Skip to main content

The big, fat problem at the heart of reality TV

There was an understandable backlash against the Channel 4 posters promoting the latest series of Big, Fat Gypsy Wedding, one of which I saw prominently displayed yesterday over busy road junction by Vauxhall Bridge in London.

The copy simply read: 'Bigger. Fatter. Gypsier.'

There certainly is a casual racism here, as we would never allow a similar jibe at another group which had its own distinct ethnic and cultural identity. I've been concerned in recent years by the readiness of younger people in the UK to use the term 'pikey' to describe someone or something perceived to be chav-like, trashy or dirty. Many probably don't realise that it's a racist and derogatory term for a gypsy.

There's another problem revealed by the bigger, fatter, gypsier line though and it's this: reality TV shows have to raise the shock bar with every new season. If the show weren't 'gypsier' than before, maybe we'd tire of it. It's the promise of something more extreme, more outrageous and more in-our-faces that is supposed to have us returning for another hour under the sunbed.

Remember Kim & Aggie, who cleaned up people's homes? They started with individuals who were dirty and untidy in season one and worked their way through to people who were clearly extremely unwell. Their participants needed support and medication rather the prying of TV crews and a splash of Dettol.

Gillian McKeith loved to demonstrate to people exactly how much junk food they were eating. Her early participants were shown their weekly intake laid out on trestle tables. It was shocking. But not quite shocking enough for later series. That's why she laid out 'dead bodies', constructed out of pork pies. And it's why she stuffed coffins full of ice cream. The ante needed to be upped if viewers were to get their fill the next time round.

And so it goes on. Big Brother, for instance, with more extreme and dysfunctional characters recruited each year. God knows what it's like now that it's moved channel.

I've watched these shows, so it would be rich for me to say they are exploitative and should be banned. But what starts as something mildly voyeuristic and within the bounds of decency can quickly become exaggerated and extreme. There is a boundary to be drawn somewhere. And it's probably between gypsy and gypsier.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Becoming a Twister board

I spent yesterday evening in an old factory building off Brick Lane playing kids' games with an organisation called Fun Fed. The idea is that a bunch of adults get together and act like children for a couple of hours. We played tag and stuck big coloured discs on ourselves so that we could become human Twister mats. There was an awful lot of running around and I was thinking that I ought to get to aikido a bit more often. Being a child is very hard work.

Buttahz

Belatedly made it to the excellent Evolving English exhibition at the British Library. When I arrived, I found a curator talking to a large group of inner-city London teenagers who'd come with their school. "How do you spell Butters ?" he was asking them. The kids volunteered different spellings of the slang term. Museum man then posed another question. "But you don't actually say it like that, do you?" He was referring, I think, to the glottal stop that replaces the t in London English, although phonetics isn't my strong point. The youth were sent off to record slang in a booth for posterity and my attention was drawn to another class. This group was much younger and seemed to attend an exclusive private school. "Joanna! Come over here and listen to a bit of Romeo and Juliet!" The precocious little kids ran hither and thither, listening to samples of regional dialects on a superb interactive display or speeches from statesmen such as JFK and ...

Captain Birdseye and other people of rank

Regular readers may recall that I once doubted the existence of Yeo Valley. I'd never heard of the Yeo mountain range and I therefore rated the likelihood of there being a valley at somewhere between 0 and 5%. Of course, I had yoghurt all over my face when I discovered that the place really does exist. Somewhere in Somerset, I seem to recall. Today, having read an article in the latest edition of The Marketer magazine, I'm astonished to discover that there really was a Captain Birdseye. Well, I need to qualify that just a little. There was a Mister Clarence Birdseye who invented the fish finger back in 1955. The avuncular, uniformed figure who dominated our TV screens for about thirty years may have been an invention of over-eager advertising creatives, but he didn't blow in on a trawler during a squall. There was actually some connection to a real human being. These revelations about fish and yoghurt are causing me considerable disquiet, because I'm wondering h...