#9 Money For No Grope
24/04/20 10:37
I should really watch Unorthodox. Everyone says it’s brilliant, but, like The Handmaid’s Tale, I can’t face it. Particularly now, mired in my Week 5 Lockdown Blues. Home schooling has morphed into constant Mario Kart, the labradoodle needs a clip but the groomers are closed, and my 6pm cocktail fetish, so cheeky and cheerful in Week 2, now has a distinctly medicinal edge. Yes; true suffering - when will people clap for ME? I needed something colourful and heartening to perk me up.
First up: One World: Together at Home, the Lady Gaga concert where pop stars sing from their homes. Initially, I was intrigued by the opportunity to gawp at celebs’ living rooms – or whatever space they’ve deigned to give us a glimpse of. Oprah’s house didn’t look real, one of the Rolling Stones (not Mick or Ronnie) lives in what looks like a Scottish laird’s lodge. But as it went on (and it went on a LONG time), I became less and less interested in these stars whose singing wasn’t nearly as good when they weren’t accompanied by backing bands and a decent sound system. In this brave new world of ours, celebs don’t have the draw they used to. The BBC’s highlights show interspersed the performances with VT packages of key workers around the country, and that was much more interesting – normal people, holding it all together. But in the end, I couldn’t cope with that either – it was a bit TOO real. I needed something not-real to bring me out of my quarantine funk, and what better an escape from reality than reality TV? Ladies and gentleman, I’m not proud, but I did it: I watched Too Hot to Handle.
For the THTH virgins amongst you, let me set the scene. This is a new Netflix series in the mould of Love Island. Ten hot singletons dumped on a luxury island resort, left to frolic amongst the waves. Except there’s a TWIST. After the first night, their virtual assistant Lana announces that there’s a $100,000 prize, but only if they refrain from any sexual activity, including kissing and masturbating. Cue dropped jaws and sad eye-meets between those who already snogged on sun loungers and were hoping to get jiggy against a palm tree later.
Now obviously, it’s dreadful, the whole shebang is a shocker. Leaving aside the fact that the cast were bolted together in a West World factory - all biceps, underboobs and eyelashes stolen from the fringe on your nan’s lampshade – the format doesn’t work. As soon as someone sneaks a hand job – and they WILL – the money goes down and immediately the jeopardy is reduced. It just becomes a free-for-all romp. Which is, I guess, what the producers wanted, but it makes a mockery of the premise. They say it’s supposed to be an enriching experience designed to help the participants grow and form meaningful relationships. Grow in the sense that they’ll work out how to finger each other without the cameras clocking them. It would be great if these barely sentient blow-up dolls suddenly discovered a passion for reading, or learning the cello, rather than simply restraining their passion for each other. There was a show I developed years ago, ‘Primus Inter Pares’, which was like Big Brother, except the aim of the game was to learn as much Latin as possible within the timeframe. Now THAT’S growth.
Anyway, Too Hot to Handle was just what the doctor ordered. I was livid, entranced, transported, cheered. Won’t watch another ep, of course. Why would I? It’s Normal People next week, on BBC Three. NORMAL PEOPLE, having REAL SEX. What more could you want?
First up: One World: Together at Home, the Lady Gaga concert where pop stars sing from their homes. Initially, I was intrigued by the opportunity to gawp at celebs’ living rooms – or whatever space they’ve deigned to give us a glimpse of. Oprah’s house didn’t look real, one of the Rolling Stones (not Mick or Ronnie) lives in what looks like a Scottish laird’s lodge. But as it went on (and it went on a LONG time), I became less and less interested in these stars whose singing wasn’t nearly as good when they weren’t accompanied by backing bands and a decent sound system. In this brave new world of ours, celebs don’t have the draw they used to. The BBC’s highlights show interspersed the performances with VT packages of key workers around the country, and that was much more interesting – normal people, holding it all together. But in the end, I couldn’t cope with that either – it was a bit TOO real. I needed something not-real to bring me out of my quarantine funk, and what better an escape from reality than reality TV? Ladies and gentleman, I’m not proud, but I did it: I watched Too Hot to Handle.
For the THTH virgins amongst you, let me set the scene. This is a new Netflix series in the mould of Love Island. Ten hot singletons dumped on a luxury island resort, left to frolic amongst the waves. Except there’s a TWIST. After the first night, their virtual assistant Lana announces that there’s a $100,000 prize, but only if they refrain from any sexual activity, including kissing and masturbating. Cue dropped jaws and sad eye-meets between those who already snogged on sun loungers and were hoping to get jiggy against a palm tree later.
Now obviously, it’s dreadful, the whole shebang is a shocker. Leaving aside the fact that the cast were bolted together in a West World factory - all biceps, underboobs and eyelashes stolen from the fringe on your nan’s lampshade – the format doesn’t work. As soon as someone sneaks a hand job – and they WILL – the money goes down and immediately the jeopardy is reduced. It just becomes a free-for-all romp. Which is, I guess, what the producers wanted, but it makes a mockery of the premise. They say it’s supposed to be an enriching experience designed to help the participants grow and form meaningful relationships. Grow in the sense that they’ll work out how to finger each other without the cameras clocking them. It would be great if these barely sentient blow-up dolls suddenly discovered a passion for reading, or learning the cello, rather than simply restraining their passion for each other. There was a show I developed years ago, ‘Primus Inter Pares’, which was like Big Brother, except the aim of the game was to learn as much Latin as possible within the timeframe. Now THAT’S growth.
Anyway, Too Hot to Handle was just what the doctor ordered. I was livid, entranced, transported, cheered. Won’t watch another ep, of course. Why would I? It’s Normal People next week, on BBC Three. NORMAL PEOPLE, having REAL SEX. What more could you want?
- One World: Together at Home, BBC One
- Too Hot to Handle, 8 episodes, Netflix
