I firmly believe that we all need a bit of tat, kitsch, and trivia in our lives. Along with a bit of gossip, the more malicious the better, it’s the cement that gels the more important building bricks of our lives. However after returning to the UK after less than a year working abroad the ubiquitous and permeating affects of reality TV and “celebrity culture”, an oxymoron if ever there was one, has become an assault on the senses and I believe is damaging the fabric of British society. A spell away from these shores has lent me a degree of objectivity. I watched The Apprentice for the first time, the episode when the three remaining protagonists were interviewed by three of Sir Alan’s slick Human Resources people. The contestants were hilariously exposed as aggressive, back-stabbing, callous, and self deluded who could only express themselves using clichéd soundbites of mind numbing inanity in loud vacuous self promotion. They each came across as a lobotomised Gordon Gecko. Alan Sugar’s image has always resembled a sneering Dickensian bullet headed mill owner from Hard Times but was excellent in the self deprecating role of self parody. It was later I realised that he was playing it straight and is as deluded as those who aspire to his greatness. What was more unnerving was that they were feted by the media in general who responded in a positive way using descriptions such as feisty, hardworking, tough, resilient, ambitious, and achieving individuals with little of the above critique. What kind of role models are these and what kind of human traits and values are they lauding for consumption by the younger generation?
The plethora of celebrity and non celebrity talent shows where the whole object seems to be public humiliation has been devoured by an insatiable public. The Pinteresque pregnant pause has become indispensable in modern TV. This breathless silence is used to dramatic effect prior to humiliating rejection in front of a nation. “And the one to leave the house, the jungle, X-factor, strictly dance fever is.…….......” I can hear my clock ticking during what seems like an eternity before the latest butterfly is exposed and broken on the wheel then cast into ignominy from the land of plenty like the expulsion from the Garden of Eden. They are verbally taunted and humiliated with vindictive cruelty and then killed off. The make-up of the panels are not so much a who’s who but who the hell are they? The repeated scenarios are reminiscent of the Roman Coliseum, where the panel members display the kind of sensitivity and compassion that makes Caligula seem like St. Francis of Assisi .
More unedifying than talentless wannabes is the faded star trying to get his or her career back on track. Paul Daniels is an irritating poisoned dwarf but he had a hugely successful career as a skilful quiz show host and is a master magician who compared quality variety shows around this exceptional talent. To see him and the lovely Debbie Magee perform a squirm generating song and dance act made David Brent seem cool. They were the first to be unceremoniously jettisoned and despite the attempt to be gracious in humiliating defeat, the eyes had it. They seemed broken. It’s an irony that in that moment of pathos I saw a redeeming love story and from this unexpected quarter a chink if humanity in an otherwise depressing spectacle. This beleaguered and often ridiculed couple have enjoyed the good times but still seem as devoted to each other in the bad .
The pursuit of some kind of fame and the resulting baubles now requiring no talent or ability seems in the reach of all of us and is as achievable as it tenuous. Andy Warhol's fifteen minutes of fame is now irrelevant. Get yourself in the newspapers or on telly for some reason and it will lead to fame and fortune. Cardiff bog cleaner Maureen Reece's short exposure led to her making a record, writing a book, and rumour has it that she's lined up for the Dimbleby lecture. If this mentality was around in 1982 the Queen's intruder Michael Fagin would be on the third volume of his memoirs by now. Have a one night stand with a celeb, drop your kecks at trooping of the colour or similar and agents will be battering down your door and you'll be lined up for the next bush tucker trail with Ant and Dec.
I know that kids receive lessons in citizenship today but it must be like pissing into the wind compared to the bombardment of get rich quiz shows, the likes of Trisha, Jeremy Kyle, the dehumanising effect of the shallow superficial world of celebrity and the pursuit of some kind of fame. We have to wean ourselves off the communal fetish for such dross. It’s like morbidly ogling a serious road accident simultaneously finding it compulsive yet feeling guilty and uncomfortable. Look the other way and for our kids sake switch off!!