Her reality programme Tista’ Tkun Int has a huge following, but she also has her share of critics. Josanne Cassar talks to Rachel Vella about why people love to hate her show over lunch at Trattoria de Buono in Mellieha

Mellieha is where Rachel Vella is from, so it stands to reason that she chose a restaurant in this area.

Trattoria De Buono is in the Tunny Net complex and forms part of the Seabank Hotel. Sales & Marketing manager Karl Abela explains that the whole place has recently been renovated.

“Our latest additions are the Tunny Net Wine Bar and the Lido, which is open to the public. Then there is Café Latino Punta Rena and this Trattoria, which specialises in fish.”

The determined effort to project a new image of this long-standing establishment has paid off. It also happens to boast one of the most beautiful panoramic seaviews in Mellieha.

Rachel arrives and I finally meet this perfectly groomed, petite, woman who has been interviewed countless times. Her face is probably one of the most familiar on the island: you can see it plastered on billboards, magazine covers and even on her own van, which runs around the island promoting her programme Tista’ Tkun Int.

It is precisely because of all the publicity she has already generated that, until now, I have been reluctant to interview her – what on earth could I possibly ask her that everyone doesn’t already know?

In the end, it was my scepticism which led to the interview. As Rachel herself is fully aware, I have often criticised the very raison d’etre of her reality show, which tackles the stories of people who have been through some hardship and grants them a special wish.

So, here was my chance to quiz her on those aspects of Tista’ Tkun Int, which make me, and others feel so uncomfortable.

Until her TV programme rocketed her to Malta’s equivalent of celebrity fame, Rachel led a very quiet life. As a girl she was heavily into sports and went on to teach PE. It was her family’s insurance business that led to her first appearance on TV, during John Demanuele and Charles Saliba’s Saturday afternoon programme Weekend. Her five-minute slot speaking about insurance and, later, travel was well received, so PBS asked her to produce her own programme. Today, almost six years later, she cannot go anywhere without being recognised.

“My father used to run a bar and restaurant and often played the guitar for guests. As a child I yearned to be a singer. However, if you had told me that one day I would end up on TV, I would have said, ‘no way!’”

The extent of her own popularity first hit her when the programme was still in its first year. In the annual list of the most popular presenters, she was voted favourite female presenter.

“That really surprised me, not even in a million years would I have dreamt it,” Rachel says. “To date we have had 50,000 nominations. I think I realise the full impact of something after some time has passed. For example, I can now appreciate how good the Sterling Jewellers’ campaign was (in which her glamorous image wearing the jewellery was simply everywhere).”

She speaks unhurriedly in her measured, low volume voice. It is the same voice which refuses to be rushed that we hear on the show, and which can either drive you up the wall in exasperation or else endear you to her even more. As she is quick to point out, her show, (and by extension, Rachel herself), is something you either love or hate.

She smiles tolerantly at me as she says this.

I ask her how she feels when she reads criticism like mine.

“I think the reason the programme has grown the way it has is because I have taken note and listened to the criticism. How else could I have improved otherwise? When it’s constructive, it doesn’t bother me at all – what does bother me is if there is a hidden agenda. After almost eight years on television, and especially since Tista’ Tkun Int, I have learned that I must have unknowingly stepped on some toes. I had to learn this the hard way.”

Rachel feels that her programme has gained in credibility because she has received nominations from politicians and from people like Tony Zarb, of the General Workers’ Union. She also gets unstinting support from high-ranking officials: a crucial factor in cutting through red tape for everything from arranging visas, tracing relatives all over the world and even meeting the Pope.

“I think there are lots of people with good intentions who really appreciate the programme, but I also accept that there are those who have their genuine reasons for not liking it. I’d be foolish to think I can be liked by everyone.”

It’s time to get to the crunch of why people have their reservations. Why, for instance, does each story have to be milked so much, even when the person on the show is obviously upset and overwhelmed with emotion while telling their story? Frankly, those who object to Tista’ Tkun Int perceive it as a show that exploits people’s misery for entertainment.

“If that is how it appears, maybe we have made mistakes in the past, so we have to make sure that we don’t go there. However, there are those who want to draw a line when it comes to certain stories. Take for example, the case of people in wheelchairs – should we not use them because otherwise we’ll be accused of exploiting them? When we had a girl in a wheelchair whose wish was to meet Fiorello, no one was there with us to see how overjoyed she was. So is that exploitation? We have been told not to show people with special needs, but now the disabled might feel we are discriminating against them. In fact, when we told a man in a wheelchair why we couldn’t feature his story he was very angry. He said: ‘what right do others have to decide for me?’ In a recent programme about an obese man, his own doctor nominated him. Would he have done it if he thought we were exploiting him? If we were really exploiting people, the show would not be as strong as it is.”

But, as I point out to Rachel, more than the actual stories, it is the way they are sometimes handled which leaves the viewer with mixed feelings.

Take the boy who was being reunited with his father who had abandoned the family. The story seemed to drag on forever, the questions became repetitive and sometimes even insensitive, and the boy’s heart was in his mouth until the final denouement when we found out whether the father had come or not.

Rachel shakes her head at the suggestion that each story is stretched to fill in the airtime. “Anzi, we are constantly running against the clock. But we have so many stories that we always have to justify why we chose one and not the other. I receive about 400 phone calls a day, so that process which you see is our way of explaining why we chose a particular story. I can understand how for a viewer it seems to be dragged out, so thank you for telling me about it,” she replies diplomatically.

Once a nominee agrees to come on the show, they have to sign a form to this effect. A psychologist briefs them on what is going to happen, cautioning them not to involve third parties, and so on.

“Of course, the nominees have a right not to come on the show, just as the viewer has the right to flip the channel,” she adds gently (and pointedly).

The waitress brings us our orders, fresh tuna for Rachel and grilled salmon for me – cooked to perfection.

Local reality shows have created a new phenomenon which until recently was unheard of in Malta: the baring of one’s personal, private life on television. In our small, often vicious society, where people are (understandably) loath to air their dirty laundry in public, this shift towards a “let it all hang out” culture has been rather surprising.

“Well, if we go back many years ago, unwed mothers used to be sent off to Gozo and would come back after six months, pretending that the baby never existed. So does that mean that hiding everything was better? I think what we are seeing today is the repercussion of all that secrecy, as the women try to find their kids and vice-versa. If anything, by publicising these stories we can appreciate how much a mother suffers when she is forced to give up her child for adoption. It’s true that the whole country will know your business but these people are desperate – so what if everyone knows? When we reunite these people it is the happiest day of their life and everyone stops them in the street to wish them well. When people are going through huge problems, they tend to give up and accept the situation. They are convinced that they will never pull themselves out of it. What I’ve learned from this programme is that the Maltese show a great deal of solidarity when they hear these stories.”

As she cites examples of people living in dire poverty, others whose families have been torn apart because of a feud, still others who have been obsessed all their lives with finding a parent, and the sick children for whom she has made a wish come true, she looks me straight in the eye and asks me if I don’t think this is a positive, good, Christian thing that she is doing.

“When members of the public and businessmen come forward to help those who don’t have any money, I say thank God that we are such a generous nation. I’ll never forget that boy with Down’s Syndrome whose dream was to be an air steward… a pilot lent me his suit and cap and let him wear them – he was so happy.”

It is no secret that Rachel Vella is a savvy businesswoman. Over the years she has become adept at asking for “very big favours” – she admits that her forte is selling and that she can be very persuasive and convincing. “I surprise myself sometimes”.

From the start, Tista’ Tkun Int bought its own airtime so she has had to pull in the advertising as well. In return, her high ratings have ensured that her programme is flooded with sponsorships.

“When we were slotted for Sunday mornings, it was very hard to sell and no one thought we could do it – but we created an audience out of dead airtime. Apart from that, unlike other programmes, so many things can go wrong. What if you have someone who, at the last minute, decides they don’t want to come? Or what if someone misses their flight, which actually happened once.”

Rachel says she welcomed the guidelines by the Broadcasting Authority, which state that children under 16 have to first be screened by Appogg before appearing on such shows. But she still maintains that her ultimate aim is to do good.

“There was a girl with a serious skin condition whose father used to hide her, taking her to the swings at 11pm, and so on. After the programme was aired, he was no longer ashamed and he said to me: ‘A miracle happened, but the miracle happened to me’. I honestly wish that all those who criticise the programme would come and spend a day with us to see what is involved behind the scenes.”

However, there are other niggling incidents, which make you wonder whether she is really that altruistic. In the programme in which she took a girl to the Vatican to meet the Pope, I was one of those who criticised the fact that Rachel posed for the photos with the young girl, rather than her relatives. She explains that this was the wish of the girl’s aunts.

“I work seven days a week, about 14 hours a day, I don’t do anything else. We have an editing suite in the office, we sometimes even sleep there to finish, especially when things keep going wrong until the last minute. It can be quite nerve-wracking and you feel relieved when it’s almost over but then I think – should I give this up? The most recent survey is telling us that it’s the most watched local programme. So people still want the show. Seventy-five per cent of our viewers are female; funnily enough, I’ve found that men find it harder to watch because they are too sensitive (qalbhom zghira!).”

The rumours which swirl around Rachel and her programme are never-ending, so I ask her about them. She denies she fought with Joe Dimech, her former co-presenter – after the restructuring at PBS, the policy changed and he could no longer present the programme.

She also denies that the programme has made her filthy rich.

“They say we own Karkanja Property and Sterling, but they are just sponsors. Of course we earn money, because this is our job, but definitely not as much as some might think. People say a lot of things, what can you do?” she shrugs.

The psychologist on the programme happens to be her cousin but Rachel sees nothing wrong with this.

“At the beginning she was very hard on me, very sceptical and was my biggest critic. Now she is understanding the difference the show makes.”

There have also been raised eyebrows as to why people in the public eye such as Fabrizio and Miriam Christine should have been helped to find their parents – surely, people say, they can afford to do this themselves?

“But I’ve always wanted to help everyone. Just because a person is stable financially, does it mean he is stable in every respect? Maybe they’ve been through a trauma. In fact, people loved Fabrizio’s story.”

The lady certainly has an answer for everything.

I suppose one way of knowing you’ve made it is when you become an object of satire. The show Bla Kommixin once mercilessly lampooned Rachel in a sketch where an actress came out dressed in a long gown and wearing a halo, she pulled on a string and tiny little bulbs came to life on her dress making her look like, as we say in Maltese, “Santa Maria Goretti”.

In another show, Zinners, the presenters would invite well-known people on to the show and then imitate them. However, Rachel says that they invited her at the last minute and she couldn’t go.

“Maybe I made a mistake by not going, but to be honest I wasn’t even sure it was genuine; I thought it was a prank. However, we watched it and laughed, even when they poked fun at my father. I don’t mind as long as they don’t get too personal.”

Tista’ Tkun Int, she says, has not only taken over her life, it has changed her as well. What keeps her going is the feel good factor, claiming that doing good becomes addictive.

“Of course the risks are great, because if you don’t succeed, you can fall flat on your face, but it is worth it. You wouldn’t do all these hours if you were not addicted to helping others. Even the crew become involved with the people they meet. While I am not overly religious, I do believe – I demonstrate my faith by doing good in my life and not just by praying or going to Church. You have to live your faith. A priest once told me ‘you have a place in heaven for sure’. You have to understand that I was brought up in so much love, that I can’t even explain it to you. My father always taught me not to do to others what I would not like done to me. If I had a fight with a cousin, he would tell me to forgive. So if I was raised in love, it’s natural that I would want to give love back.

“I believe that this is what is happening with the show – it is creating a public consciousness that you should help others. When you have a baker, a vegetable seller and a butcher who all give a woman a year’s supply of groceries, I am not the great one, it is they who are making her life better. I’m just the medium.”

Yes, the show panders to people’s love of gossip, and sure women especially love to watch it to have a good cry.

But have we become so cynical that someone who wants to do good is automatically viewed with suspicion? After two hours spent talking to the very convincing Rachel Vella, I still don’t have an answer to that.