Going Low-Tech for Cable Show : Long Beach Program Is Decidedly Homier Than Predecessor

Amid the glare of television lights and the hum of the cameras, they sit in a basement lounge and chew the fat for a cable access show. But there are neither guitar riffs, spacey computer graphics nor anyone named Garth.

“Wayne’s World” it’s not.

But in a move to touch that all-important demographic--voters 18 and over--city officials in Long Beach recently launched their own low-budget cable series, in which they promote everything from the port to the police force.

Taped in the council lounge of City Hall and shot in low-tech fashion with aging cameras, the monthly installments of “Hearts of the City,” feature Long Beach Mayor Beverly O’Neill in chummy chats with key business people or city administrators, while council members discuss issues relating to their districts. (Only those not up for reelection can participate.)

They’re politicians all right, but not the media-savvy stump-meisters accustomed to posturing in front of the camera. At least not yet.

“They take cues fairly well,” says producer Tim Rook. “But sometimes, ‘one minute left’ is a hard concept.”

Aired on the cable channel provided to the city by law, “Hearts” began its run last fall as the municipal government’s first cable venture since 1991, when then-Mayor Ernie Kell canceled his slick “Keys to the City” program after critics denounced it as a waste of taxpayer money.

In this no-frills version, there’s not enough money for a scriptwriter or time for retakes.

The mayor or council member sits across a squat table from a guest and engages in a brief but plug-filled conversation.

To reduce glare from the glossy black-and-white photos on the lounge wall, the producer shrouds them in soft pastel cloth. A touch of makeup. Then the camera whirs, and it’s time to party on, Beverly.

*

It’s lunchtime on a recent Tuesday, and the makeup artist has just persuaded popular Police Chief William C. Ellis to wear lip gloss.

“Just bite into this,” she says, holding out a slip of paper. He frowns, then bites.

The mayor is wearing a smart blue jacket and black skirt.

“In 5 . . . 4 . . . 3. . . .”

“Welcome to another edition of ‘Hearts of the City.’ We are delighted that you are watching us. . . . We know we do have watchers out there, and we’re delighted that you’re staying with us. I’m really pleased today, because we have our police chief.”

O’Neill and Ellis talk about improvements in police technology, placement of storefront substations, the recent decline in crime rates and his pending retirement.

The mayor changes into a bright pink jacket so that the next episode will appear as if it were taped a different day and returns to the show--this one with community development director Susan Shick, who talks about the revival of downtown and other retail spots.

“We just haven’t had enough places to shop,” the mayor says.

Finally, Councilman Les Robbins arrives to do his presentation on a planned sports complex at a city regional park.

“You guys need a TelePrompTer,” he says to the crew off-camera. “You know that, don’t you?”

*

Banter in the program runs toward the predictable: the city’s retail comeback is excellent, the new aquarium project is like buttah. But the breathlessly enthusiastic O’Neill says “Hearts” is a worthwhile way to keep city residents apprised of issues of the day.

While Cityscope, the cable channel that airs the program, is wired into an estimated 62,000 homes, there are no figures to measure viewership.

Regardless, says city spokesman Wally Bobkiewicz, “The need for these kinds of programs is only going to increase.”

Says Susan Herman, assistant general manager of the city of Los Angeles’ cable channel: “People are watching video a lot more. You can spend as much on reports or flyers and have less of a response than you would with video. It’s reaching more people in a more dynamic fashion.”

O’Neill’s staff is now mulling over ways to expand the show in the face of budget constraints. They’d like to update the city’s video and sound equipment, or shoot the show in some “Today” show-style enclosure with ocean vistas in the background, instead of the basement. But they are leery of where to draw the line.

“The way we’re doing it now is a clean, professional show,” Bobkiewicz says. “I think there’s a belief that what we were doing before was a little excessive.”

What they were doing before was a $40,000-per-episode, flashy public affairs show with Kell in the spotlight. To tape it, he would crisscross town, camera crew in tow, stop to do stand-up shots and shoot scenery, then hand off the video to the city’s in-house production operation. Council members raised objections on two grounds: it was too expensive, and they didn’t have any air time themselves.

The city’s Telecommunications Bureau, a division of the Library Services Department, then had a $1.1-million budget and contracted with 44 professionals, including eight producer/directors. The bureau also had (and still has) responsibility for taping and airing the weekly City Council meetings, but “Keys,” with its TelePrompTer and scriptwriter, was far and away the biggest expense.

Today, the telecommunications office has blossomed to include oversight of an array of voice and wireless systems, including the municipal phone system and Fire Department radios, with a budget of $10 million.

But city officials say production of the cable access show is nearly cost-free because it is all but unedited and because it is taped immediately before council meetings, when the crew and equipment are already at City Hall.

Bobkiewicz said the cost of the show is low enough that it can be meshed with the cost of broadcasting the council meetings, about $531,000 per year. The bureau’s video division, which handles the cable program, now has contracts with only a dozen professionals, manager Sherry Blohm said. And the show is shot live-to-tape, instead of in several segments at various spots around the city.

“It’s the absolute least you can do and still have something on tape,” she said.