Big Brother 17.6.07

John Noel rears his corrupted head once again. It’s to be expected that Big Brother is a mockery of a sham. The Sun reports that Charley is already signed up by Mr Noel’s PR agency, meaning one of three things:

a.) She was signed up before going in. That would mean producers have a vested interest in keeping Charley in as she’s represented from the outset by the same charlatan as Davina and Dermot. And Russell Brand and Jade Goody.

b.) She was signed up at some point during filming – possibly during her fake evicition.

It’s pretty bloody clear that she was coached before she went on the cameras for the phoney kick-out last Friday. She wasn’t in the slightest bit shocked when told she’d be returning to the house. She also (apparently – according to someone who’s more addicted than me) mentioned that she’d give other contestants hell when she got back in, despite the fact she shouldn’t have known she’d be going back in.

The nomination nonsense has been irritating too. In the week Billi left, BB twisted events so that Charley wouldn’t be up for evicition by taking away Billi and Charley’s nomination. The decision was made post nominations meaning the producers had enough time to figure out that this would leave Charley free for another week. Hindsight, as they say, is a wonderful thing. This week, miraculously she’s not up again and it stinks of fish.

The worst thing about this farrago is we’ve got another week of the Charley parade to stomach. At first it was amusing watching the car crash, but once the dust’s settled and the scene starts going rancid, it starts to make your guts turn. The only thing worth watching last night was Brian’s kamikaze haircut. He should win on the strength of that alone.

The naysayers are right, this series, even for those of us who doggedly pursue this dinosaur of a show, has jumped the proverbial shark and landed in a cloud of irrelevance.

I’ll keep watching though, it’s the television equivalent of biting your nails or chewing yourself a fresh mouth ulcer.

Vacancy / Hostel Part 2

 

Does ‘torture porn’ exist? Not in mainstream cinema, if you ask me. The point of both of these recent horror movies is that you’re gunning for the victims to escape. And if there is any violence onscreen, it’s hardly protracted. Horror films work off the odd flash of a gruesome sight – the fundamental basis of the genre being the power of suggestion. Even Cannibal Holocaust, with castration and impalement on the agenda, don’t linger too long on the special effects. Ok, so it did linger on the native chick with the pole through her fanny for quite a while, but that was only because the special effect was so bloody good. And anyway, Cannibal Holocaust isn’t mainstream cinema.

Vacancy and Hostel Part 2 are two very different beasts that have been placed willy-nilly in the same ‘torture porn’ cage. ‘Torture porn’… it’s a complete misnomer. Granted, I haven’t yet seen Captivity which, from recent reviews, may well fit the tag, but I’ve recently had a gander at these two and any sadist hoping to have one off the wrist over the nastiness within will be sorely disappointed.

Understatement is key, and though many critics might lambast Hostel Part Two in particular for violence against women, it’s pretty liberal with its use of power tools and blades if you ask me. And what really surprised me is that, for the sequel, Eli Roth decided to use a plotline. In fact, two plotlines that meet in the middle. Which is a step forward from the first instalment which was an exercise in linear pedestrianism. Having said that, it doesn’t stray too far from the formula, meaning the teenagers who went to see Hostel One will get their shocks. Personally, I felt that I’d seen it before. The element of surprise – the hell the innocents were being taken to – was no longer unknown. It drained a massive part of the element of terror. The action sequences were slicker though and, most impressively, the dialogue didn’t sound like it’d been written by a frat boy with a hard on (which is essentially what Eli Roth is – and probably proud of it).

Vacancy is different to Hostel Part 2 and a world away from the visceral violence of the films it got lumped in with. In fact, it has more in common with stuff like The (original) Hitcher (except it’s much better) and also shares a bloodline with Spielberg’s Duel. It’s not even, to my mind, horror in the perceived sense. It’s a tense, taut thriller with little in the way of violence. It piles on the suspense and relies entirely on our sympathy for the main duo – and it got that sympathy from me. It’s a very old fashioned date movie that happens to have used the fear of starring in a snuff film as a very basic grounding for the shocks to float off.

Both are worth seeing, but if you’re a psychopathic misanthropist, don’t worry too much about getting the Kleenex out.

The Apprentice, Series 3, The Final

 

It was always going to be an anticlimax. Especially seeing as some mug on the Guardian website ruined it by telling every reader what was going to happen despite claiming he hadn’t any inside info. The bastard. Simon and Kristina were pumped. In the opening interviews, Simon said it was his dream to work for Sir Alan. That’s not on a par with some of my best dreams. He must sleep badly. Later, when faced with the task – this week it was all about creating a new London landmark for the South Bank – Simon said it was ‘his dream to build things’. Quite a lot of dreaming going on there. While Simon daydreamed about his chances, stern-faced Kristina Grimes simply repeated ‘I will win. I will win’, like a malfunctioning Speak & Spell.So they had a spot in a grimy area of London upon which they could build (in concept, not with diggers or cement or anything – that would be disastrous) any old shit they fancied. But first they had to pick teams from the pool of people they’d stepped on to get to where they were. Simon chose Tre immediately and we all know by now why he did that. He fancies him. He is Mummy to Tre’s Daddy. Simon also chose Jadine who had had a nice hairdo for the occasion, Lohit, who barely featured at all again and Rory. Tre and Rory, we were reminded, had history. They hated each other, essentially because Tre picked on the hapless, clown-mouthed Rory endlessly. They’re both very boring men.Kristina plumped for Naomi straight away. No idea why, I can’t remember her doing much the whole series. Perhaps my memory is somewhat childishly obscured by the memory of her enormous zeppelin-breasts dangling over the camera lens every five seconds a couple of weeks back. She also picked Adam (must’ve been by mistake) and that cockney single mother, whose name escapes me.

Katie, meanwhile, was noted for her absence. Perhaps she hadn’t sorted things out with her child-minder…

I suspect the architects the two gangs spoke with gave a huge amount of direction to the contestants, as the ideas they finally came up with were completely incongruous with their original ideas. Simon and Tre wandered off on their own, hand in hand, discussing putting a boat frame structure onto the building. The idea was shot down in flames by the rest of the gang, with Rory coming up with a new idea. He drew the outline of three bananas, so they went with that. The final product looked pretty interesting compared with Rory’s felt tip nightmare, but credit to him for beating the coracle idea in a straw poll. I think Tre’s boat theme was ultimately overturned when the rest of the team were sick on themselves when he used the term ‘as such’ three times in three sentences. ‘The reason for the nautical theme, as such’… How can you misuse that suffix so badly? I really don’t know how it’s possible. ‘If it doesn’t work out, I’ll look like a pillock’ said Simon, laughing Butthead style, exactly like a pillock might.

Kristina’s team, with Trainee Surveyor Paul – he of the uncooked sausage, leading the charge, came up with a rectangular building to make optimum use of the space. Dull.They also had the idea of putting an angel on either end of their building, looming above passers by like, as the architect pointed out, a Nazi eagle. This was eventually adapted to be two peaks, the angel changed to a phoenix after the team fortunately realised that the Angel Centre wasn’t an apt name for a centre that wasn’t actually in the Angel, Islington. Paul reminded us that he didn’t have to like Kristina to do a ”fucking jood gob’ for her. The tit.

After letting the architects do all the work for them, it was time to choose the optimum way to present the concept to hoteliers, building contractors and property industry bigwigs. Kristina slipped up here by allowing Adam to play a major part in choosing the theme and the stage decor. As a result, their presentation was a back to basics approach, as all the tacky crap he chose got chucked out almost as far as Adam was out of his depth.

Rory and Tre were paired up to sort the night’s entertainment out, after a speech from Simon which was meant to be invigorating and rousing. it was let down a little by its faltering delivery. He sounded like Basil Fawlty having a panic attack. Realising he was losing his audience, he stuck on a little ‘oh, and I’ll take you all to Barcelona if we win for a weekend’. Incentives… nice, desperate management. Tre piped up later with ‘I’d rather a rusty screwdriver in my eye than go on holiday with Jadine, Rory and Lohit’. Suggestion to Simon: make it happen.

Simon’s presentation went smoothly and he answered questions with aplomb, clearly having done his research. Kristina didn’t perform so well, sadly. Neither really bombed, which was disappointing in terms of ‘good telly’. Never mind.

In the boardroom, Sir A asked both ‘why do you want this job’. This is the biggest non question any potential Manager can ask in an interview. It only ever results in cliche upon babbling cliche. It was a brief boardroom, presumably because nobody fucked up, meaning the situation couldn’t be milked for comedy value. Alan reminded us that he has a bit of a kink for Simon, hired him, and we were done. Case closed. End of series.

Most reality series end with this kind of anticlimax. Though clearly not grounded in the truth, the people involved are generally real people (though I have my doubts about the evil creation that was Katie). As a result, we’re always left with an open ending. With Big Brother the question’s always ‘how will so and so use the fame to their advantage’, and past experience tells us they won’t, they’ll trust a management company that will tie them to Heat magazine forever. With the Apprentice, we want to see the winner succeed after all that hard slog. But we don’t, obviously, as they are just working drones on a superficially high wage for one year only in an office in fucking Brentwood. Still – it’s fun, and we wouldn’t have had the gut-wrenchingly cringeworthy scene of Simon screwing a trampoline leg if we didn’t have the Apprentice. Roll on next series.

Big Brother’s Big Mouth

 Russell Brand made his name through Big Brother’s Big Mouth, a show which seemed destined for failure from the off. Unknown presenter, no-budget set, limited material… it all seem somewhat empty. Given the fact that the only issues the audience would be able to discuss would be Big Brother related, it seemed like even the 20 odd minutes of time the show ran for would be light on content. But nobody (aside from Endemol) banked on Brand’s personality clicking with the national mood. His flights of fancy were often ludicrous, but he’s an erudite man with a very large vocabulary and an extraordinary gift for crafting sentences, so we forgave him all the talk of ball-bags and swines. The fact of the matter is, Brand was like an accommodating schoolteacher in his manic John Stapleton role, lurching around the seating areas, sitting on laps, poking his microphone into peoples faces. One second he would declare love for audience members, the next he would squeal at them in a Kenneth Williams voice, berating them for being ‘orrible pigs’. The format worked and in many ways was far more watchable than the main BB show itself.Sadly, whether it’s due to the Shilpa Shetty race war business or the turnaround in his career trajectory, Brand has opted not to take part any longer. A shrewd move, some would say, rather like a rodent hurtling itself from a sinking ship. I heard Brand wouldn’t be working on the show around March, though I don’t remember any press release being issued, just rumour and word of mouth. Clearly Endemol felt that if the news got out, Big Brother would be cursed. Let us not forget that Brand was their success story, where Davina and Dermott have institutionalised themselves by working on their own strands of the BB wig. I can’t see either of them successfully fronting their own shows in the future. Remember Davina’s talk show outing? I’m trying to forget it.

In the interim, a few rumours circulated about how this void would be filled. The strongest of these was that Peaches Geldof, offspring of a sanctimonious old anachronism and herself a vapid waste of molecules would be fronting BBBM. I, and I hope the rest of the show’s audience, was astonished and bemused. But then even worse news arrived. The Peaches rumours were unfounded. Chris Moyles would be fronting Big Mouth.

Chris Moyles.

Chris fucking Moyles.

Oh Christ. Thankfully it would only be for a week, and the role would be rotated among other celebrities – at least this is what we can interpret from the garbled mess of crap emenating from Moyles’ anus-mouth last night.

Moyles, for the uninitiated, is a sexist, occasionally clumsily racist, sweating micro-penis who fronts Radio 1’s breakfast output alongside his mate, ‘Comedy Dave’, the living misnomer. Every morning they bleat on about Leeds United (relegation’s what you need), birds and beers, garnering decent ratings because they appeal to the vast majority of the populace – i.e. other idiots. How Endemol thought it would be a great idea to replace a handsome, witty and manic presenter with a pot-bellied hog with the grace and language skills of a backwards walrus is beyond me.

Last night, his second attempt at fronting the programme, Moyles didn’t exactly impress. He waddled around the arena where Brand used to bounce round it, Tigger-like. He repeatedly called any male guest ‘fella’, probably the most annoying salutation since Maxwell called all and sundry ‘geezer’. He mocked one of the contestant’s weight, when that contestant probably weighs a stone or two less than him. In the past, he has been picked up by Haile Berry for having a ‘racist moment’, yet he decided a member of the audience ‘looked like Beyonce’, despite the fact there was no resemblance whatsoever besides skin colour. In addition to this, he insulted several other members of the audience without any semblance of humour, as bales of tumbleweed flew by.

The man is an arse. I hope this rumour of a week-long tenancy are proved to be true, otherwise Endemol, if it’s possible, have dumbed themselves even further into the dust.

The Apprentice – Series 3 – Episode 10

Naomi – she had her knockers, but I thought she had a strong chance to be in the final three. Speaking of her norks, the producers, clearly aware that the blonde would be leaving the Fray, milked every cleavage shot they possibly could. This was the Naomi bosom show, and it was relentless. I felt sorry for her when she finally faced Sugar’s extended finger, in truth, as Simon had clearly ballsed up royally on so many accounts that I actually lost count and ran out of space as I took notes.

Yes – I take notes. I’m not anal, I do this for you.

Two teams of three were in it to win it. Naomi, Simon and Tre were in one team, doomed to fail and the other was made up of Katrina, Katie and Lohit. The latter is quite likely to win the whole thing, I think, unless Sir Alan is as homophobic as he is sexist.

Briefed at the BT Tower, that awful 60s-eyesore phallus, Alan told the gangs that this project was all about pricing and products. They were to sell items they’d selected on a shopping channel – the potential for disaster was lip-smackingly immense.

The shopping channel was based in glamorous Peterborough – pride of Cambridgeshire. Katie was quiet this episode, slinking into the background aside from one snipe at Kristina and some burbled bollocks about their target customer who she named ‘Mavis’. What is it with Katie’s need to personify everything? Remember ‘Jay’, the target market for the Jams? She’s the sort of twat who names her car ‘Lucy’ or something equally as pathetic. Alongside Katie’s nonsense, their seemed to be an inordinate amount of Simon acting like a walking, mechanised CV. ‘I’m a risk taker’. ‘I go out on a limb’. ‘I talk about myself endlessly even though I have the brain of an average 12 year old’. (I made that last one up, obviously). Tre was a silent man this time round, only popping his head in to be miserable occasionally, ending his sentences with those now dreaded words, ‘as such’. I get the feeling he’s had his brain replaced with n Amstrad email phone to impress Alan and his cronies.

When it came to selling, Kristina went solo, trying to sell a chocolate fountain (a talking point at any dinner party, so long as you live in the 70s) which looked like it was chugging out liquid plops. She then moved onto a ‘steam broom’. What you’d need one of those for, the good lord only knows. Kristina confirmed this, calling out ‘Jesus Christ!’ as her attachment fell apart, causing quite a flurry of stressed activity in the production room. In contrast, Katie and Lohit were natural – in fact, I think we’ve seen their future.

Tre and Naomi, taking instruction from a mute Simon, tried to sell the wheelchair he had procured which turned out to be their main source of profit. The wheelchair idea was roundly mocked, but it turned out to be Simon’s saviour, even despite Alan’s obvious contempt for the item. Tre was hilarious when caught on camera, looking simultaneously embarassed and terrified, walking off set at one point in sheer panic. Naomi managed well, on the basis of her presenting performance she shouldn’t have gone, but then you have to remember she chose a lorry-load of shit for Simon to sell, so it’s probably the fair choice.

Simon’s turn on camera was perhaps the funniest thing I’ve seen on reality TV since Tourette’s Pete fell in a swimming pool. Constructing a trampoline onscreen, he managed to screw the legs on the thing in such a way that it looked like he was indulging in a little do-it-yourself. I mean wanking. The crew fell apart laughing as he remained oblivious, turning his plastic phallus very calmly and announcing that anyone can have fun on it, kids, old people – anyone can jump on. Worth a good belly-laugh I thought, very Carry On…

Alan watched the whole lot on a monitor back in London and we were subject to his criticisms as he watched. This was a great idea, as it was essentially like watching yourself watching the Apprentice, but a version of yourself with curly white hair and messy beard. And an East London accent with peppered yiddish slang.

So, in the boardroom, Naomi copped the boot. I have to admit I agreed with Sugar’s summation. but felt Tre needed a much bigger kicking. The bloke skulked around in the background contributing nothing. At least Simon and Naomi applied themselves, Tre did naught but act like a petulant little sod who was having the worst birthday ever. Simon’s a lucky boy, but Sugar’s clearly taken a shine to the jammy little swine. Two weeks left… I shall be sad when it finally fucks off.