If George Orwell could have seen what his term ‘Big Brother’ had been used for, he would probably be turning in his grave. Of course the producers of the hit, TV reality show think they’re being ‘ironic’ but I’m not sure Orwell would have agreed.
I am ashamed to say I am a massive fan of the show though I know it does my soul – nor my street cred – no good at all. I particularly enjoy the ‘celebrity’ version because the various egos (who think they’re huge) usually have to suffer a fair bit of indignity by either a.) their fellow Z list comrades not knowing who they are when they enter their house and through repeated mutterings they have to reel off their CV to try and impress them or b.) the celebs who think they’re bigger and better than the others refuse to dress up or take part because they think they are too important – and too cool – for this (mentioning no names, ahem – Michael Madsen from the latest series.)
The celebrities base their own sense of self-worth and likability on the decision of THE BRITISH PUBLIC who have been turned into a beast of baying after blood and booing anyone who is slightly annoying. This really is like Orwell’s two minute hate. It’s just like we are in the olden times and we are waiting for somebody to be hung right in front of our eyes.
It’s also fascinating to see how the public react to the celebrity’s behaviour. Predictably, Frankie Cocozza won women’s hearts all over the country due to his inherent laddish-ness. This worries me A LOT. The fact that a 19 year old can win the nation over with charming lines such as ‘I’d smash that’ makes me feel sad but I still continue to watch to get my 45 minute fix. Or later, the more imaginative line of ‘Just give me a blow job.’ He was down and now he’s up: the rollercoaster after X Factor has taken him to dizzy new heights of celeb-world and no doubt we will soon be seeing him as a presenter on kids’ TV with the tabloid front page shouting the headline ‘Frankie: I’m a new man.’
The most interesting thing about this series was the fate of Loose Women presenter Denise. After a mounting hate campaign by ‘The Daily Mail’ it didn’t look good. They hated the fact a 53 year old got her boobs out and enjoyed a drink. You could almost hear Jan Moir screaming that ‘THIS IS NOT HOW A MIDDLE AGED WOMAN SHOULD BEHAVE’ whilst injecting her own face with botox and then having a nervous breakdown under her desk. Nothing pleases me more than The Daily Mail getting it wrong and it seemed that this time they misjudged the nation’s mood entirely. I’m not a massive fan of Denise but I do admire her can-do attitude and her two finger salute to her critics. She also suffered quite a lot of nastiness from the bitching in the house (male and female). Madsen claimed Denise was ‘emotionally disturbed’ to her face and in front of all – a bit rich from a man who seemed to be literally climbing the walls. So it seemed fitting that she should be rewarded by claiming the crown of the BB House.
And, then there were the twins who lived in the Playboy mansion but who became collectively furious when Denise pulled one of twin’s trousers down. They were not for sale they claimed. They were the most ladylike girls in the house they claimed. Pot. Kettle. Black. Anyone?
So, now it’s over I feel like there’s a bit of a gaping hole in my soul but I know it’s ultimately for the best. It’s just now I will have to have real conversations with real people instead of watching them and talking about them. And watching people on the tube picking their noses is much less fun than watching the people on the telly do it.