Promo – Portraits from Prime Time

Offspring on-set still of cast and crew by Giovanni Lovisetti 

Were Bertolt Brecht to read this, he would probably turn over in his grave, but his legacy is alive and well in the photographic portraits of Australian TV personalities currently on show at the National Portrait Gallery. Encompassing the work of eight Australian photographers, the exhibition takes as its subjects cast members of Masterchef, Offspring, Neighbours, The Slap and a whole gamut of other faces from the ‘idiot box’. 

Underpinning the entire show is the deliberate exposure of the mechanics and human ingenuity behind each image: lights, makeup, hairspray, mikes, cameras, sets, props. This is ‘epic theatre’ realised, but never as Brecht imagined. Shaken from our lounge room inertia, we are alerted to the heavily contrived nature of images we previously took for granted. We realise that by its very nature television is no more than an elaborate simulacrum of reality. 

But does knowledge of the creative process diminish or enhance our appreciation of the product? The Samuel Taylor Coleridges of this world are surely in the former camp: the ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ on the part of the viewer is an index of artistic merit. On the other hand, the many ‘behind the scenes’ shots in this show demonstrate that the television industry isn’t for blockheads. Constructing a plausible reality – whether creating a ‘park’ in the Offspring studio or Natalie Bassingthwaighte’s false eyelashes for The X Factor – is not easy, and these people are very good at what they do. Even so, the best television photography seems to contain an element of luck. As photographer Ben King reveals, ‘I quite often shoot from afar to make the most of someone not realising I’m shooting. Sometimes the best moments come from when a subject doesn’t know you’re there.’  

Curatorial choices reinforce this ongoing juxtaposition of artifice and ‘reality’. The seemingly casual arrangement of these works belies their careful orchestration. Photographic prints are unframed, pinned like posters to bare white walls. There are artificial backdrops of exposed red brick and fake picket fences to delineate space. In the final room, prints hang on a Hills Hoist surrounded by synthetic grass and beanbags, demonstrating the ease with which a dinky-di Aussie aesthetic may be constructed.  

Beyond all the frothy banality there are works of genuine aesthetic interest here. The majority are by Peter Brew-Bevan, the Adelaide-born fashion and celebrity photographer. It is no coincidence that he undertook serious training in painting and drawing as a youngster; his works reveal an innate sense of composition. In one scene, shot on location in Sydney’s Hunter’s Hill, Samara and Morgan Weaving languidly repose in lush undergrowth, reminiscent of John Everett Millais’ Ophelia (but far more lively!) Blue-eyed, blonde-haired and clad in white, they appear pure and ethereal against their vigorous green backdrop. The composition attains a sense of harmony from the yin-and-yang arrangement of recumbent figures.   

The works of Melbourne-based photographer, Abigail Varney, possess a narrative depth so often absent in celebrity photography. Sets and props are judiciously selected so as to evoke a specific era, character or place. The portrait of Ryder Jack Susman at a hair salon is just so Seventies, down to the Tiffany blue backdrop, camel velvet jacket and brown shirt combo, wreath of brown curls and upturned mo. Susman eyes the photographer with the brittle egotism of adolescence. The obvious humour of this work is all down to the hairdryer, which really couldn’t get any more naff. 

I must admit the main effect of this exhibition was not particularly profound – after leaving the gallery, I went home and watched three back-to-back episodes of Offspring in bed. Was that the point?  Perhaps it was. Ok, so it’s art for philistines, but it was fun.