There seems to be a golden rule on British television at the moment. Never make a new show if there’s an old one you can remake instead, preferably a ‘reality’ show. Last night’s remake on ITV was Big Brother. What happens is this. A group of largely dysfunctional and preferably eccentric individuals are decanted into a “house”, which isn’t a real house, and they are secretly filmed, even though they are all miked up and know full well they are being filmed. Every week, the Great British Public decides which ‘housemate’ it likes least/hates most and votes them off the show. The winner is the last man or woman standing. As Bruce Forsyth used to say in his Generation game – ask your parents, kids – that’s all there is to it. TV doesn’t get any better than that, does it?
You can tell by my great knowledge of the show that I am a massive fan, to the extent that I’ve never watched a full episode. In fact, the only time I watched a substantial amount from a show was when host Davina McCall appeared wearing a skimpy bikini. I apologise for that lapse into misogyny but that was the only time I was interested, even though I have no idea why she wasn’t wearing something more discreet. Other than that lapse, I have never understood the attraction.
But then, I have never understood the attraction of all manner of ‘reality’ shows. Take I’m A Celebrity – please. I am not an expert but this show bears an alarming similarity to Big Brother, in that the viewer’s role is basically reduced to being that of a voyeur, a Peeping Tom. Again, it is probably harsh of me to judge another show I have never seen in its entirety, but a hidden camera show in which all the contestants, if that’s the right word for them, know there are hidden cameras all over the place is anything but a reality show.
“If you don’t like it, then don’t watch,” you may be saying to me, with some justification, so I was following that aged old advice before you mentioned it, but, truly, is Big Brother the best we can do?
As I am constantly droning on about, our lives are finite. We only have so much time to do what we want to do before we arrive at that great incinerator at the local crematorium. During my previous lives, I have made countless visits to care homes and, without exception, it’s not a life I am looking forward to, always assuming I know I’m in one. But the point is places like care homes are what shows like Big Brother are made for, brain-dead, mind-numbing nonsense. And I have never made a morning visit to a care home where residents weren’t watching This Morning. In other words, there’s plenty of time to watch this tat when you’re waiting for God, if you believe in Him, that is.
It’s just me, I know, who can’t stand this so-called reality TV. Everyone else, I’m sure, will be having their water cooler moments – “DID YOU SEE X ON BIG BROTHER LAST NIGHT?” – but I can’t say I’m sorry. There are plenty of ways to enjoy life, including watching some decent TV, for sure, but this stuff, all the while when the clock is ticking? Yes, comes the cry from the UK jury. Shows what I know.
