How to run a panel session that people actually remember

What a red sofa on a Friday night can teach us about running better conversations

I’ve always thought Graham Norton makes it look far too easy.

He sits there on that famous red sofa, surrounded by Hollywood A-listers, a comedian who’s had two coffees too many, and someone promoting a film nobody’s quite sure about. Within minutes, everyone’s relaxed, stories are flowing, the audience feels involved, and before you know it, you’re laughing along.

No one in the audience asks a question, yet somehow you feel part of it. And then you remember the last panel discussion you sat through. Four bar stools on top of the stage. A row of polite experts. Sensible questions. Even more sensible answers. And everyone’s looking at their phones after 10 minutes.

Over the years, I’ve come to see that running a tight panel is less about asking good questions and more about creating the right conditions. When it works, it feels effortless. So if the conference organiser ever asks you to run a panel and thinks it’s easy and about getting AI to do you a list of questions, think again. Graham Norton makes it look really easy.

Panels need direction, not a script. When everything is pre-planned, it shows

Recently a client asked me to chair a 30-minute panel session at their conference. They challenged me to bring my facilitation techniques to the fore because they didn’t want the usual “fireside chat” format.

It was a fairly standard panel titled What are the key challenges facing mortgage markets? On the panel, I had two experienced Business Development Managers from the corporate world, senior people too, and a successful head of a boutique mortgage brokerage, so lots of experience.

So I did, and the look on the faces of the esteemed industry professionals on the panel was a hoot. Only joking. I briefed them beforehand, and they loved the energy. Here’s how I approached it.

First, I involved the audience before the panel had even properly started.

“Raise your hand if you might have a question. Just to give me a feel for the room. That’s great. My job’s done because we already have an agenda.”

This sets the audience up straight away as they are responsible for asking questions, not you. Warm them up some more.

“Stand up, or raise your hand, if you’ve used AI in your business this year. Stand up if you’ve had a client shocked by their monthly payments.”

Leaving the audience until the final five minutes is usually too late. I prefer to involve them early, even if it’s just a quick show of hands or a simple question to the room. They stop watching and start participating, even silently.

Then I introduced a Red Card. Give each panellist a red card and tell them that if somebody on the panel says something they disagree with, they can show the card and say why. Make sure they know this is tongue-in-cheek. If everyone politely agrees with each other, the audience learns very little. My job is to stir things a little but keep it respectful.

I also use what I call Audience Pick a Card. Print questions on individual cards and create a deck. Then walk the room, pounce on someone and ask them to pick a card. Any card. Then ask them to read the question out loud.

The question has to be aimed at one panel member, not all three or four. The audience member has to choose who answers. You can bounce it to the others afterwards if you want, but I rarely do. More often than not, it turns into an echo chamber, with everyone agreeing and adding very little new.

Speak to the room, not to me. I always remind panellists that this isn’t an interview. The moment they turn their answers towards me, the energy drops. When they lift their eyes and talk to the audience, it feels more open, more inclusive, and more like Graham.

I also try to break the rhythm on purpose. Short answers. Quick follow-ups. Humour. A gentle put-down. Sometimes a challenge. You want an interesting discussion so keep them on their toes. “That’s what a corporate communications team would say, Bob; what’s the real answer?”

Or my personal favourite: “I don’t quite believe you. Have another go.” Then turn to the audience and ask: “Who’s got a question that might make the panel slightly uncomfortable?”

Panels need direction, not a script. When everything is pre-planned, it shows. Answers become rehearsed and slightly distant. That way you can engage in surprises and off-the-cuff remarks, real human interaction.

Sometimes I nominate one panel member and move their chair three feet ahead of the others. “For the next four minutes, Jane, you’re on the hot seat, with no support from the others.”

I also like the Empty Stool Rule. Have an empty bar stool alongside the panel. If someone in the audience strongly disagrees, give them the stool for two minutes. Some of the best insights in the room never made it onto the stage in the first place.

What struck me afterwards was that some of the most interesting observations didn’t come from the people on the stage. They came from the audience.

It turns out that conference organisers spend months finding three experts and then sit 200 others facing the wrong way.

A well-run panel rarely earns you a round of applause. The panellists get the credit, while you quietly hold the whole thing together. It’s a subtle craft, and when it’s done well, nobody quite notices, apart from you.

Most panel sessions are remembered for who was on the stage. The best ones are remembered for what happened in the room. Which is probably why I keep coming back to Graham Norton. That slight grin, the naughty boy look, the well-timed nudge. He makes it look effortless. It isn’t.