IT used to be said that British television was the best in the world – innovative, inventive, informative, pioneering and a form of the medium, wrapped in a coat of quality writing and performance and the highest production standards.
I fear, it may never be said again as the seventh series of ‘Big Brother’ hits our screen.
If you’ve half a brain, it’s not socially acceptable to admit that you’ve watched – even occasionally. Programmes like that are for the ‘chavs’, half-wits, no-hopers – you know … your neighbours, the folk ‘doon the road’ or folk like ‘yon richt common wifie that works in the chipper’ – never us! No sir!
Well, I know that many of us do watch it and revel in the exploitation of the poor misguided, fools, freaks and nature’s victims who clamour to get themselves onto the programme.
The programme makers babble nonsense like ‘a serious attempt to explore inter-personal relationships in the confines of a controlled environment’ we all know in our heart of hearts that what we are really watching is ‘car crash’ TV where untalented and insecure people make complete prats of themselves by displaying all the worst human qualities with relish.
I first watched ‘Big Brother’ last year. I was appalled seeing British TV standards based and relying on cynicism, exploitation and manipulation.
But, it was strangely compelling as I found myself hating all the house-mates with varying intensity. It’s all a vicious circle really – programme makers exploit pathetic, attention seeking contestants. These televisual victims try to exploit the viewing public by trying to be outrageous to obtain telephone votes. We, the viewers, exploit these deluded contestants, encouraging them to perform like circus animals to obtain our votes. Finally, it comes full circle, as programme makers exploit the viewers by conning them for wads of cash from telephone votes!
Do you really believe the phone votes are responsible for the removal of contestants? I for one certainly don’t. I’m pretty sure they don’t even count the votes. Ever heard mention of an independent body invigilating over the counting of the votes? No! Well ain’t that a surprise!
I’m sure the programme makers decide who is next to leave. The only thing phone votes are responsible for is making money for the programme makers. Once they’ve counted the money and are laughing their way to the bank, the phone votes are tossed in the bin and they decide which contestant is no longer an asset to the programme and is to be ‘evicted’.
As I write, this year’s ‘Big Brother’ is about a week old and I hate the contestants already – some more than others.
Stand-outs for me in the hate stakes are the wee guy whose parents must have been dyslexic. He’s called Sezer – pronounced Caesar! Of course, maybe it should be pronounced Seize Her as the over-full of himself wee mannie is a pure sexual predator as his forays on the females have shown. Tries too hard to look like a young Richard Gere.
Then, there’s some dame who looks like a shelf stacker who doesn’t seem to know her own name. Calls herself ‘Bonner’ when her name -defying the truth – is Bonnie. – dream on quine!
There’s an unfortunate guy, Pete, suffering from Tourette’s syndrome which causes him to twitch, pout and shout swear words. He’s like Jim Carey on speed. All the usual garbage is being trotted out about it being a ‘brave attempt to let people see what Tourette’s is and how it can be lived with.’ Believe that if you like. I’m sure the programme makers are desperate for afflicted Pete to make as many ‘funny’ interruptions with uncontrolled swearing, twitching and grimacing as possible and, already, it is clear that a number of the contestants are encouraging him in this ‘entertainment’.
I have to mention the galoot who obviously fancies himself as a Bruce Willis look-a-like with his white semmit and cowboy hat. He’s Canadian, but definitely no lumberjack. He’s as gay as a Viennese waltz. Although it is no longer politically correct to criticise on the grounds of sexual persuasion, I feel perfectly at liberty to criticise on the grounds that he talks in that typical mid-Atlantic psycho-babble, saying of one of the other contestants: “I think he’s internalising,” Oooh Pulleeeze! I didn’t have a scooby as to what he meant and I’m sure nobody else did either.
Then there’s a buxom, coloured woman – Dawn. She talks a bit of the old psycho-babble as well, comes across as new-age with a dash of lentil-eating desperation. She tries to get onside with everyone by instructing them in yoga, exercise and giving massages. I confidently predict that your money will be safe if you make a trip to Ladbroke’s or William Hills and place a wager that, when the programme is all over, she’ll be releasing an exercise video.
The contestant I currently want to strangle is the guy … sorry … girl … sorry … whatever … from Glasgow. Of Pakistani origin, he’s been disowned by his strict Muslim family. I wonder why?
This guy – Shabaz – minces around screaming and giggling like a little girlie, telling everyone what a hard life he has had. Incidentally, he has been unemployed for 21 years. I wonder why? Never mind, it has given him the time to become expert on every Betty Davis and Joan Crawford film ever made.
He’s been weebling on about being the one in the house with all the issues. He, feared he’d face persecution as a gay man, a gay Muslim or just for being a Muslim in the current political climate. I was screaming at the TV screen: “No mate, you’ll be persecuted for being an absolute, over-the-top, self-obsessed, self-deluded, yammering, pain-in-the-ass.”
Yes, it’s all very sad and I’m full of self-loathing but I suppose I’ll watch it again this week.
Aberdeen Indy
