No one expects TV dramas to be just like real life. That would be too dull. But do they get the smaller details right? Would, for example, a police officer and the minister he was guarding be thrown so closely together that they were practically guaranteed to end up in bed together, as seen in Bodyguard? We asked six real-life experts to give their verdict on series set in their worlds.
Bodyguard
Tony Hughes, training director at Longmoor Training and Security Services
There is no way that someone with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), such as David Budd, would have fooled the extensive vetting process that all personal protection officers (PPOs) have to submit to. People with PTSD can be very fragile and, even if Budd managed to conceal his condition, he wouldn’t be able to cope in such high-stress situations.
Nor would his romance with the home secretary ever have blossomed in the real world. There are protocols ensuring that bodyguards don’t get too close to their clients. Someone as high-profile as Julia Montague would have a team of bodyguards that would be frequently rotated. Also, while Budd performs security checks in Montague’s bedroom and bathroom, those would probably be done by a woman. In our industry, we like to match the profile of our bodyguards to their clients. You wouldn’t, for example, have a 5ft 6in man providing personal protection to a 6ft 6in man. And you would ideally want a woman to be protected by another woman of similar stature.
The scene where a sniper attacks the home secretary while she and Budd are being driven through London was a brilliant piece of drama, but would never have unfolded like that in reality. The first thing a PPO would have done under a barrage of sniper fire would be to dive on top of the home secretary to provide body cover. And the Range Rover at the rear would have driven to the side of the home secretary’s vehicle to provide more protection. If safe, Montague would have been moved to this vehicle in what is known as a cross-decking drill. Meanwhile, tactical support would be on their way.
In the series, the Range Rover remains stationary and Budd abandons the home secretary to take down the sniper. That would never happen. As a bodyguard, you are trained to never leave your VIP, no matter what.
Silent Witness
Andy Wade, forensic expert, First Forensic
One day there will be a drama about making a drama, and all the editors and producers will sit on the couch swearing and shouting at the TV: “That’s not right!” One day. In the meantime, professionals such as forensic scientists and crime scene examiners sit back and groan.
My first “Aargh!” moment was when a forensic scientist held a strip of paper with a barcode on it up to the light and announced: “Wait a minute – I recognise that DNA profile,” then went to a rolodex and pulled out the exact barcode match for the villain. Case solved. Leaving aside that the DNA database contains several million profiles and would require a rolodex the length of three doubledecker buses, DNA is not stored as a barcode.
Scenes such as this can create unrealistic expectations for investigating officers, juries and the victims of crime. We call this the “CSI effect”.
My colleagues are also left sighing when TV crime scene examiners process a scene wearing white oversuits, caps, gloves, masks and overshoes, then the investigating officer walks through without any of that, somehow failing to leave a single hair, fibre or footwear mark. To be fair, sometimes they put gloves on.
The blurring of roles and responsibilities has been a feature of this kind of drama, ever since Quincy in the 70s. With Silent Witness, this is taken to extremes. The pathologist becomes scene examiner, forensic scientist, detective, investigator, interviewer and advocate. The truth is that, with ever-improving technology, it is almost impossible to be an expert in a very wide range of techniques and specialists are the norm.
Forensic scientists are conflicted, though. We like the appreciation of the craft and the slightly nerdy, lone crime-buster image.
Wanderlust
Anjula Mutanda, relationship psychologist and ambassador for Relate
I had a big issue with the first couples therapy session depicted in the first episode. Joy (played by Toni Collette) simply sits there waiting for her clients to begin. Part of your role in that initial session is to demystify therapy and put clients at ease by explaining how the process works, and explore what they want to gain from therapy.
Joy comes across as almost disengaged and even unhappy to be there; if my therapist had that demeanour, I think I’d want to flee. And she essentially ignores the woman in the room. She does not pay attention to her withdrawn body language and seems to focus exclusively on her male partner. Joy also uses language that would be counterproductive in a therapy session, emphasising the financial penalties for missed sessions rather than paying attention to what is in front of her – the obvious tensions between the couple. Usually, clients are made well aware of fees before therapy. Yes, we have to set clear boundaries, but to introduce them in such a confrontational way would risk starting on a dispassionate footing. Therapy at its heart is about empathy, compassion and support.
I do, however, feel the show accurately portrays some of the anxieties that clients experience. They feel like real people struggling with issues in their lives. The uncertainty they express about the therapeutic process chimes well with my experiences as a therapist.
The Good Fight
Kendra Stephen, business attorney, Florida
Every TV show I have seen about lawyers makes the legal profession out to be more glamorous and exciting than it is. The Good Fight is no different – especially during the courtroom scenes.
Here, everything in court is dealt with quickly and efficiently. Also, as in so many other legal dramas, case-winning pieces of evidence are presented to the judge at the last minute to secure victory in the face of looming defeat.
In reality, court can be a very inefficient place, a bore-fest involving long periods spent in waiting rooms, only for hearings to be delayed or even rescheduled. Exculpatory or damning evidence is rarely presented at the last minute, as a judge would usually not allow it. Moreover, often the evidence you think will win a case can be overlooked by a jury.
These are just some of the reasons that a lot of lawyers, such as myself, do everything they can to settle cases outside court. However, some lawyers do love to litigate. They will happily take a case all the way to trial over something as trivial as a broken toenail.
One thing the show portrays correctly is how lawyers interact with each other and the small communities we practice in. You know these people from law school and from court; you see them at social events and work on committees together in the bar association. Often, you work with and against lawyers with whom you were at law school and the judges were often your mentors. We are quite familiar with each other and quickly learn how to navigate the legal world without ruining our reputations.
Press
Ewen MacAskill, former defence and security correspondent, the Guardian
The Herald, one of two fictional papers in the BBC drama Press, bears some resemblance to the Guardian. One character says the staff like to think of themselves as working for a prize-winning, crusading, liberal-lefty news organisation that exposes hypocrisy and corruption. That sounds about right.
Press gets a lot right: the writer, Mike Bartlett, has done his research. One of the central themes is the gulf in approach and values between papers such as the Guardian and the Sun, represented by the fictional counterparts the Herald and Post.
The first episode features the “death knock”, a dreaded rite of passage for reporters, sent out for the first time to seek an interview with a bereaved family. I did death knocks early in my career, but would not return to a home if rebuffed. The reporter from the Post knocks on the door, is rebuffed, but goes back. Maybe it is commonplace on other papers. I have never worked on a paper like the Sun/Post, so I don’t know.
The Herald does not feel like the Guardian or any other newsroom I have worked in. It seems oddly disjointed. Among the things missing is the sense of humour that keeps newsrooms rolling along day after day. I have only seen the first two episodes of Press but there is little joy in the Herald newsroom.
There are other bits that bear little resemblance to the reality of newsgathering. The investigative reporter is hapless, returning from a foreign assignment with only a handful of unreliable quotes from children. In reality, he would have been in touch constantly with his foreign desk, who would have told him not to come back until he had something more substantial.
His meeting with an MI5 whistleblower is also badly handled. He leaves behind his phone, which is right, given that it is a potential listening device, but the two meet in a car park, a place bound to have CCTV cameras. It is hard to believe either a spy or a reporter would suggest or agree to such a venue.
On another story, the Herald deputy news editor, exasperated by one of the reporters, heads off after a shift to pursue an investigation late into the night, turning up next morning with a near-complete story about a hospital. News desk editors do not normally have the time to do such things, even if they wanted to, and few journalists could turn a complex story around in such a short time.
In the first episode, the same deputy news editor pursues a story about a police cover-up about a hit-and-run, but neglects to tell anyone on the staff she has a personal interest: the victim was a friend and flatmate. Failing to declare a personal interest is serious issue, possibly a sackable offence.
When she comes to write the story, she begins with a subordinate clause: “Following the brutal death …” Reporters are taught in their first week never to start a story, certainly not a major news one, with a subordinate clause. It is a small point – and, yes, this is fiction – but it will jar with almost any reporter.
Casualty
Adrian Harrop, an A&E doctor based in Merseyside
The A&E department on Casualty does not reflect the day-to-day reality of my job. This was apparent from the opening scenes of one recent episode. A woman has been in minor car accident and is sitting in a wheelchair. She is not immobilised or unconscious; she is alert and talking. Then Dr Dylan Keogh (William Beck) comes along and performs quite a sloppy examination – one that you wouldn’t expect from an experienced A&E consultant – before ordering a completely inappropriate battery of tests. In reality, that patient would have been discharged in minutes.
Nor was I convinced by the ambulance crews. On Casualty, they seem to spend a considerable amount of time chewing the fat in their break room. As an A&E doctor, I work closely with ambulance crews and they have very little time for a break. They are rushed off their feet all day long.
Later in the same episode, an ambulance crew treats a man who has taken a drug overdose. He is given naloxone on the scene and allowed to go on his way. This is where the unreality of the show runs into an ethical quagmire. Naloxone is a potentially life-saving drug that blocks the effects of opioids. However, it is not a miracle drug, Its effects are ephemeral and it would never be used in isolation. Any patient who has overdosed would be brought to hospital for further examination.
The treatment of this patient, along with other tropes in medical dramas, can create unrealistic expectations for patients. We have all seen hospital shows where someone is rushed to hospital after a cardiac arrest resulting in asystole (flatlining on the heart monitor), only to be miraculously jolted back from the brink with the aid of defibrillator paddles. As a dramatic device, defibrillators are magnificent, but in reality they would never be used on a patient with asystole. They are only effective when correcting a dysfunctional electrical rhythm in the heart. The vast majority of patients who have a cardiac arrest outside hospital are very unlikely to survive.
Tony Hughes, Andy Wade, Anjula Mutanda, Kendra Stephen and Adrian Harrop were talking to Daniel Lavelle
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