Telly Talk: Love Hurts

There was a Saturday, in the not too distant past, where I was happily tucking into hot buttered crumpets, carefully ensconced on the sofa, carelessly channel hopping – as is my wont – when I was surprised to run across a rather nice lady in a swimsuit performing what looked to me like one of the most painful belly flops into a pool I have ever seen. It was from a high board too, which apparently won her extra kudos but no extra points. I had, of course, stumbled across Splash. Hosted by Vernon and Gabby, with Tom Logan on hand with some actual diving knowledge, Splash is the latest in what has now become a semi-regular spot of celebrity-perilof- pain on an early Saturday evening. Which begs the question, do the programmers secretly think we’re a nation of low rent sadists?

“we’ve always had a history of Christians & Lions television…”

Let me back up a bit here.This is not a new phenomenon. We’ve also got Dancing On Ice that’s been going for so many years it’s now having its farewell season, as well as Strictly Come Dancing, plus those intrepid treks down the jungle rivers and pathways that saw poor Dara O’Briain clinging frantically to a tree branch in African rapids for around an hour last year for Comic Relief. I’m curious, in these times of austerity do the programmers want to physically punish the ‘haves’ for the amusement of the ‘have-nots’, and will they be able to do it simply for the promise of prime time television exposure?

Looking back further we’ve always had a history of Christians & Lions television in the form of the talent show. Still present today, it’s so tempting to simply tune in for the audition process and the sing-offs and simply drift away when it becomes time for talent to take centre stage. However, more recently those already celebrated as celebrities (in some form or another, I’m still not sure if I’m prepared to recognise celebrity status for reality TV successes that don’t do something post fly-on-the-wall initial exposure) are now prepared to step into the firing line. And it appears to be firing live ammunition.

But it’s not unrewarding. Those now most celebrated for being able to eat a kangaroo’s unmentionables have become spokespeople for frozen food chains. They feed their need for affirmation that the public do like them, really. They host their own shows about the shows that made them extra famous. They wince with us. I realise I’m beginning to sound like I’m describing the mentors in The Hunger Games now.

Cheap quips about punishing the superficially famous and feeding a thirst from the people for their pound of flesh aside – I’m certainly no Russell Brand, and rhetoric is simply words that sound fun together, not a call to arms – it is noticeable the increase in danger of injury we see our Saturday nights offering us. With something of the rubbernecking compulsion that causes cars to slow down when they pass a couple of police cars parked in the middle of the road ‘carrying out investigations’, the ratings are seen to rise.

I didn’t linger too long on the poor lady whose expanse went ‘BANG!’ onto the water in Splash. Just long enough to see that she was alright, and then that she got no points but plenty of credit for her pain. I wondered why people put themselves through this. For the experience? For the career opportunities to come? For the possibility that thousands of people will pick up a phone and vote for them, saying that they like them? Or maybe, it’s just like when I saw my first celebrity injury on television – when Matthew Kelly broke his leg doing a parachute jump on Game For A Laugh, and sat there with his cast stuck out for the next week and the next, like a badge of honour. “I did this for your entertainment”, that white cast said. “You’d better appreciate it.” And we did. Ratings went sky high.
Dancing On Ice, ITV1, Sunday 9 February 2014