Empty Stadiums, Cheering Crowds

Empty Stadiums, Cheering Crowds

By Charles E. Kraus

I was sitting in an ABC-TV studio.  Jim McKay was behind the Wide Wide World of Sports desk sampling the day's events.  One of these was a middle-weight boxing championship coming out of Italy, or Spain.  It was a long time ago.  Howard Cosell had flown in, toupee and all, to provide local color.  Something was wrong with the feed, at least that was the director's first impression.  The match was taking place in a packed stadium, but there didn't seem to be any crowd reaction.

"No, no," it was explained.  Audience's watched silently.  Or maybe they weren't miked. Either way, there was nothing to hear.

That was not going to work for American viewers so a sound effects person arrived with his sweetener.  This was a device generally used to enhance audience reaction -- you know, to goose up laugher if the comedian hadn't actually earned the chuckles, spice applause for a singer who hadn't generated a rousing response.  What did this technician have to juice up a boxing match?  

Soon, crowd sounds improved reality and the boxing match took on a whole new level of excitement.   (There was one other problem.   Evidently pictures were being generated by feeds from the US and Europe.  America's shots had the clock super imposed, counting down the minutes.  Europe also super imposed a clock.  Not a count down, but rather a count up.  Made for an interesting afternoon).

This summer, refreshment stands and fans excluded, stadiums plan to open.  The loudest sounds you'll be hearing when watching these events won't be cheers or boos.  If you listen carefully, you'll pick out a few grunts and some colorful language.  That's assuming the shotgun microphones follow athletes on their appointed rounds.

There is talk of adding recordings of crowd reaction from previous games.  In the Cosell days networks were willing to settle for generic audio, a general sense of people attending a sporting event.  Adding meaningful, reactive sound in real time is much more difficult.  What you hear has to match what you see.

Back when, I was involved with a number of CBS variety programs.  Sitcoms used laugh tracks.  Variety shows employed sweeteners on an as needed basis.  Certain programs created audio reaction out of whole cloth.  The Sonny and Cher Show only pretended to have audiences.  The program was actually recorded bit bit.  Sometimes a small segment would be shot endlessly, "Take 14, roll tape."  Finally, somehow, everyone got their lines right.  The keeper would be added to other keepers unit an entire show was assembled. Then the sweetener guy would rush in and replicate appropriate audience responses.  

How do I think sound should be added today's sports events?  During this pandemic situation?  Simple.  Air the event live.  Stadiums empty.  Zoom the show to a few hundred open mike homes.  Families, couples, guys who've been sitting in the same chair since March.  Blend their audio reactions and add this mix to the broadcast.  It will be authentic.  Not canned.  Not sweetened.   There may be a few extraneous sounds.  But ... did you ever go to a sports event, a real live event, that didn't have a few extraneous sounds? 

OK to begin?

OK to begin?

By Charles E. Kraus

I’m back for another Zoom show.  Hi everyone.  Everyone -- that would be about 30 four and five year-olds and their parents, generally moms, seated, standing or walking around in front of computer screens. I’m looking at the gallery view of my audience,

Tim, the school director who organizes these programs has promised to monitor the audio.  My preference is to hear the viewers and for kids to hear one another.  I want laughter to build so stay-at-homers feel like they’ve become an audience.  But Tim is right.  Sometimes children need to tell parents they want more popcorn, or a bathroom break.  Mute that, please.

Back in pre-Corvid19 days, I made thousands of live, actual, in-person magician-clown-puppeteer appearances in schools, libraries, recreation centers, hospitals, fairs and private parties.  I’m not so sure how things will shake out when the world reaches the new normal.  At the moment, I’m dealing with the current normal.  Like many children’s entertainers, I’ve taken to virtual gigging.

I have to keep it short because Zoom allows 40 minutes, and Tim uses some of that time to go over a few organizational elements with the families.  Then … it’s me.  Thirty minutes of show.  In this case, I’m doing a virtual version of my become-a-clown routine.

Tim’s school is in Los Angeles.  I’m in Seattle. Lots of rain here, but I see many of my Zoomers seated by swimming pools, others indoors, a variety of homes, modest and luxurious.  Mothers holding babies, children running in and out of frame.

Just before starting I hear one of the kids.  “It’s Charles!   Another episode!"

My backdrop frame is behind me.  It holds an eight foot long seven foot high curtain.  But it’s not very far behind me because like many people, I’m working from home.  In my case, the rooms are small and you can only move furniture so far.  I’ve been left with a narrow corridor in which to perform.  By remaining exactly here, my computer camera will capture enough of me.  If I hold out my hand, bringing it closer to the camera, my fingers appear to quadruple in size. 

The audience sees me as I am, but when I view myself on screen, I’m looking at a reverse image.  I only realize this Zoom anomaly once the show begins.  Attempting to use the screen as my mirror, I explain — “This is how I put on my clown face,” Things immediately go awry.  I’m trying to draw the blue heart on my cheek, but discover that I’m working with my opposite self.  My hands are confused and I end up looking like a Stephen King book jacket.

Zooming a performance is similar to entertaining a stadium crowd.  I’ve done that at the Olympic Arts Festival and in venues such as Pasadena’s KidSpace.  The canvas is filled with indistinguishable pixels of people.  I talk, it responds.

I’m big on sharing smiles with kids.  But that concept is pre-pandemic.  Kids sitting on the floor a few feet away.  My puppet saying something funny, me looking into the eyes of a child so we can laugh together.  Try that over the internet.

These days, no one can join me on stage to assist as I twist up a giant balloon animal.  The routine was written as a comedy piece.  Cross out those jokes.

I can’t ask children to raise their hands if they want to help me identify a color or a shape, and I can't facilitate a conversation between a youngster and Biscuit The Dog Puppet.  It's extremely difficult to select someone from the audience.  The kid over there, I mean there, the one holding the …. I can barely see people framed by their small zoom screens, more or less indicate who I have in mind.  Solution, I ask Tim to do the picking.  

Childrens entertaining is always a learning experience.  Especially these days.  I'm combining a new skill set with well honed technique.  My goal --to present a virtual program, maybe in the next episode, where meaningful interactions take place.  A show that’s an engaging dialogue between the children and the performer.