Sometimes I need a filter between my brain and my mouth.
This is not the way to get one.

Tuesday, 30 April 2013

The Acidic Observer, Volume II

Hello Tuesday!

For a minute there I thought I wasn't going to have much, if anything, to add to this little ranty pants saga. I was worried.

First of all, Dan and Steph won the MKR finale - it was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Dammitt. And then, there were no drink driving celebrities, no one suing KFC because they don't serve Big Mac's and no new cars with cameras to replace our eyeballs.

But then, like a beacon of ranty hope, Channel Seven premiered their new show, Celebrity Splash.

Oh. Dear. God.

It was like a car crash - you know you shouldn't look, but the chance of glimpsing something horrific is just too tempting. And it delivered.

I was mildly confused for a moment because I couldn't work out where the celebrities were. I know I'm young-ish, but I like to pride myself on having been born in the mid 80's and, as such, familiar with a vast majority of past and present TV personalities.
However I'm not sure if the word 'celebrities' is as applicable for this show, so much as 'random people, some who used to be on TV before you were born'. But I agree, 'Random People Splash' just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Perhaps 'I've Run Out of Money Splash'? or 'My Knees Are Giving Out and I Don't Think I'll Make The Next Olympics Splash'?

Aside from the fact that it appears to be a bunch of victims people throwing themselves from the highest platform available, I'm not quite sure what the point is. There are plenty of belly flops that make you cringe...

Wait! That's it! I noticed they were mildly ambiguous about what the grand prize would be for the unfortunate, spandex clad winner, and it has just occurred to me. 

What this show should really be called is 'Reconstruction Splash'! By throwing themselves from a platform and possibly having their faces mashed and internal organs liquefied by the watery impact, the grand prize is an all expenses paid trip to the reconstructive surgery ward of the local hospital.

And we all know that the first step in reviving a long lost career in television (or a non existent one) is some brand new, well enhanced plastic features. And a body lift so tight, the surgeon uses your belly button as a marker for your new lips.

I know we've run out of ideas for movies and so we're rehashing everything we can (Titanic 3D, anyone?), and it's only a matter of time before we see Fay Wray being dragged to the top of the Empire State Building in 3D, but I honestly thought TV had a bit longer before we were dredging the bottom of the ideas pond.

Okay, let me re-phrase that. Dredging the bottom of the Dutch ideas pond. Because apparently we can't think of terrible ideas all on our own, we have to borrow some from the land of legalised marijuana. Which kind of says it all, really.

In the meantime, I am grateful for my Foxtel subscription - yes, it may be mostly re-runs and shows from the US, but if it means I can avoid the terror that is Free to Air TV, then it's worth every cent.


 

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