Behind the Lens Walking through the big red stage doors, 'The Hour' written on the side, time stops as we know it. The elevator directly to the left, is the gate way to the unexplainable world that is television. We are carried away. Everything happens as it is suppose to happen. We wait. We laugh. We clap. Dictated and absorbing the energy that is projected around us by the host
The guests are a blur. This is TV time and space; nothing is real. He talks to us. Speaks out in intimate moments revealing nothing, and yet, something. Music, Motorcycles and his Mother, Mary. We don't come for the show or the guests. We come to see Him. Admit it, it's true. Captivating, memorizing, invited into this secret world, and He lets us in with open arms (and a cheeky smile).
The Lights. The sounds, the DJ always plays something good for the moment. Give away gifts in between the shots. Our host takes his time and does pretty much what He please