Behind the scenes at the leaders’ debate
In the spotlight with 48 sets of swinging voter eyes boring in on them, there was nowhere to hide for Scott Morrison and Bill Shorten, writes Miranda Devine. How they handled themselves gave great insight.
Behind the scenes of the first leaders’ debate in Perth came a glimmer of what makes the rival campaigns tick.
The debate was planned for a small TV studio where Seven’s Perth news usually goes to air.
In a feat worthy of Rubik’s cube, almost 60 people on small folding chairs were crammed around the leaders, who themselves were perched on two uncomfortable bar stools atop a couple of white boxes.
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With klieg lights shining in their eyes, their cross-examiners seated metres away at the anchor desk and 48 sets of swinging voter eyes boring in on them, there was nowhere to hide.
At a pre-debate inspection an hour before, Bill Shorten took one look at the set up and hated it.
He did not want to sit on the bar stool. He wanted a lectern, so he could stand up and look prime ministerial and have his notes and pen handy.
The PM wasn’t fussed either way.
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Eight minutes before airtime, Morrison arrived back in the studio, shook hands all around and chatted with moderators Mark Riley and Lanai Scarr before cooling his heels for a good five minutes before Shorten arrived.
It felt like the sort of passive aggressive move you sometimes see when footy teams delay running onto the field, leaving their opposition to cool down and their energy leach away.
By the time Shorten arrived with wife Chloe, moments before showtime, he was all smiles.
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He’d brought along a clipboard for his papers to scribble on and he kept fiddling with it for the first half of the debate, as if the smile hid a jumble of nerves.
But when the studio audience had a chance to ask questions halfway through, Shorten visibly relaxed.
He remembered their names, and said he wanted to “respect” the questions. On a question about Clive Palmer trading preferences with the government Shorten put on a comic routine that had the studio audience laughing at every line.
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“He’s a good Samaritan, Clive Palmer. He’s the unicorn of Liberal politics.”
He had won the room.
The minute it was all over, Shorten made a beeline for the swinging voters, walking past his wife Chloe to shake hands with every member of the audience.
“I enjoyed it more than I thought I would,” he told Riley, basking in his relief once Morrison had left.
It was not a debate that would shape the election, but we saw Shorten’s need for the crowd’s love, and their positive response.
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