expected. The entertainer's not born who enjoyed rejection, nor the one who complained about applause ("Your reviewer's immoderate praise for my rather indifferent performance does both of us a disservice"). But there's a wider view to be had here. Cheers, which became the longest-running comedy series in American history, was nearly canned after a few shows, and it took almost two years for a pilot called The Seinfeld Chronicles to be picked up.
McCormick, it should be said, is not including himself in this company, but he says the pulling of the show is a failure of nerve at TVNZ.
"The reviewers scared the skittery herds. But my programmes have made millions of dollars for that company across the road there," he says, pointing. "I think I was entitled to run the series and develop the idea which we were developing.
"Maybe we should abandon new ideas. Maybe the population is too small - we should just do more Location Location Location and Changing Rooms. If so, perhaps it's time to pull up the flag and take your ideas elsewhere."
To an extent, McCormick has to be seen as the captive of his own success. Ratings for his other shows have proved that the former poet (how many prime-time viewers know that he started his performance life as a bar-room bard, and a good one too, alongside Sam Hunt?) has completed a transformation into one of our television icons.
A Herald poll last summer named him as television's most popular presenter. McCormick Rips blended his passion for the adrenalin rush of live performance - he is an accomplished improviser, debater and public speaker and loves walking performance's high wires where there is no chance of mounting a rescue operation in the editing suite - with his desire to make indigenous television. It may not have worked, but the performer says he is trapped by television's fear of experimentation.
"They call it 'Brand McCormick' over the road. I think they sincerely believe they have to save Brand McCormick, that it is being damaged and that is their commercial prerogative. I am just a vehicle to be used to make money for that organisation. I am a product and I have stepped outside my packaging and no longer sit neatly on the shelf.
"There's nothing wrong with that, but my argument is that you've got to provide a corner for something that is bigger than that which is creative and reflects ourselves and enjoys parody and humour."
The demise of McCormick Rips happened in a week when production house Ninox Films announced it was calling in receivers. Though busy and successful, it was squeezed by impossible margins in an industry where broadcasters reap the revenue from productions they pay little to support.
McCormick says the canning of his show means crew who had turned aside other work and set aside 13 weeks for it will now be without income. He knows TVNZ has the right to say "No more," but he questions the haste with which it exercised it.
In an unwittingly prescient piece of irony, the first show's end credits rolled over a cover version of Dave Dobbyn's classic Loyal.
"I tried to explain to [TVNZ] that loyalty works both ways," says McCormick. "I told them they can't afford to have a failure of nerve."
We live in a society so small that celebrity life is more of a goldfish bowl than elsewhere. McCormick is clearly stung by what happened with the show - he's talked openly this week about giving television away - and he's happy to accept that at least part of his reaction is classic performer's insecurity.
"Of course I need approval. It's in the nature of creative performance. There is a sense of insecurity in people who are creative - that's what gives them their sense of puzzlement about life.
"But that's also why they need to be treated extremely well if we are going to have our own culture. Yes, I feel like chucking it in. Part of me really wants to go back to the beach. Life is very uncomplicated on the beach in Gisborne, and I can go and see my old mates and address rugby clubs and things.
"But there's also an Irish scrapper side of me. I could shut up and walk away. Or I could do what I'm doing now."
<i>Calder at large:</i> Mad McCormick lets rip
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