Would a wicker man be a fitting prize?
[2008/04/01 01:50:16]
LAST night saw the launch of a new reality TV series which, regardless of its actual merit, is almost certain to be at the hub of the national consciousness for the next few weeks. But enough about **Big Brother: Celebrity Hijack. STV flipped a coin into the stagnant reality fountain with the first episode of *Conquer The Castle, a new 12-part series in which six "city slickers" have two weeks to get to grips with Highland country living.
There is no cash prize, not even a Perspex trophy crudely hewn into the shape of a turret. All the triumphant contestant gets for their trouble is the honour of being crowned king or queen of the castle (they probably don''t even get an actual crown), before slinking off back into obscurity. Still, the scenery''s nice, and at the very least they might learn how to stun a mammal.
In time-honoured tradition, the contestants have to endure various Scots-themed tasks, most of which you could probably guess for yourself. Hunting stags, shearing sheep, hoisting a chip on your shoulder the size of a shed: you know, obvious stuff like that. Holed up at Blair Castle in Blair Atholl, Perthshire, the six hopefuls are a rather drab bunch. Muchaneta is a London fashion events organiser, a job so pointless she''d be better off lassoing flies for a living. With his stud-speckled face and Mohican, Glasgow tattoo artist Dave is presumably supposed to supply some kookiness to the show. But he seemed like a perfectly normal, low-key sort of guy who dotes on his young daughter. "She''s bright, she''s intelligent, she''s clever. She likes AC/DC." If only that were true of all children, then the future would be in safe hands. Self-confessed control freak Richard had written a book about Julie Andrews and looked like he had been designed by Nick Park, while Chris – who did something important in an office, I forget what exactly – appeared to be played by David Mitchell. "Essex wild child" Kimberley was the token Jade-style thicko (spying a stuffed stag she asked: "Did he die in that position?"), whereas receptionist Trudie was merely a receptionist called Trudie. She did have a curious obsession with rabbits, though, which meant that it was only fair that her first task should involve killing some of the floppy-lugged darlings for dinner.
Although she spent most of the ferreting expedition close to tears, Trudie eventually managed to conquer her innate pacifism, and ending up shouting "Get it! Get it!" at the ferret like some bloodthirsty mountain woman. This metamorphosis was rewarded when she was crowned as the first queen of the castle. This meant that she gets to take part in an especially important challenge in the next episode. Or something. It was difficult to care. At this early stage none of the characters seem interesting enough to warrant further investigation, while the premise seems too thin to offer much dramatic potential. That is unless Richard turns feral, dons a wolf pelt and woad, and whirls screaming across the hilltops in some sort of demented tribute to *The Sound Of Music.
Cold Blood, the serial killer drama with which Matthew Kelly comprehensively shed his cuddly, flashing-waistcoat image, came to a typically bloody and overwrought end last night. Like Hannibal Lecter via Alan Bennett, Kelly''s cerebral madman Brian Wicklow was such an entertainingly creepy creation that, even when entirely bed-bound, he overshadowed everything else, especially the troubled antihero played by the eternally dull John Hannah. With Wicklow dead, there''s no point in returning to the franchise.
The full article contains 617 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
There is no cash prize, not even a Perspex trophy crudely hewn into the shape of a turret. All the triumphant contestant gets for their trouble is the honour of being crowned king or queen of the castle (they probably don''t even get an actual crown), before slinking off back into obscurity. Still, the scenery''s nice, and at the very least they might learn how to stun a mammal.
In time-honoured tradition, the contestants have to endure various Scots-themed tasks, most of which you could probably guess for yourself. Hunting stags, shearing sheep, hoisting a chip on your shoulder the size of a shed: you know, obvious stuff like that. Holed up at Blair Castle in Blair Atholl, Perthshire, the six hopefuls are a rather drab bunch. Muchaneta is a London fashion events organiser, a job so pointless she''d be better off lassoing flies for a living. With his stud-speckled face and Mohican, Glasgow tattoo artist Dave is presumably supposed to supply some kookiness to the show. But he seemed like a perfectly normal, low-key sort of guy who dotes on his young daughter. "She''s bright, she''s intelligent, she''s clever. She likes AC/DC." If only that were true of all children, then the future would be in safe hands. Self-confessed control freak Richard had written a book about Julie Andrews and looked like he had been designed by Nick Park, while Chris – who did something important in an office, I forget what exactly – appeared to be played by David Mitchell. "Essex wild child" Kimberley was the token Jade-style thicko (spying a stuffed stag she asked: "Did he die in that position?"), whereas receptionist Trudie was merely a receptionist called Trudie. She did have a curious obsession with rabbits, though, which meant that it was only fair that her first task should involve killing some of the floppy-lugged darlings for dinner.
Although she spent most of the ferreting expedition close to tears, Trudie eventually managed to conquer her innate pacifism, and ending up shouting "Get it! Get it!" at the ferret like some bloodthirsty mountain woman. This metamorphosis was rewarded when she was crowned as the first queen of the castle. This meant that she gets to take part in an especially important challenge in the next episode. Or something. It was difficult to care. At this early stage none of the characters seem interesting enough to warrant further investigation, while the premise seems too thin to offer much dramatic potential. That is unless Richard turns feral, dons a wolf pelt and woad, and whirls screaming across the hilltops in some sort of demented tribute to *The Sound Of Music.
Cold Blood, the serial killer drama with which Matthew Kelly comprehensively shed his cuddly, flashing-waistcoat image, came to a typically bloody and overwrought end last night. Like Hannibal Lecter via Alan Bennett, Kelly''s cerebral madman Brian Wicklow was such an entertainingly creepy creation that, even when entirely bed-bound, he overshadowed everything else, especially the troubled antihero played by the eternally dull John Hannah. With Wicklow dead, there''s no point in returning to the franchise.
The full article contains 617 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
