Why the BBC need a Kick Up the Bum
As regular readers will know, I thought Bonekickers was the kind of show which deserves to have its tapes unspooled and then used to hang the writers. This isn’t because it was the worst show I’ve ever seen, just the worst waste of money on a show I’ve seen for a while.
And you know why? Let me tell you.
Because the writers/producers/showrunners were so busy going round saying hey you know what’s good? American telly. You know what we should do? Copy it.
There is no doubt that the U.S. are the one pushing the boundaries of goodness and wonder in TV, at least in drama anyway. They have bigger budgets, more leeway and generally it seems a more experimental approach. So you can see the writers room at the BBC, replete with their Marks and Spencer’s undies and a cup of tea going ‘mate, lets put some balls in this, lets make a show that’s like one of those U.S. tellybox things’.
This maybe explains why we get lines such as “Use your archeological imagination!” Not to mention a climactic scene that involves a baddie swinging like a pendulum across a gigantic, hilariously obvious blue screen of flames. That. Is. Not. British. Telly.
Now I’m all for experimentation, you know. Like- how should we kill of this week’s character in Hollyoaks… murder? Car crash? Gas explosion? Or the kind of experimentation you get on a third date- can I touch her boob? Yes/no? These are good.
What is not good is taking a bunch of stuffy English actors and forcing them to act like someone from Law and Order. I mean it had all the prerequisites of a British drama- ageing character actor, check. Something to do with stuff that’s old. Check. And a setting of marshes and countryside. Check. But then it took these elements and tried to squeeze them sausage-like into the casing that is U.S. drama. Make the lead chick ballsy. Make her like Lara Croft, but crap.
And you know what guys? Archaeology is just NOT that exciting. Indy faked us out using explosions and quests for grand things like Jesus’ coffee mug and we were too busy looking at Angie’s boobs in Tomb Raider to notice.
So what does that tell us? Archaeology requires, no, demands big boobs, loads of explosions and a never-ending quest. You know what doesn’t work? Your middle aged lead character wondering around a room full of dusty objects, awkwardly murmuring ‘give up your secrets…’ while the camera weaves and stumbles like a drunk outside your local.
This show was, in the words of my house mate, ‘relentlessly cr*p’. And it was cr*p because it tried to be something it wasn’t. It IS a British drama; it is NOT an episode of Without a Trace, the Young Indiana Jones or The Wire. If we are going to blow our budget on a big hitting exciting drama then don’t copy someone else’s gig. Look for our own inventive, experimental style and take a risk on that. It’s not really a risk if you think ‘this worked for them lets do it, but a bit worse’. That’s guaranteed failure.
So listen up, the beeb: Do it better, cos that was just embarrassing.
McGee Noble
Stop Complaining!
Nothing gets my goat quite like TV complaints. You know the sort. Mealy-mouthed letters and emails from ‘Offended of Orpington’ about how outraged they are about some advert with a little bit of raunch, or a soap plotline involving something not quite suburban enough for their tastes.
Most recently there was the furore surrounding Heinz’s rather anodyne advert for deli spreads. The ad shows a male New York deli worker kissing a man to whom he has just served a baguette. It was a mere peck on the lips. Not an orgiastic snog. Not a lascivious lip-lock reminiscent of the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah. And yet people rang up in droves to condemn Heinz for their evil and dastardly promotion of homosexuality. “It’s a travesty!” they cried. “How will we explain this to our children?” Easy. You simply say “Some men love women. Some men love men. End of.” But that’s beside the point. More irksome is the fact that most complainers overlooked the main concept behind the advert. The male deli worker was supposed to be an incarnation of the customer’s wife. Heinz was trying to say that with their tasty new spreads, even a run-of-the-mill housewife will be transformed into a wisecracking Brooklyn deli owner. Simple enough, you might think. Apparently not, for the hundreds who complained.
Another case that annoyed me was the Chris Morris/Brasseye scandal in 2001. This is a prime example of utter idiocy at play. In case you didn’t see it or have forgotten the comic brilliance, the show was a mockumentary about paedophilia. Various celebrities including Gary Lineker and Philippa Forrester lent their support to a fictional anti-paedo campaign called ‘Nonce Sense’, while Richard Blackwood discussed the ‘fact’ that some perverts send ‘noxious gases’ through computer keyboards to subdue children. All pretty far fetched stuff, but the celebrities didn’t twig.
When the show aired there was pandemonium. Around 2000 people complained, and even politicians leapt onto the bandwagon of outrage. One pontificated that the show was “unspeakably sick”, and another claimed to be “dismayed” by it. But the thing is (and you’ll love this) neither of them had seen it. That’s right. They hadn’t even SEEN it.
And do you know what is even more ridiculous? The mind-boggling hypocrisy of the press. After Brasseye aired, the Daily Star (that well-known bastion of editorial supremacy) printed an article condemning Morris right beside a piece about Charlotte Church (then just 15 years old) and her developing mammaries with the headline “She’s a big girl now”… Note to editor – make sure you’re not encouraging your readership to lech over an underage girl at the same time as decrying someone who is ostensibly doing the same. (But Chris Morris wasn’t, that’s the point! It was a joke! Argh, I give up.)
The thing that bugs me most is that it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. The majority of people are smart enough to realise that two men kissing on screen isn’t going to rouse the devil from his lair, and that a bit of clever, controversial humour is a credit to our country rather than a scourge.
So if you’re one of the stuffy complaining types, make sure you get your facts straight before you issue forth with your vitriol. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have opinions. But take a step back and you may discover that you’ve missed the point completely.
by Susie Gordon
Soap tragedies are tragic, OK?!!
When a tragedy occurs in a soap, it is very often rather tragic. I want to make it clear that when I use the term tragic here I do not mean useless or pathetic. I mean to make the point that when someone dies in Eastenders or Hollyoaks this is oft quite distressing to watch. By now, I expect half of you to be reeling back in disgust, shaking your head / sniggering at how ridiculous it is for me to even bother to argue that, shock, horror, a soap might be moving. Well, don’t be such a bloody snob.
The prevailing (and frankly, pretty uninteresting) view is that soaps are the lowest of low, the shallowest scum of the dramatic arts, mundane viewing for even more mundane people. But, this simply ain’t so. When a character dies, it matters not whether they happen to be draped over the boards of a west end stage with their hand across their brow spouting “Alas, I am done for” or on the cobbles of a puddle-filled Albert Square with the neighbours clutching pints outside the Queen Vic gawping at their limp body – the catastrophe remains. In a lot of ways, the tragedy is heightened because at the time you’re usually stuffing your face with your tea just as they snuff it leaving you feeling a tad disrespectful as you munch while, Martin Fowler cradles his dead mother. It’s bad enough that you’re left with a mouthful of sausage and mash (which you’re rapidly going off) and tears are streaming down your face, but imagine if the doorbell goes. What is whoever it is at your door going to say? Of course, someone in the next row at the theatre might gladly hand you a hanky but let’s face it, when they glance at the telly you’re going to get ridiculed.
The other thing about disasters in Soapland is that they upset routine, much like real life tragedies, which actually renders them more affecting than a one-off trip to the cinema, during which you are introduced to the characters, watch a bit of their life, see them killed off all within the space of two hours and off you go. You trundle along, as you do in your own life in the belief that things are likely to stay the same, that everything is hunky dory, then bam, someone’s dead. It’s unexpected and thus heart-wrenching.
I’m not saying soaps are always where it’s at for the highest drama. Indeed, some soap disasters are handled in this manner, disastrously. But this is largely down to a poor script and terrible acting. Take for example, Drew’s death in Neighbours…a good few years ago now…he was fine one minute, fell off his horse the next and was dead and buried by the end of the episode! But when they’re done well, the words aren’t too cheesy and the actors are acting their little socks off, there’s no stopping the tears. Max’s death in Hollyoaks last week and his funeral last night left me balling (watch the omnibus this Saturday and tell me I’m wrong).
Fine, all you sceptics, if it makes you feel better, go shed your ‘sophisticated’ tears at some ‘sophisticated’ tragedy. But I resent being made to feel daft for getting emotional over a soap – soap tragedies are tragic, OK?!!
By Susan Allen
Big Brother is a Big Let Down
Big Brother is really doing my nut in. The granddaddy of reality TV, this show has contaminated the airwaves for nearly ten years now. And you know what, we still watch it. Even me and I think it’s the stupidest show ever made. Sure the ratings are down, but there are still over a million people tuning into this show every day.
What does that say? Well let’s have a look:
1. People like stupid people. Why? Because they make us feel less stupid. Even though, ironically, we are pretty stupid for watching the aforementioned stupid people.
2. Watching horrible people do horrible things entertains us. With what result? Horrible people find fame and fortune. Jade Goody still graces the pages of tabloids and yet this racist, mingin woman is famous for what? Being racist and mingin.
3. By watching this show, we affirm for these stupid, horrible people, that they are indeed ‘important’. Take Lisa, in one episode she said: ‘I’ve always thought I was destined for something big, it’s just come a bit later on in life than expected. I could feel it in my spirit.’ What could she be referring to I wonder? Was she working in the third world saving children? A work of art? Maybe she led a world changing protest? No, of course not. She was talking about Big Brother. On what planet does being on Big Brother count as being important? Big? If this is your life ambition you need to get a new ambition. And a new life.
When Big Brother first aired it was fascinating. A window into the mundane that was bizarrely addictive. There was a range of people in the house, we saw people of different backgrounds interact under pressure, we saw friendships forged and enemies made over the most minute chores and conflicts. Today Big Brother is a shadow of itself, relying on a forced mix of kooks, bastards and sexpots to keep things interesting. Yet it’s not. Time to close up shop and put something else on the air, seriously.
Rant: Make up your mind Channel 4! Should women love what they’ve got or get surgery?
Channel 4 need to get their act together on the message they’re sending out to women of the UK. Do they want them to retain a stiff (unbotoxed) upper lip, accept the shape they are and start being more positive about their bodies? Or, do they want women to deem themselves lesser beings for their flaws and therefore jump under the surgeon’s knife to slice them into their ideal?
It seems as if the broadcasting team, as of a tea time, enjoy whipping their female viewers into a self-image frenzy. One evening they’ll show How to Look Good Naked with Gok Wan nonchalantly grabbing women’s flabby bits and telling them how fabulous they look and the next they’ll whack on 10 Years Younger with that Icky Hambleton Jones witch, who basically rips apart women’s confidence by telling them how disturbingly old they look for their age before suggesting that cutting half their face off will improve their life.
Just what are they trying to achieve – a nation of bewildered schizophrenic females unsure whether to twirl around in front of the mirror or break down and sob at the sight? It just ain’t fair. How to Look Good Naked is based on the principle that women do not need to change the way they look, they need to change the way they feel about the way they look. Whereas, 10 Years Younger, although ostensibly also about making women feel good about themselves, actually advocates self-mutilation in frank acknowledgement that what women have got is not good enough. There’s no question that the women don’t have surgery (this part of the programme takes up a good ten minutes).
And what’s more, if the TV schedule wasn’t enough to mess with their heads, the official programme websites even have links to each other as if they are singing from the same hymn sheet. A lady having a good day, pretty sure she’s looking hot can be browsing the HTLGN website, reading about all ‘Gok’s triumphs from the last series’ and finds ‘the perfect fashion’ for her body shape. But then, she spots the link to 10YY and before she knows it has clicked it and is suddenly heading for dangerous water. There’s the “Guess my Age” feature in which she is asked to upload a photo of herself to be judged by the masses. Now, excuse me for my cynicism but there is not going to be much feel good action as a result of that. What person, in their right mind puts their picture up to be scrutinised by the world and trusts that people will be kind?! People will not be kind. They will be just like they are on the programme where women are deemed older than they are (this is what the whole premise of 10YY relies on). Moreover, after the knock-back judgement, not only is Nicky there staring with her unfeeling shark eyes standing among a dentist and plastic surgeon, but the little box at the bottom also begins to look more appealing: ‘Get advice on cosmetic surgery here’.
So, in short, Channel 4, stop sending out mixed messages! Maybe Gok and Nicky both need their voice but recognize that where one is a chirpy Jiminy Cricket the other is Othello’s merciless Iago. Sort out the websites so they don’t look like they’re best buds and give them a Les Dennis/Bob Mortimer boxing match to underscore their differences. That should sort it out.
By Susan Allen
Rant: TV-born ‘Talent’ Not To Be Sniffed At
There’s something rotten in the world of television these days. Dividing the nation, sending us to the phones in droves… Talent shows. But wait, this isn’t a rant about how reality TV is bringing the music industry to its knees, or how talentless dross is clogging the charts.
No. I want to present another side to the story. A slightly controversial viewpoint, if you will. I’m suggesting – wait for it – that some talent show alumni actually do have some talent. So many people love to leap onto their soapboxes to decry the tattered state of society since talent shows began to dominate the prime time (the same sort who come over all outraged when faced with more than just coffee or tea to choose from at Caffè Nero. “Mocha-chocca-locha? Double frappe-latte? Long wet venti?” they cry. “In my day the only choice you had was sugar or no sugar!” To these latter-day Luddites I long to shout ‘Get with the picture, you unimaginative chumps’. Most people are sophisticated enough to read the menu and differentiate between your run-of-the-mill filter coffee and your fancier alternative. The Dark Ages of boring beverages are over! But I digress.)
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t necessarily love TV talent shows or the artists they spawn. You won’t find Steve Brookstein on my iPod, that’s for sure. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t tar everyone with the same brush. If you doubt my wisdom, try watching one of Leona Lewis’s X Factor performances on YouTube. If that’s not talent, I don’t know what is. Not everyone loves a warbler, but you have to admit that the girl can sing.
But for every Leona Lewis who charms the nation and storms the charts there are three Leon Jacksons (“Who?” you might ask. Precisely.). For every Girls Aloud at Number 1 there’s a Hear’Say lurking in the bargain bin. So I’m not suggesting that reality TV should replace drama school, and I’m not saying that every winner is a glittering star in a pantheon all of their own. Far from it. I recently saw the musical ‘Grease’ whose lead duo was picked on the show ‘Grease is the Word’. They were passable. Not even nearly bad. But they weren’t great. They were miles behind the professionals in every way. Their singing was slightly off, their dancing was awry and their acting was lacklustre. But then again, I saw public-chosen Connie Fisher as Maria in ‘The Sound of Music’ last year (I like musicals, ok?) and she was fantastic. So there are no hard and fast rules. That’s why it’s best not to jump to negative conclusions about these people just because they come from a reality show.
However, I understand where a lot of the anti-talent show malaise comes from. Every time you flick the telly on these days there seems to be some sort of vote-a-thon where young dreams are broken nightly by high-trousered know-alls and their weepy sidekicks. It’s staple television. And it’s symbiotic too – these shows feed into the music industry, so everyone’s a winner. Aside, it seems, from swathes of the population who’ve had it up to here with the production line. But there’s only a supply because there’s a demand, so don’t be too quick to judge. Just a thought.
by Susie Gordon
