Today's New York Times relates the saddening story of how the effervescent Katie Couric has become the darling of Network news in every conceivable aspect. Except ratings. Now, numerous corporate knives are being eagerly prepped for revenge.
Since joining the news team last September, Ms. Couric has watched the ratings slide inexorably downwards. Even a subtle PR campaign, including the cover of 'New York' magazine didn't halt the decay. All this has only served as grounds for fresh and heated debate over how her relocation from NBC was achieved. And especially, how it was paid for.
The evening newscast is one of the jewels of US network television. And one of its most profitable. So when Ms. Couric was persuaded to drape her sinuous form across the Eye's most visible and prestigious chair, it should come as no surprise that a scrofulous coterie of corporate Ninjas were watching from the shadows, keenly awaiting the merest trace of a slip.
Initial reaction was good – The ratings were excellent and Katie was everyone's darling. Then, for reasons that are still unclear even to the closest insiders, the audience drifted away.
American TV, especially Network TV, is about ratings. First, last and only. Katie got the job [and a $60m contract] because she had garnered a vast and loyal following on NBC, and the suits at CBS believed they would follow her. Now, with the honeymoon over and the ratings at less bountiful levels, the blame needs somewhere to park and fingers are eagerly aiming at Katie, as though it was her fault CBS used an eight-figure bait to acquire her as the face of their precious reportage.
The core of the problem is that CBS has a long-standing reputation as the network for people who think cardigans are a fashion statement. These folks don't tend to find Katie 'hot,' and those who do wouldn't watch CBS if you Scotch-taped their heads to the screen.
Ultimately, the fault is not hers. When you squeeze someone with Ms. Couric's refulgent charm into a button-down suit, then plant her behind a desk to recite from an autocue she can't even control, a considerable portion of that charm will be missing. As will a large component of the audience so joyously drawn to its past incarnation.
So what's the solution? You can be sure that question has caused the usage of a great deal of midnight oil at CBS Central. Were you able to diagnose it, dear reader, you'd put Katie back on top and Mr. Moonves on welfare by Monday.
Since joining the news team last September, Ms. Couric has watched the ratings slide inexorably downwards. Even a subtle PR campaign, including the cover of 'New York' magazine didn't halt the decay. All this has only served as grounds for fresh and heated debate over how her relocation from NBC was achieved. And especially, how it was paid for.
The evening newscast is one of the jewels of US network television. And one of its most profitable. So when Ms. Couric was persuaded to drape her sinuous form across the Eye's most visible and prestigious chair, it should come as no surprise that a scrofulous coterie of corporate Ninjas were watching from the shadows, keenly awaiting the merest trace of a slip.
Initial reaction was good – The ratings were excellent and Katie was everyone's darling. Then, for reasons that are still unclear even to the closest insiders, the audience drifted away.
American TV, especially Network TV, is about ratings. First, last and only. Katie got the job [and a $60m contract] because she had garnered a vast and loyal following on NBC, and the suits at CBS believed they would follow her. Now, with the honeymoon over and the ratings at less bountiful levels, the blame needs somewhere to park and fingers are eagerly aiming at Katie, as though it was her fault CBS used an eight-figure bait to acquire her as the face of their precious reportage.
The core of the problem is that CBS has a long-standing reputation as the network for people who think cardigans are a fashion statement. These folks don't tend to find Katie 'hot,' and those who do wouldn't watch CBS if you Scotch-taped their heads to the screen.
Ultimately, the fault is not hers. When you squeeze someone with Ms. Couric's refulgent charm into a button-down suit, then plant her behind a desk to recite from an autocue she can't even control, a considerable portion of that charm will be missing. As will a large component of the audience so joyously drawn to its past incarnation.
So what's the solution? You can be sure that question has caused the usage of a great deal of midnight oil at CBS Central. Were you able to diagnose it, dear reader, you'd put Katie back on top and Mr. Moonves on welfare by Monday.
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