Friday, December 01, 2006

Reality TV lacks bite

I saw a dreadful TV show the last time I was in England. A group of lazy humans were filmed moping about in an open-plan house. Not one of them had an ounce of performing talent. They couldn’t sing or dance; they couldn’t juggle or do magic; they couldn’t banter or tell jokes – they weren’t even capable of a decent game of ping pong. Any hints of sexual activity never came to fruition and the drama they attempted was very poorly acted. I had a good chuckle when someone told me this was “Reality TV”. If human reality is really that boring it would be better to live in a fantasy world like Don Quixote.

All this lethargy and tedium comes from pampering the human herd. As any wild animal knows, life is full of meaning when you’re struggling to stay alive. When a band of gorillas is short of victuals, we all pull together for the common good. Ration cards are issued and the females make a savoury soup from tree-bark and powdered worms. We forage away busily, whistling merry tunes to keep our spirits up, and when food is discovered the females ululate in triumph. After we’ve stuffed ourselves, it’s time for a wild party. Even the baboons are invited and we really whoop it up, shaking our hairy arses into the small hours. Overcoming challenges is what makes you feel alive.

Filming humans being chased by predators would certainly make good television. I suppose it’s not done more often because of the expense of hiring dangerous beasts. But even the indoor events could be livened up by a better selection of guests. The Marquis de Sade strikes me as the kind of party animal who would have sparkled in such a setting. The man was an accomplished socialite who thoroughly enjoyed interacting with other humans, particularly in confined spaces. Just imagine the conversations he might have had with the attention-seeking dolly-birds who appear on these shows.

Marquis de Sade: Who will be your lover in this house?

Tracey Hotpants: Don’t say that, Marky, my boyfriend is watching this!

Marquis de Sade: Your boyfriend is a fool. I call him a pimp to his face. Let him watch me bite your soft white boobies.

Tracey Hotpants: Is that whatcha do to girls in your chateau?

Marquis de Sade: To begin with, yes. Sometimes I like to bite the derrière first. I can do this if you prefer.

Tracey Hotpants: Thanks, Marky, but I don’t like being bitten.

Marquis de Sade: Why not? Have you ever tried this?

Tracey Hotpants: I won’t try anything that hurts coz I don’t like pain.

Marquis de Sade: Mademoiselle Hotpants! Sex without pain is like food without taste!

The absence of dialogue like this shows what’s wrong with Reality TV. The houseguests are mired in the mundane, quite incapable of tackling issues as profound as whether biting or squeezing is sexually pleasing. It takes the incisive mind of a man like the Marquis to bring these meaty matters to the fore. Lacking a conversationalist of his calibre, countless hours are squandered on vacuous, inconsequential chatter. It’s the waste that saddens me.

Now the Marquis de Sade was no hero and I do not advance him as a role model for the modern human. In many ways the fellow was a bounder and it’s not for me to defend him. Yet no one could say that he was dull. Even as we condemn him for being a perverted fiend, we must respect him as a man who spoke his mind and remained true to his convictions. His ideas and conjectures may yet breathe new life into tired and lacklustre TV formats.



Comments:
Lordy GB, there's enough silicone there to make a nautical mattress!
 
life is full of meaning when you’re struggling to stay alive
 
Oh GB, it's been a long time since you published a picture like that and it will be even longer before that image fades from my mind. You're right about biting, my wife was covered in teeth marks during our honeymoon.
 
ah, the er, well, er. yes.
 
'Tit-bite' is the word Kieran is looking for. I like it if it's more of a nibble with lots of tongue. If no sexy guys are around I'll settle for either one in the picture.
 
The late great Serge Gainsbourg would have been a good person to have on a reality show. Whitney Houston's face was a picture when he told her (in English) what he wanted to do to her. On live TV. I think he did a song about S&M too, with whiplash and moaning sounds in the background. Or am I confusing it with the theme from Rawhide?
 
If you ever happen to find a journal of an ancestor of yours and their recounted conversations with the Marquis, then don't hesitate to post them here, GB
 
The only work of his I know is the 'Je t'aime' song, Lady Daphne. Wasn't Jane Birkin underage when he got her to moan on that record?

Kim, that's a very good idea. If I can't find any old diaries I'll just have to hope that I meet the Marquis in a dream.
 
Oh yes, the glory that is unreality tv!
It would have to be the laziest form of tv production, no need for script writers, actors, directors, etc.
Just put a bunch of intellectually challenged no hopers together and stand back.
:)
 
That's essentially the recipe for many a fine blog.
 
Star Trek explored all this in the sixties. Remember they were always getting put into arenas to fight aliens with impractically shaped wepons for the amusement of the big brained voyeurs? Now it's happening for real, exept for the big brains.
I was in a bar in Namibia (I may have mentioned my African travels before) and what was on the telly?
African Big Brother! That's what.
The locals in the bar's comments were exactly the same as ours. That Orkney bloke who won the British version was in it.
Christ.
 
African Big Brother would compare poorly to Nigerian soap operas, which are filmed in somebody's flat with no lighting or sound equipment and actors and script which make Eastenders look like the RSC. But the titles are ace. "Our husband has gone mad again" was one I was very partial to of an afternoon, until the electrician came in during the scene where the husband is having it off in the loo with the maid. He gave me that "So dat's what de white women get up to all day" look and went off to check the wiring.
 
I would have sat down next to you and watched the rest of the show. Nigeria has too many people following the Abrahamic religions rather than the Kola Boof bare-titty cult. The good thing about Namibia is the small human population: plenty of wide open spaces for the animals to play.
 
And be eaten by lions, if "Planet Earth" is to be believed. How they get so close to the animals without losing the odd cameraman is anybody's guess. Perhaps they douse them in eau de gorille.

I am already reading your fragrant and sensual book, GB, and have just finished "A Christmas Carol" which is a meisterwerk. You have managed to combine the moral message of the eponymous Dickens story with the social message of Monty Python's "Working Class Playwright" sketch. As my electrician would have said: "Dat one dam clever sokwe, him dey walk and chew kola nut at same time".
 
I must say I like the idea of you stroking my book, Daphne. I'm looking at a copy of it right now and imagining your womanly fingers sensously rubbing the picture on the cover. Mmmm.

Did you notice The Chistmas Carol Story is mostly dialogue? There's nothing like dialogue to hold the reader's interest, because we primates are Nosey Parkers.
 
Don't fall out of your hammock GB. Is that really you on the cover? I have never seen a gorilla with specs on. I keep your book next to my bed now for a little nocturnal indulgence. I stroke your opus every night before I fall asleep.
 
Sadly it's not me, Daphne. I was a cheapskate and settled for a generic cartoon. Just imagine a very old and very hairy version of Rudolf Valentino.
 
Lady Daphne, "As my electrician would have said: "Dat one dam clever sokwe, him dey walk and chew kola nut at same time".

What, is he from Shepton Mallet or summat?

My copies of this aromatic, tactile, sense enhancing book have yet to arrive.
 
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