THE ABC TELEVISION studios at Gore Hill in Sydney are full of ghosts. For fifty years, actors, performers, politicians and crews have filled the vast studios, the green rooms and makeup chairs. Now the studios are being sold, the lot is almost silent.
A final drama is being played out in a corner of Studio 22. The cameras, lights and microphone stands are ready, but the two chairs facing the cameras are empty.
In a green room behind the studio, Kevin Rudd is stretched out on a sofa. He looks anguished. His jacket is off, draped over a chair. The jacket we’d insisted on bringing back ourselves, for continuity, after a first interview in Boston. It had hung in our office for two months, a hostage against Rudd’s return for a second interview. As he speaks, Rudd’s fingers grip the edges of an iPad.
I’m not coming back in. I’m not going back into your witness box.
It had been a long morning. We’d stopped for lunch in the middle of questions about Rudd’s performance as Australia’s Prime Minister in 2010. I’d suggested he take a break, have some food, relax, but he’d scheduled a meeting instead. We’d watched as the tail-lights of his white Comcar disappeared beyond the security gate. It was hot and still on the concrete apron in front of the studio, heat rolling off the building’s large metal doors. The producers and the crew were in summer clothes; I wore a tight purple jacket, the one I had worn in the Boston winter. We sat on the ground among discarded wooden pallets and ate lunch, wondering if he would return.
The questions I’d put to him through the morning session had been relentless, quoting the views of former colleagues on his performance. The most personal judgement was that of fellow former Prime Minister Julia Gillard. I read it out to him, keeping my voice neutral.
I thought for Kevin so much of his engagement in politics was about the applause, the celebrity, being fêted by people. Across his life, and perhaps some of this is explained by the hardship of his early years … clearly there’s a hole that needs to be filled by applause and approval.
Rudd paused.
The first thing I’d say about that is, I haven’t seen Julia’s university qualifications as a psychoanalyst.
Gillard had chosen to make her attack on Rudd personal. Rudd offered a moral critique about Gillard. I learnt listening to them that you couldn’t determine who was telling the truth. You could only put them side by side and let the audience decide.
That morning I had gone on too long in the same vein. The rhythm of the interview had slipped away.
When Rudd finally returned to the lot, he disappeared into the green room and wouldn’t come out. Time was precious. His minder leant against a wall, non-committal. Rudd kept asking why he was being cross-examined when he was the wronged party. His doubts about our intentions for the series returned. He was in pain, he said. He sipped his trademark tea, the blend he’d won a celebrity tea-making competition with.
All of a sudden, Rudd stood up, grabbed his jacket and said, ‘OK, let’s go’. He walked into the studio, swinging the cushion he used to support his back, joking with the cameraman.
Camera set.
Sound set.
Speeds up.
I settled in my chair and looked over at Rudd.
When you look back over that period, what do you reproach yourself for the most?