8 • August 16, 2009 • View

Cover story

“YOU’RE SITTING inthe director’s chair,”mutters Marcus Lushas he sidles into theTVNZ boardroom. Ididn’t notice, but it’s

soon clear that Lush, who’s up from Bluff for theweek, would rather be calling the shots.

It’s obvious this interview is something of anordeal, or at least a pain in the butt for Lush,to be endured for the sake of publicity for hisnew TV series South, and Radio Live’s breakfastshow. He’s been known to walk out of interviewsand when I ask a question, he fixes me with asteely stare as an uneasy pause clocks up 8, 9, 10seconds. Surely, at 44 years of age, he must knowthis is disconcerting, even if he doesn’t care.

People have called Lush idiosyncratic, eccen-tric, even odd, but that’s part of his charm. Partof his success. In the early 90s, long before theRussell Crowe film, Paul Holmes made mentionof Lush’s “beautiful mind”.

Getting his break in student radio at bFM be-fore moving to talkback, this long-anointed suc-cessor to the radio-king throne has been creditedwith concocting a unique style of broadcasting: amellifluous flow of ad hoc tangents, irreverence,

unusual details and dry witticisms.With his “brilliants” and “hooroos” and his

empathy with the common people, Lush strikesan easy rapport with listeners. It’s a touch thatsaw him snatch the title of Best Talk or CurrentAffairs Host at the 2007 New Zealand RadioAwards from the hands of Holmes.

His career has tracked along nicely TV-wisetoo, since his offbeat beginnings on TV2’smid-90s news-lite show Newsnight. But TV hasbecome more than just his bit on the side ashe’s conquered the small screen with doco-styletravel shows including Intrepid Journeys, Off TheRails (journeying along New Zealand’s railwaylines), Ice in Antarctica and now South. Withplenty of the fieldwork he loves, these showsseem a direction more suited to Lush.

His informal style, left-field humour andability to make small observations interesting islargely why Off the Rails was 2005’s second-high-est rating show (after Dancing With The Stars)and batted well above its weight with DVDand overseas sales. The gig won Lush the bestpresenter prize at the 2006 Air New ZealandScreen Awards, and best documentary. Yes, he’s

surprised at the success of a show some saw ashardly commercial. “But it wasn’t about trains, itwas about New Zealand,” he says.

He came up with the concepts for both Offthe Rails and South. “A lot of people come to mewith proposals for shows to make, but I can onlymake stuff I’m interested in, and my interests arequite narrow.”

In person, Lush isn’t as well-filtered as heis onscreen. Funny, but diffident. Standoffish.Awkward. Eccentric. Slightly patronising. Is thisa cultivated persona, or can he just not be both-ered trying to be something he’s not?

There’s a journalist’s conceit that you canspend an hour with a person and profess to havepsychoanalysed them. Mostly you pull it off, be-cause people have a narrative that you see or seethrough. Marcus Lush isn’t one of these people.He’s enigmatic and content to remain so. There’sa word overused by Generation Y to the pointof banality, and that’s “random”. Marcus Lush israndom, especially during a tangent about NewZealand’s alleged fascination with elephants.

At times he shrugs off the cloak of diffidenceand is frank and self-aware. Sometimes heeven slips into a confiding tone, but then he’llsuddenly snap at you. Still, despite or perhapsenabled by those pauses, you sense he’s trying toanswer each question honestly and eloquently.

Certainly he’s not shy speaking his mind.He’s outspoken on everything from Antarctica(“I think there’s probably no reason for ScottBase: it’s a club”) to those who grew up wantingto be on the radio (“the world’s most annoyingpeople”) to the Off The Rails-caused misconcep-tion that he loves trains, which led to him beingasked to help save that “ghastly train” – theOverlander. “Rail’s done its dash.”

It’d be hard to host talkback without beingopinionated. He still seems slightly surprisedthat he got a national gig based in Bluff, at firstdoing Radio Live’s night-time talkback fromInvercargill (which he also considers home). Andyes, he thinks talkback has helped tune him intothe Kiwi psyche. “When you’re getting peoplewho are almost like a flock of birds flying information, talkback can be the most wonder-ful thing. But if you’re talking about the deathpenalty or banning dogs I can’t stand it – I don’tfind it a safe place to be always.”

Lush, who relishes radio’s efficiency, imme-diacy and challenge, traded talkback for the sta-tion’s breakfast-host gig in May 2007. While hesays the show is still evolving, the move to morn-ings has been a welcome one: partly because theharder-news, interview-heavy style is a challenge,and partly because it frees up the rest of the daywithout the spectre of work looming. “[But] youcan’t go out late at night and you never really geta lot of sleep.”

He gets up at 4am, drives 20 minutes fromBluff to the Invercargill studio, and does someprep before the 6am start. This year, though he’drather not, he’s circumspect about doing most ofhis shows from Auckland. Typically, Lush doesn’tinsist on a hotel; he dosses with friends.

Some commentators have said he’s betterat TV than radio; better at talkback than hardnews. Lush, who says he doesn’t read his own

“So much TV seems to bea big-city person’s look atsmall towns and slightlybelittling… as if small-townpeople are playing with halfa deck. I was determinedSouth wouldn’t have thatwhimsical nostalgia look.”

MARCUS LUSH

SouthernGreat

Marcus Lush may just be the most privatebroadcaster we have. But with a new TV show– South – to promote, he subjects himself to anordeal by interview. By Sarah Lang.

View • August 16, 2009 • 9

On stage

ADRUNK, gay Irishman trying toperform the haka had the audi-ence swapping tears for laughterduring last year’s Auckland season

of Whero’s New Net, staged by youth-theatregroup Massive Company. Earning full housesand critic comments such as “stunning” and“seamless”, the play has now hit the road fora North Island tour. Hands have hurt fromclapping in Gisborne and Hamilton; over thenext three weeks it’s the turn of Upper Hutt,Wellington, and Auckland outposts Papakuraand Takapuna.

Penned by talented playwright Albert Belz,Whero’s New Net has its genesis in literatureluminary Witi Ihimaera’s 1977 short-storycollection The New Net Goes Fishing, about thedislocation and alienation arising from Maorimigration from country to city. Transplant thatrural-urban movement to the 21st century’s“global village” and you get a young Maoriwoman much further from her whakapapa.

Rock chick Whero Mahana (played byup-and-coming talent Bree Peters) is on theverge of breakthrough into London’s alter-native-music scene when a long-lost cousinturns up with her estranged father’s diary,intensifying her homesickness. Meanwhile, herIrish manager and flatmate Dermott (playedby Wesley Dowdell, aka Outrageous Fortune’sendearing try-hard Aaron Spiller) is fightingthe pull back to his home village, in betweensmooches with his corporate-ladder-climbingadvertising exec boyfriend Tupo (played byShortland Streeter-turned-lawyer Blair Strang),who’s been dubbed the production’s “chocolategod”. And yes, the straight blokes found thosekissing scenes awkward at first, to the pointwhere director Sam Scott had to tell them toget closer.

So why does this play warrant a nationaltour? For a start, if any play’s going to do wellsouth as well as north of the Bombays, it’sone about the classic Kiwi OE. Young or old,Maori or Pakeha, city slickers or small-town-ers, New Zealanders can identify with the tug-of-war between OE and home, past and future,adventure and familiarity, family and friends,dreams and stark reality. Even if they’ve neverbeen overseas, people from all walks of life canconnect with the play’s “what ifs” and relateto at least one of the very different, carefullyteased-out characters.

Belz’s approach of spanning cultures andethnicities, rather than just his own Maoriheritage, draws people in, says artistic directorScott. “We’ve had Pakeha people come up andsay ‘thanks for acknowledging we’re not root-less, that we care about our line’.”

When Scott first commissioned the play,she put complete faith in Belz (a television,film and theatre writer and 2006 winnerof rising-star accolade The Bruce MasonPlaywriting Award) and into her actors. Anyplay staged by Massive – a troupe of emerg-ing and professional artists who create locallygermane theatre – begins with the stories andexperiences of those involved, and this playwas no different. In a collaborative effort, Scottgot the actors doing improv to flesh out theplay’s skeleton which, at that stage, had only abeginning, an end, a protagonist, and Ihamae-ra’s book as its axis. Meanwhile Belz, whomyou may remember as Dr Ropata’s cousin-from-the-sticks Manny in’90s Shortland Street,furiously scribbled notes.

Admitting he’s not used to others stick-ing their oars into his work, 36-year-old Belzsays the collaboration made the play whatit is. “Massive’s dealing with a lot of issuesinvolving younger people, so it made perfectsense to jump in there and paddle along witheverybody. The incubation time developed thenarrative, yielded funny-but-natural-sound-ing dialogue, and gave the actors an owner-ship of the play which comes through in theirperformances.”

But while Belz was open to input, saysScott, he never let himself be pushed off-course from the play’s core. Weaving togetherideas and themes like a virtual net, Belz strikesthat tricky balance between humour, dramaand pathos; hope holds hands with disappoint-ment without feeling forced. And he’s not a fanof spoonfeeding the audience; rather, the twistsupset expectations.

A feature film is currently in the first stagesof development – a step supported by Ihi-maera, who attended the new season’s openingnight in Gisborne on July 30. Plainly proud ofthe play, Ihimaera says it’s a privilege to havehis work “re-visioned”.

“The play cleverly balances the questions ofhome and identity, and discovers that they’restill the same as they were in the 1970s: all ofus are still trying to find a papakainga [home]no matter where we live in the world. Alberthas a tremendous talent and ability to capturein theatrical language the situations andrelationships that we, as New Zealanders, canrecognise and say, ‘Yes, that’s us’.”

Sarah Lang

Whero’s New Net plays at Takapuna’s Pumphouse

Theatre, Auckland, August 19-22; Wellington’s

Downstage Theatre, August 26-29; Upper Hutt’s

Expressions Theatre, September 4-5; and Papaku-

ra’s Hawkins Theatre, September 10-11.

The hit play Whero’s New Net is off on a NorthIsland tour, and may reach the big screen.

Netting new fans

internet-bound press, is scathing of “google jour-nalism”, although he admits he’s googled himself(there’s 6000-plus hits by my tally). “Fortunatelya lot of the things I’ve done people have said nicethings about.”

He’s not without ego, but the absence offalse modesty is refreshing. However, he doesn’tthink he’s invented a new broadcasting style. “Ifyou’re lucky you can put away the nerves and beyourself.”

Nerves also crop up in rarely given interviews.“Out of the whole TV-making process, probablyto promote a show and do interviews would beone of the more difficult things. Because I don’talways know what the right and wrong answeris.” He’s concerned by a gap between the personhe is and what appears in print. “You leave towash your hands and they say obsessive-compul-sive.”

After a protracted pause, he admits that he hashad “a fright with the press”. He became wary ofjournalists after they jumped all over him after hewas admitted to Hanmer Springs in 1998 after abattle with the booze. Unfortunately, his last namewas too tempting a headline for sub-editors.

Although Lush appears not to care whatpeople think of him, he does. “I’m incrediblythin-skinned. I think all broadcasters are – well,not incredibly thin-skinned but it’s also a ratingsgame – you’re judged by how well you’re doing,[by] whether people like you or not.”

Is he ambitious? “No, God, I want to give itall up!” Really? “Oh, f**k yes. I can’t stand it! I’vegot no ambition in the world. I’m the accidentalbroadcaster. I went down to Invercargill to giveit all up. I just want to paint or carve or garden ...I don’t want to be Brian Turner but I want to besomeone who just has an incredibly simple life.Someone with high spiritual goals.”

But if he sincerely wants to give it up, surelyhe could. “Oh, it’s easy to say this would be anenjoyable job for a while, or I’m lucky to havethis opportunity, so part of you feels churlish fornot doing it. But look, I’ve got a million things Iwant to do.”

And he’ll be doing them from Bluff. Livingin our southernmost town for seven-and-a-halfyears has gone beyond being eccentric. Auck-land’s no longer his home. “I’d just spent a lotof time there, there were a few ghosts, and Idecided it was time to leave.”

Craving life in a compact community by thesea, he considered many towns before stickingthe pin in 1800-strong Bluff. “Moving therewas the most significant thing I’ve ever done.I believe I was called to Southland – it wassomething I couldn’t resist. I don’t know why, Ijust love it.”

Get him talking about the Deep South (localscounter that detested term, he says, with TheShallow North) and there’s no mistaking thepassion, honesty and captivation in his voice.He can rabbit on about the unique characters,stories, history and geology without any pauses.And that’s the bones of South; seven weeks’circumnavigating the south of the South Islandsqueezed into seven half-hour episodes.

Even if he warns us to buckle ourselves infor the ride a few too many times, it’s a journeywell worth taking. The often-remote spots arebreathtakingly beautiful, then there’s the clas-sic characters: modern-day Burt Munros withstrange passions such as making a garden out ofbuoys. “There were stories that were just desper-ate to be told.”

We hear about an angry dad who (rumour hasit) threw the man who knocked up his daugh-ter down Dog Island Lighthouse, and get-rich

schemes that bankrupted whole towns.The depth of Lush’s research is clear. “So

much TV seems to be a big-city person’s look atsmall towns and slightly belittling, as if small-town people are playing with half a deck. I wasdetermined it wouldn’t have that whimsicalnostalgia look.”

Cleverly interwoven are archival footage, off-beat quips and unexpected anecdotes. And if youwant to see Lush shirtless in a tepee, or swim-ming in his gruts in a river, here’s your chance.

Lush, who usually looks like he’s ransackedan opshop after the cool kids got there, hasn’thad his signature scruffy look with his fiveo’clock shadow and dishevelled hair tidied forthe camera. South also peeks into his old-school1960s-style home with its formica table, stacks ofbooks and railway cups.

There’s currently a vacancy in the girlfrienddepartment (“I’m not having three-in-the-bedromps or anything”) but he’s made long-lastingfriendships with doughty Southlanders, aftersome initial sizing-up. “People are quite cageyand I like that because I’m quite cagey.”

The madcap mates are always “up to adven-tures”: canoeing trips, expeditions to historicsites, searching for shipwrecks, collecting paua.“It’s a bit like Last of the Summer Wine. Outdoorsstuff that you miss out on growing up in Auck-land: whitebaiting, hunting, fishing. It’s taken mea long time to find people that are into it.”

He does miss the odd thing about Auckland.Not friendships – they’ve dwindled and beenreplaced, but the art galleries, kauri trees, WestCoast beaches, volcanic cones, a different shadeof green.

“And DressMart. I’m trying to organise tripsfor Southlanders to come up to DressMart.There’s one in Christchurch but it’s not as good.”

Down south, people are more likely to seeMarcus the local rather than Marcus the broad-caster. “It’s more anonymous for me, people aremore respectful.” Though not always. Oncea family with train-mad kids turned up at hishouse. “Dreadfully behaved kids as well. I think‘for f**k’s sake, it’s TV, not an open invitation tocome round’.”

It’s nice, he says unconvincingly, that peoplethink he’s approachable. “But I’m not that ap-proachable.” Certainly, there’s a smudge of thecurmudgeon in South, especially when he moansabout the young “van bludgers” who “treat NewZealand like a cheap date”.

There’s talk of more series covering the coun-try and (perhaps in jest) of three nascent booksincluding autobiography Picnic For One. “It’s agood title eh? I thought it summed me up.”

South premieres tonight on TV One at 7. TheMarcus

Lush Breakfast Show airs weekdays 6-9am on Radio

Live, 101.6 FM.

manCLOSE TO HOME: Kura Forrester and Tainui Tukiwaho.

“Moving [to Bluff] was themost significant thing I’veever done. I believe I wascalled to Southland…it was something Icouldn’t resist. I don’tknow why, I just love it.”

MARCUS LUSH