Reality TV seems to get a good butt-fuck in public, yet the ratings seem to be as successful as ever. Its almost become taboo to talk about it unless you know the person you’re talking to watches it too (except my hairdresser who immediately asks if you watch [insert any, and I mean ANY, reality tv show] and if you say no you’re likely to have the shortest haircut ever (both in time and length)).
The press both love and hate these shows (depending on what colour their shit was that morning) and its understandable why it was loaved when the broadcasters still claimed it was a psychological experiment rather than an exploitation of fame-hungry labotanised turd-magnets, or when they claimed to have saintly ‘celebrities’ doing it for charity instead of zzz-list ego-whores trying to prove they’re not the shitbag they actually are.
But the latest series of I’m a Celebrity and Celebrity Big Brother have been different. For one thing they’ve actually had some bloody celebrities. Alright, you still get the token celebrity work-experience floater that doesn’t seem to flush and someone who’s just got big tits, but that gulf in ego causes much amusement. Also, they’ve dropped the charity bollocks so that next time some failed popstar dick-slaps a brainless wank-vision he doesn’t need to claim that he’s doing it for ‘Childline’. Finally, they really do stick it to them. Everyone knows why the ‘celebs’ are really there and the broadcasters make them pay for it by making them eat cock in ‘Get Me Out of Here’ and making them look like a giant one in ‘Big Brother’.
So I admit, I watch these two celebrity shows. I don’t watch the usual nobody piss that goes on for a decade at a time, although I used to watch Big Brother when I had a youth to waste. I probably would if I had the time because there is actually something beneficial to viewing such shite. Remember the premise: A number of very different characters, from all walks of life, with unique voices, all driven by different goals, all trapped and all exposed under pressure. Its what us writers are told to create in our scripts. It is the ultimate writing fodder for a scribe that doesn’t live next door to a family of chavs.
It’s actually believeable too, unlike this transparent attempt of mine to try and justify watching these shows by telling the wife ‘its for writing’.