Bruce Lehrmann’s landlords and the economics of chequebook journalism

The Seven Network should have disclosed the details of its 12-month rental arrangement with Bruce Lehrmann that secured its exclusive “bombshell” interview series, says Richard Ackland, a Gold Walkley-winning journalist whose reporting exposed the commercial radio “cash for comment” scandal more than two decades ago.

The murky details of the Lehrmann deal, which included a year’s rent worth more than $100,000, add another layer to the already questionable practice of chequebook journalism – where a media organisation pays an individual for exclusive access to them.

Story deals: Kathleen Folbigg, Bruce Lehrmann, and Beaconsfield miners Todd Russell and Brant WebbCredit: Monique Westermann

“It’s just very unattractive. I don’t think media organisations should be doing this,” says Ackland, a former Media Watch host and expert in media law whose reporting in 1999 changed Australia’s transparency codes. He says it is a clear-cut case of chequebook journalism, and as a result “should have been disclosed”.

The value exchange between Seven and Lehrmann emerged on Tuesday during Lehrmann’s defamation case against Network Ten and Lisa Wilkinson under cross-examination by the former Project star’s lawyer, Sue Chrysanthou, SC.

Seven’s Spotlight program had previously said it had made no payment to Lehrmann for the interview, only assisting with “accommodation as part of the filming of the story”.

“It was a little grubby,” admits a senior Seven insider, speaking anonymously due to the sensitive nature of the deal, and the ongoing legal action.

For decades, television networks and glossy magazines have engaged in bidding wars to tell the extraordinary stories of ordinary Australians, with the potential to change the lives of those having experienced trauma or tragedy.

In 1986, Nine’s 60 Minutes paid Lindy Chamberlain $250,000 for the scoop on her daughter being taken by a dingo, while in 2006, rescued Beaconsfield miners Brant Webb and Todd Russell were paid $2.6 million to tell their story across broadcast and print. Nine is the owner of this masthead.

For others, money pays for access to those hard to reach. Prince Harry and his wife, Meghan, sold their story to Oprah Winfrey and CBS for over $10 million in 2021, while Seven paid $1 million to interview Adele the same year, despite its journalist not bothering to listen to her new album.

However, while previously a surefire way to deliver a ratings windfall, getting adequate returns on big-money exclusives is now a much tougher ask. Magazines can no longer afford the luxury, while television “exclusives” are chopped, clipped and shared across social media within minutes of broadcasting.

“The budgets were bigger because the audiences were bigger, and the competition was that much harder, so there was a genuine marketplace for these deals,” says Tim Burrowes, a veteran media watcher and owner of industry newsletter Unmade. “Now, there’s a little less competition.”

Cleo Smith’s mother, Ellie Smith, and stepfather, Jake Gliddon, during their interview with 60 Minutes.Credit: 60 Minutes

Some subjects still demand a high fee. In 2022, Nine paid $2 million to interview the parents of Cleo Smith, the four-year-old abducted (and later found) in Western Australia, while Seven paid a potential sum of $1.5 million to Kathleen Folbigg, who was pardoned and released from jail after serving 20 years over the deaths of her four children.

The ratings in both instances were subdued. Nine’s interview netted an overnight metro audience of 750,000, while Seven’s had just 343,000.

Seven’s two Lehrmann interviews netted metro overnight audiences of 600,000 and 516,000. But Ackland says Seven’s lack of transparency regarding Lehrmann’s accommodation raises several questions, particularly over the motivations behind the payment.

“If he’s shooting a completely vapid interview for Spotlight, I suppose part of the deal would be some accommodation during the shooting. But why put him up in Sydney for months on end, even a year?

“Renting a house for him or a flat or something is ... tiddlywinks ... it’s peanuts. That’s not going to pay the lawyers, but it is a form of chequebook journalism.

“With Folbigg, it was money to help get her life back together after jail, but with Lehrmann, what’s the money for? That should have been disclosed,” Ackland says.

Lehrmann is now facing charges over a second alleged rape case in Queensland, which has come to light since the interviews were aired on Seven. Seven said it was not aware of this at the time of its deal with Lehrmann.

So, why do the commercial networks keep persisting with chequebook journalism? Burrowes says the lure of scoring exclusive access and the potential of ratings success is a strong motivator.

“It’s business, and ratings are business. So if you think that you’ll get a bigger audience buying in somebody who wouldn’t speak otherwise, then sometimes that investment is worth making.”

An advertising slot on a Sunday night on Seven could fetch between $20,000 and $30,000, says Ben Willee, general manager and media director at advertising agency Spinach. Setting the fee can often come down to keeping someone out of a competitor’s hands, though in the Lehrmann case, it appears Seven did not have any competitors.

“It’s a bit like the AFL [broadcast rights],” says Willee. “They never get anywhere near the amount of money back on AFL, but to not have it is worse. Especially if you’ve got a big show that week, it’s a great way to keep people on the network.”

The trade-off can be backlash and bad PR, says Burrowes, should a commercial arrangement with a controversial person come out, as in the Lehrmann instance.

Gold Walkley-winning journalist Richard Ackland.Credit: James Brickwood

Meanwhile, Ackland says it’s another example of Seven tangling itself up with the wrong crowd.

“It seems weird they appear to be backing all these characters that are completely antipathetical to journalism, people that just want to sue journalists [and are] backed by the Stokes organisation,” a reference to the company’s involvement with disgraced soldier Ben Roberts-Smith.

Though for Seven, any such negative PR doesn’t appear to stick. The market is used to it taking risks, according to a top financial analyst, speaking anonymously due to the sensitivity of the legal case.

“Anyone who follows Seven West Media knows they come with a certain latitude, doing things other public companies couldn’t justify,” the analyst says.

“Sometimes you have to do wild and wacky things to win eyeballs,” says Willee, and with Seven’s billionaire proprietor, Kerry Stokes, still calling the shots, he says the investment fundamentals of chequebook journalism just can’t be replicated elsewhere.

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