"Big Brother" and Big Brother

A new series of Big Brother starts today. I don’t think many of my regular readers will be surprised to hear that I won’t be tuning in. Frankly, when it (apparently) ended I saw that as a cause for celebration. The fact that it is back after such a short space of time is thoroughly depressing.

But the more I think about it, the more depressing I find the whole Big Brother experience. Like its dreadful counterparts (The X Factor and so on), Big Brother brings an ersatz political experience to its many viewers. You get to do, with Big Brother, much of what constitutes politics. You get to observe how people are performing, make decisions about them and their behaviour, and then vote on who should (and who shouldn’t be successful). Of course, it is more than possible to simultaneously be politically engaged and watch trite reality TV, but I can’t help but feel that as politicians become blander than bland and reality TV becomes more and more a freakshow - ghastly yet compelling (for many) to watch - people will opt for the latter even though the former is so much more important.

And this, for those of us with an open enough mind to consider such philosophers, is the sort of thing that the likes of Theodor Adorno warned us about decades ago. People become content to accept the status quo and to cease questioning it because they get their daily fix of televisual nonsense. Why worry about what the government is up to when it’s a bit boring and there are dickheads to laugh at on the TV? Why bother to walk all the way to the polling station when you can vote on which social misfit should be denied the limelight on the idiot box in your living room?

As people watch Big Brother, Big Brother is increasingly watching them without them realising it. A fact that is simultaneously striking and utterly depressing.

How to win Come Dine With Me

Yes, I occasionally watch Come Dine With Me. Sure, it's often a bit ghastly and you end up thinking that you would never, ever want to have dinner with any of the contestants. Or even visit their home towns. But watching it is fascinating in some ways, and it is good TV to watch when you don't particularly want to use too much of your brain.

But if you do happen to watch it with even a little bit of your brain turned on, then you'll realise that the contestants often make the same stunningly stupid mistakes. So here it is; my guide of how to win Come Dine With Me. Or at least not lose it badly.

1. Don't go on the show if you are a fussy eater. Seriously, why would you? If you don't like fish, or vegetables, or something else that is almost certain to crop up in one of the menus at some point during the week, then you're not going to have a great time. This isn't a game for those who aren't open to trying new things, just as a sprinting race might not be the right contest for those who don't like running.

2. You're a guest at someone's dinner party, not a paying customer at someone's restaurant. That means that your host is entitled to conduct the dinner party in whatever way they see fit. Sure, you might not agree with them - and you can reflect that in the scoring - but for fuck's sake, don't bellyache about a Muslim host not giving you wine, or a vegetarian host not preparing meat for you. It is their dinner party, you are their guest; grin and bear it even if you don't like it.

3. When you're cooking your own meal, do as much preparation as possible in advance. You're going to be entertaining three to four other people in front of a film crew; in the evening, time will not be on your side. And as an FYI, preparation does not mean getting slaughtered in your own kitchen before the guests even arrive.

4. Cooking will be highly pressurised and there is a real potential for things to go wrong - therefore your Come Dine With Me meal is probably not the best time to try something new, or to go for something you've tried before and went wrong. Do something you know how to do; a well-prepared but safe meal will earn far more points than a badly cooked but adventurous disaster.

But there is one rule - one golden rule that cannot be broken if someone wishes to win this particular competition. And it is this: don't be a dick. This is a popularity contest, people will be voting on you as well as on your food. Therefore, coming across as arrogant, dismissive, boorish, oafish or any other way of winding people up the wrong way is not going to help you to win. In fact, quite the opposite is true; even if you cook the best meal in the world, you still won't win. The simple truth is that people aren't going to vote for dicks. Don't believe me? Just ask Gordon Brown...

Why Would You Do It To Yourself?

I watched a horror movie on Halloween. But it was nowhere near as horrific as this.

The premise is simple – a maladjusted, socially inept newspaper delivery man believes a lot of his problems stem from the fact that he has reached a certain age (26, fact fans) and not got laid. Therefore, he heads to a "virgin school" in Amsterdam, where a succession of mature women attempt to coax him into acts of intimacy, then of a sexual nature, before he finally gets the chance to have a fuck. It is as excruciating as it sounds. The scene where our misfit gets tugged off by one of his “teachers” is toe-curling not just for the viewer, but quite literally for the recipient as well.

Personally, I’ve always though that sex is something you learn through doing. I guess the point here is that the chap concerned hasn’t been able to adopt that approach, so now he needs to be taught. But the painful, debilitating shyness he feels is surely at odds with his decision to play out his sexual education on national TV. Seriously, why humiliate yourself in this way? I’m assuming money must have played a part, but if you are already struggling with self-esteem issues it seems counter-intuitive to me to humiliate yourself on national TV. But then again, this sort of television is becoming increasingly common – it accounts for the success of the fuck awful Jeremy Kyle. TV isn’t so much smashing taboos as demeaning anyone willing appear on the screen. And this becomes entertainment for us – watching and laughing at the freaks.

Nigel Kneale saw a dystopian vision of the future, where we would all ignore reality in return for being able to watch the sex Olympics on TV. He was too optimistic about human nature. We don’t want to watch the sex Olypmics – watching people excel at fucking is not what we want on our national TV. No, we want to watch an emotionally stunted man humiliating himself through shagging instead. We don’t want the best; we’d rather have someone humiliating themselves for our enjoyment. We don't even meet the basic standards of a dystopian vision of the future...

To Catch a Predator

A clip for the US TV show To Catch a Predator:



You can find many other clips from this startling show online - YouTube is full of them. In an odd sort of a way, the clips are quite addictive. It is like watching a car crash over and over again, because the format of the encounters between the annoyingly supercilious presenter and the pathetic men who come looking for teen sex varies vary little. The predators arrive, often coaxed into the house by an actor pretending to be a horny teen. Then the presenter confronts them. He doesn't initially reveal who he is, but he often comes across like a policeman. He asks them uncomfortable questions and points out their feeble lies, before telling them that they are on the TV. They then leave, only to be arrested outside using methods that would make Vic Mackey proud. And that's what happens, over and over again, in To Catch a Predator.

In a wonderful, yet terrifying, example of satire predicting real life, it all reminds me of this:

Don't get me wrong, those who want to hump underage teenagers do deserve the attention of the police. What I struggle with is the fact that the trapping of these predators* has to happen on national TV, and that the manner of apprehending suspects appears to have more to do with making great TV that it does with the needs of justice and protecting the community. And there is a lethal underside to this "entertainment" as well.

Of course, America is nominally a free society, and there is the argument that all the producers of this unpleasant show are doing is responding to the demands of the audience. Put simply, if people didn't watch this, then they wouldn't make it.

But that, in a sense, is even worse than the realisation that some producer somewhere decided that it would be good entertainment to name and shame potential abusers on prime-time TV. Because it is a pretty stunning indictment of any society that the public humiliation of some of its most maladjusted members might become popular entertainment.

This is an extension of Megan's Law, and of Sarah's Law. It is saying that some members of a society are so abhorrent to the majority in that society that they lose the right to be treated as a human being. They lose the right to justice, to the assumption of innocence until guilt is proven. To condemn a To Catch a Predator is not express sympathy with the victims, but rather to express concerns about the corruption of justice and the legal system in order to create exceptionally low-brow entertainment. It is only a small step from this to watching the execution of child killers or serial killers. After all, people would watch that, just as they watch the arrest of predators. So why not show it?

Ironically, there is something very predatory about To Catch a Predator. It nibbles at the darker side of humanity, and works to make the humiliation of other humans OK because of what they might have done had a TV crew not been there to stop them. Police work and the justice system cease to be a necessary but unpleasant part of life. Instead, they become a form of entertainment. And that is depressing both for justice, and a society as a whole.

*On occasion, those producing the show are keen to point out that there is a difference between a paedophile and a predator - something to do with the ages of their victims. It is a pedantic technicality that I'm sure is lost on those who watch with vengeful fury as potential abusers are forced to the ground at gunpoint by the police in front of the TV cameras.

A Suggested Housemate for Celebrity Big Brother

For reasons that could best be classified as classic work avoidance, I caught the opening episode of Celebrity Big Brother on da interwebs yesterday. And, by God, what a bunch to total non-entities they picked! If your most famous people are one of the also-ran Baldwin brothers, a Hollywood madam, a talentless bit part player from a Guy Ritchie movie and Dane fucking Bowers, then your programme has absolutely no right whatsoever to use the word celebrity. It is an insult to any genuine celebrities out there. I mean, for fuck's sake, they've got a woman on there who is famous only for fucking a Rolling Stone. At this rate, Iain Dale will end up popping up as a special, last-minute addition. No, scratch that, he's too famous. Maybe Dizzy would be a better choice.

And the introduction episode was just that - Davina McCall (who, amazingly, still has a job despite having less charisma than the nail on the big toe of my left foot) introduced these celebrities. Since most people don't know and don't care who "Sov" is.

Still, I've got an idea to make this show more fun. I think, in order to shake things up a bit, they should get the Ood on there. In character and all. Seriously, as well as looking a bit freaky with the fronds and the egghead, the Ood are also eminently quotable. They could introduce themselves with the words:

Some may call him Abaddon. Some may call him Krop Tor. Some may call him Satan. Or Lucifer. Or the King of Despair. The Deathless Prince. The Bringer of Night. And these are the words that shall set him free.

Oh, and when there's an argument, this would be a handy phrase:

The Beast and his armies will rise from the pit to make war against God.

And, finally, when someone leaves the Big Brother house, they could say:

This song is ending, but the story never ends.

I reckon this is a brilliant idea, and that the Ood might even be able to win Celebrity Big Brother. And even if you reckon that having a fictional alien from a TV show is a bad idea, let me ask you this - would having the Ood on Celebrity Big Brother actually make it any worse?

Reading between the lines:

X Factor judge Simon Cowell has said he wants to run a series of "prime time" TV debates on key political issues ahead of the next general election.

The music impresario told the BBC he wanted to create a "bear pit" atmosphere, with a live studio audience and viewers voting via telephone.

Which means: "I'm not getting enough attention! No-one takes X Factor seriously! I want to become a champion of democracy!" As long as we want to cheapen democracy even further than it has been by over 12 years of Nu Labour rule.

Gordon Brown's spokesman said he welcomed attempts to promote democracy.

He added that Mr Cowell and others would be encouraged to offer ideas.

Which means: "ha ha ha ha ha. Very funny, Simon. But I've seen the X Factor. And if you think I'm going to be involved in anything like that, you must be fucking stupid. So you can take your idea, and shove it right up your arsehole."

And for once, I'd side with Gordon Brown - that is, as long as he makes it clear that Simon Cowell is a shameless, self-promoting wanker who has about as much interest in democracy in this country as Rupert Murdoch or some other profit obsessed businessman.

Why I (Still) Hate Jamie Oliver

Jamie Oliver is saving the world again. Well, he's trying to make fat munters from the US a little less porcine, but no doubt this will be pegged as some sort of impressive philanthropic gesture from the fattest tongued chef in the whole world. He says:

"I've only worked with a couple of families so far and all I can tell you is it makes the hairs raise on the back of your arm. I feel emotionally connected to this project.

"They are all anaemic with information. They are not stupid, they are not ignorant - it's just they have never had food from scratch in their life."

Oliver feels "emotionally connected" to every project he works on. It is his Unique Selling Point. He's the caring chef. If he just turned around and shrugged at the fatties, it wouldn't make as good television. I do have to wonder, though, whether Oliver would give the first fuck about these troughers if he wasn't paid to care, and if it didn't get him on TV.

It took me a long time to work out what I hate the most about Jamie Oliver, and why, if I ever met him, I would happily punch him repeatedly in the face until he ceased to resemble an ugly sausage roll. And it isn't his face or his voice - although Lord knows both should be grounds for summary execution. No, it is his smugness. It is his belief that he should travel across the country and now the world telling other people how to live their lives. Sharing all the dubious knowledge that comes from being an unexpectedly popular TV chef. To me, Jamie Oliver is the equivalent of a champagne socialist. All of his good deeds are motivated not just by the desire to help others, but the desire to help himself and his career at the same time. And yes, I know there is an argument that all charity work is done for selfish as well as philanthropic reasons. But that doesn't mean I have to enjoy the glib platitudes that spew forth from the revolting Jamie Oliver as he tries to change the diet habits of the world for reasons of career enhancement.

I've an idea of how Jamie could make the world a better place. He could staple his stupid mouth shut.

The Big Brother Winner, 2009

From the BBC on this year's Big Brother least hated person winner:

She initially earned her status as a housemate when she agreed to Big Brother's request to legally change her name to Dogface by deed poll...

Nothing like having a little dignity and self respect now, is there?

...although the show agreed to let her change it back again several weeks later.

That was big of them.

Part of me wants to question whether this story is for real. But it is Big Brother, so I know it is depressingly real.

Bye Bye Big Brother

Big Brother is set to end. I have to say I am surprised. I didn't realise it was still on.

I can't imagine that there will be many who mourn the passing of a programme that became increasingly outrageous and increasingly desperate. And as a result, became utterly irrelevant Ultimately, what is the legacy of Big Brother? That would be elevating Jade Goody to stardom, then relegating her back to the status of hate figure after her appearance on the Celebrity edition of the show.

Ultimately, Big Brother destroyed itself. Instead of maintaining its initial format of seeing how normal people respond to being under surveillance 24 hours a day, it decided to become a tabloid pleasing "persecute the freak" show. Which was fine, until the rest of the TV world caught up with it. Now there is no shortage of "persecute the freak" style shows. Britain's Got Talent, The Apprentice, Wife Swap - nowadays, there's no shortage of ways for the voyeuristic British viewer to get their fix of human detritus on the small screen.

Bye bye Big Brother. The reason why you're going is because you won't be missed.

In The Loop

Initially, I shied away from the film version of The Thick of It. When British TV programmes go international, they tend to lose a lot of what makes them great. Whilst I wasn't expecting In The Loop to be as wanky as a Richard Curtis movie, I did think it would end up as a neutered version of the very, very dark original TV programme. Which was something that could endanger the brilliance of the original series. But last weekend, I caught it. And it was pretty much spot on.

The caustic, brutal cynicism and the eye-watering profanity was still there. This was an angry piece of film-making, and it seemed to make few allowances for the international audience likely to be watching this film. As always, I learned about new combinations of swear words that had never occurred to me. And some of the imagery - especially around the horse's cock - nearly had me retching. 

The introduction of new characters also helped the film. The Americans were a varied, complicated bunch when they could so easily have been generic, cliched ciphers rather than actual characters. And the new Minister - Simon Foster - was a wonderfully clueless creation. It would almost be possible to feel sorry for him as he was such a pawn in the games of others, had he not sold his soul and political beliefs at the first sign of a trip to the UN. That said, his bollocking of a hungover aide was a sarcastic person's wet dream. 

There were some standout scenes as well, not least they one where a greasy, arrogant American Assistant Secretary of State actually managed to verbally emasculate Malcolm Tucker. It is the sort of thing you never expected to see, but he did actually manage to shut Malcolm Tucker up. 

Overall, though, the film was more than a little terrifying. It would ludicrous to call it a horror movie - this is the very definition of a black comedy - yet its presentation of how nations go to war was oddly compelling and as a result, very scary. It suggested that the decision about going to war aren't made by noble leaders genuinely believing in the aims of that war. Rather, they are made by arrogant politicians who give no thought to the practicalities of armed, international conflict. By assistants with chronic, mouth bleeding toothache. By hungover aides who don't think about the consequences of what they do. By British Ministers who get erections at the very sight of a motorcade. And by merciless spin doctors - rabid dogs set up to protect and fight for the interests of their masters. And this is perhaps the scariest thing of all. Imagine Malcolm Tucker being ordered to fight on the side of peace. He'd have us committed to pacifism for the next ten years. This film shows that those who make the monumental decisions over things like going to war actually aren't thinking - at least, not in the way you or I would think. Instead, they are pawns in a game that no-one seems to have control of. 

Malcolm Tucker v. Damian McBride

Tomorrow - from broadsheets to wank rags - I want pages one, two and three to be a profile of Tom looking like a fucking political colossus, you know - Tom meeting the Pope, Tom in a NHS hospital chatting to little, baldie kiddies. I want pages four and five to be a timeline of British politics with ME at the center, looking fucking indispensable and fucking benign, and I want page six to be fucking Israel or some bullshit, not a fucking DoSAC deepshit legacy-distracting COCKUP.

Malcolm Tucker in The Thick of It

Much has been made of the more than passing resemblance of the adorable, sweary Malcolm Tucker to one Alastair Campbell. And it is easy to see why; there are definite points of connection. Yet, as well as reflecting previous amoral bullies in 10 Downing Street, much of The Thick of It also predicted what has happened recently with that e-mail scandal. And whilst Malcolm Tucker is far better looking - in that he isn't a sweaty, pink faced pig of a man - you can also see a lot of him in Damian McBride. In fact, part of me wonders whether McBride saw The Thick of It and designed it wasn't so much a comedy as an educational video, teaching him how to do his job.

And then compare The Thick of It reflecting/predicting the outrageous behaviour of British political attack dogs with The West Wing apparently predicting the future of US politics. Because Barack Obama's journey to the White House does closely reflect that of Matt Santos. Political drama in the US shows an aspirational story of someone who was written off achieving high office. British political comedy in the UK reflects the appalling behaviour of those who protect our leaders. As well as coming up with new and inventive ways to insult and swear at people.

They'll be some that claim that this is down to cultural differences. That is, of course, horseshit. What it does reflect is a mix of TV producers consciously trying to reflect reality, and also where those countries are in their political cycles. In the US, the media jumped on the chance to point out the similarities between Santos and Obama, because both are seen to represent hope. And regardless of what you think of Obama's politics, he was elected on a sea of goodwill and a real hope that he might be able to do things differently. However, here in the UK, we've got another year of a failed Prime Minister desperately trying to spin his way into another term (or even just keeping his job until the election). Of course we're going to look at the dark as pitch The Thick of It, and note how that reflects reality. 

Tucker was a representation of Campbell, and now we can look at how neatly the programme he was in predicted the godawful, sleazy events of the McBride scandal*. It is symptomatic of a wider problem in British politics at the moment - namely it is an ideologically redundant place where the pursuit of power by any means possible is the be all and end all. And The Thick of It will continue to accurately show what British politics is like until we stop voting in the shower of shits currently in government in this country. 

*There is even an episode about the sending of a controversial e-mail...

Jade Goody: Dying in Public

If you've been living under some sort of rock for the past few weeks, you may just have been able to miss this story. Otherwise, you'll know that reality TV star Jade Goody is dying.

Make no mistake about it - she has my deep sympathy. Cancer is a horrific disease, and for a young mother to be struck down by this disease is a real tragedy for all concerned. The grim truth of the situation is that Jade isn't going to make it, meaning that we are bearing witness to her final days.

Which is the problem I have with what is going on at the moment. We - the nation as a whole - is acting as witnesses to the death of this person. The media coverage means that we are effectively watching her die. 

Jade Goody lived in the media's spotlight - she took what little talent she had, seized on a medium that would allow her to project herself on the national stage, and then turned herself into an instantly recognisable celebrity. She was always a fiercely polemical public figure -  a real love her or hate her personality. But she seemed determined to live her whole life with the nation watching. And now she seems determined to die in exactly the same way - with the nation looking in on her. 

Now if I was in her position, I'd be determined to die with as much dignity as the cancer allowed. And that would mean avoiding the media glare at all costs. I certainly wouldn't be doing what Jade is doing, and projecting my final moments onto the national stage. I can't imagine anything much worse than dying with the whole country looking in on me. 

Which is really the point. I find what Jade has chosen to do with her final months cringe-making. But she has chosen to do it. It is her choice to die as she has lived - with a reality TV camera poking in on her. So be it. The fact that I'd go for another way to die is irrelevant. How you die should be just as much a question of personal choice as how you live. I hope Jade is able to take whatever comfort she can in her final few months.