The Bachelor Recap: Choppers, Campers, and Wing Defence

Previously on The Bachelor, Holly never had a man go to so much trouble for her, and by "man" she meant "television production crew". Also Laurina was the target of anger from everyone in the mansion/country.

Tonight, we look forward to the continuation of this year's theme: "women who Ben can't remember the names of".

The episode begins with Blake playing basketball and hoping that the woman he spends the rest of his life with will be amongst this group of ladies, because if he has to fund another series out of his own pocket it will put a major strain on his finances.

Meanwhile, nobody is playing basketball at the mansion, but Osher, who is still fighting his brave battle against the hairdo that threatens to eat his head, comes in with an envelope. Amber is hoping the envelope is to ask her on a date, because she hasn't been on a date yet, but actually it is Lisa who the envelope asks, "Do you feel the need for speed?" Yes, Blake is taking Lisa to do some amphetamines together.

"Oh my god it's Blake!" exclaims Lisa as Blake comes into view - she had no idea he'd be coming to their date. Blake is standing in front of a helicopter, which is terrifying for Lisa, who is afraid of heights. "I'm going to have to jump out of a plane!" she exclaims, never having learnt the difference between a plane and a helicopter.

Up in the air, they experience the kind of romance that you can only get through a static-riddled conversation over radio headphones. The helicopter lands in the Hunter Valley and Lisa gets on Blake's back as her legs stopped working or something.

Then they both get in planes - separate planes, as they are not yet married - and the planes fly around and do some tricks for a bit and they have more static-filled romantic conversations, which are if anything even more romantic for the fact they are not in the same cockpit.

Blake informs us that in a partner he looks for someone who is "up for anything", and so he now takes Lisa to watch the movie "Donkey Punch".

Sorry, misheard, it's actually LUNCH they're going to.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Sam wants to clear the air with Laurina, and some misguided producer has decided that there are viewers out there who care. Sam tries to explain where she was coming from, but Laurina wants to explain how Sam is wrong about everything, but Sam wants to explain how in fact Laurina can shove her opinion up her weaselhole, which causes Laurina to explain how she has a very tight, shiny face.

Back to the date, where Blake is now carrying Lisa in his arms. The two are clearly very very compatible - Lisa's love of not walking complements Blake's desire to carry human beings around perfectly.

"We've spent a lot of time together today, haven't we?" says Lisa, slowly gaining a dim comprehension of the mechanisms of dating.

Apparently they are dining at Blake's favourite restaurant, and indeed Blake's mannerisms and body language suggest that he has possibly been there at some point previously in his life. Maybe it was even as a customer.

Back at the mansion another envelope has arrived and Amber is still bitching. The missive says "Better out than in", meaning Blake is going to take the girls on a vomiting trip.

At this point we are made aware that there is a woman called "Stacey-Louise" on the show, which comes as quite a shock to us all. Also "Shana", apparently.

Amber still doesn't get to go on a date. She is very angry about this and complains in a pretty attractive way, so probably Blake will want to take her on a date soon so he can get to experience her whininess close up.

On the date, Lisa is explaining how her father is a loveably oppressive tyrant and Blake subtly tries to determine whether he is likely to be murdered if he pursues this relationship. Blake then asks Lisa whether she's been in love before. Lisa explains that she hasn't been in love, but she has had a lot of experience in saying nonsensical, confusing sentences.

Blake tells us that he can sense that Lisa has a lot of love in her and around her and sort of clinging to her clothes and dripping off her hair and running out of her nose.

We now go back to the house to see what the much-hyped devastating phone call to Holly from her mum is all about. It turns out that it's about Ten pretty much lying to us: her mum has called to tell her that she has been chosen to play in the Australian Netball League and this is a problem for some reason that is not specifically elaborated. I guess it's because we all know no man would ever want a long-term relationship with a netballer.

While Holly agonises about the choice between positional bibs and muscly enormous-toothed men, Blake and Lisa eat chocolate in a room full of far too many candles to constitute a fire-safe workplace. Then they kiss and Blake tells us that it was a really beautiful moment, possibly even as beautiful as the moments in the last few days when he kissed other women, and with luck, almost as beautiful a moment as the moments to come when he will kiss even more women. There is no doubt that the romance of systematically cycling through a series of women's lips is really hitting home.

Back at the mansion, someone is playing a guitar with amazing enthusiasm, and Lisa enters to shove her rose in everyone's face. Amber hates her with a passion. All the ladies show an amazing ability to smile despite their explosive rage. Lisa thinks her kiss with Blake was Blake's first kiss on the show, which is pretty funny.

Jess gloats about how actually Blake's first kiss was with her. She kept it a secret because it was so special, although surely every passing day makes it clear how untrue that is.

The next day Blake takes his selected group daters out into the woods. Osher, whose hair is now entirely computer-generated in post-production, explains that they are going on a camping trip, just like the movie "Deliverance". Blake and the ten ladies head into the wilderness, with only their backpacks and the camera crew and the producer.

Blake finds it interesting what order the women walk in, which tells you a lot about how interesting Blake is. Kara walked at the front, which she thinks is her leadership skills coming out, but then she's not a thinker.

Back at the mansion, Jess is wondering whether other girls' dates were as special as hers. I guess we'll never know.

At this stage it becomes very obvious that there are far too many women on this show. Nobody can keep track of all of them.

They arrive at the campsite, which Blake thinks is as good a place as any to set up camp especially given the producer just told him to stop and set up camp here. It is no doubt a beautiful unspoiled piece of native wilderness even though it actually looks a bit like someone's driveway.

"All I can think about is Blake, netball, Blake, netball, and it's really distracting me," Holly confides, and that's understandable: I'd be distracted by such a boring train of thought too. Holly has a big decision to make for reasons which remain unclear - netball or a man she doesn't really know? The eternal dilemma.

That night, Blake proposes a toast to the outdoors, which is a bit weird. Would you trust this man enough to go to sleep in a forest near him?

Blake takes Zoe off for a one-on-one chat. Zoe tells Blake she sense there are many layers to the Blake onion, inasmuch as he makes everyone cry and can be unpleasant to find in your hamburger. Blake, honoured to be compared to a bulb vegetable, offers Zoe a rose. And so, naturally, it is time for truth or dare, a game which is as uncomfortable and awkward as it is dull and tedious. Blake is asked whether he prefers blondes or brunettes, and fails to give the correct answer, ie: "Don't be such a dickhead".

Blake, asked why he decided to be on The Bachelor, finds the inner courage to confess that he believes that things happen for a reason. Presumably one of those things that happen for a reason is getting the chance to make out with a big stack of hot chicks. He then gives Alana a rose, despite her oversized beanie and a slightly aggressive attitude. Some other women are jealous and consider Alana a threat. I don't know which women they were, I assume they have names of some kind.

Holly is feeling very unwell because of the netball thing. She's been waiting her whole life to play professional netball, even though it says "pro netballer" on screen under her name, so whether she already is or isn't playing professional netball is a bit up in the air. But suffice to say she has received a netball opportunity, one of those netball opportunities that you just refer to as "a netball opportunity" without ever going into any detail about it at all. She tells Blake about her netball opportunity, this opportunity which would allow her to play netball, and the strict rule that Australian netball authorities have against their players competing in prime time dating shows. It is a very tense moment so Blake and Holly cut to an ad to assist with the suspense. Both of them are shocked to hear the news about Choices Flooring.

We cut back to the show, where the same thing that just happened happens again in case we've forgotten. Holly admits that she cannot walk away from netball, which technically is not what she was being asked to do, but anyway, she is leaving to chase that netball opportunity which will provide her with a great opportunity in the field of netball, one of the best netball opportunities in her entire career of having opportunities and playing netball.

Holly tells the other women of her decision, making it quite clear that it involves netball and an opportunity, and the women bravely pretend to be sorry to see her go. And so off Holly goes, leaving only one question to be answered: why was it her mother who rang to tell her about the netball opportunity? Is it usual for Netball Australia to communicate via mother?

Back at the mansion, it's cocktail party time, and it's time for Amber to hate Laurina's guts and to say "keep your friends close and your enemies closer", which is something people often say in order to let everyone know that you don't really know what it means. She is not, in fact, keeping Laurina close at all: Laurina hates her too. Laurina thinks Amber is a troublemaker, in that Amber took Blake outside to talk to him when Laurina wanted to go outside to talk to him. Amber is quite proud of her "sneakiness", a sneakiness which consists entirely of standing near the door and saying "LET'S GO OUTSIDE" as soon as he enters the room.

Blake comes back in to say he wants to talk to Laurina, which proves that this is a staged, unreal show: nobody wants to talk to Laurina. Blake and Laurina discuss sparkling wine. Laurina tells Blake she wants a "wild spirit and a tame heart", a phrase almost, but not quite, as meaningful as the mating call of the common hyena.

It's roses time, which means Osher arrives to tell everyone what they already know and valiantly fight off the savage advances of his hair. Two women must leave the mansion tonight, with not even the consolation of a netball opportunity to take with them.

A woman who I don't know the name of is very confident, and keeps saying so, so probably she'll have to leave. Anita isn't confident - she feels like she's still speaking to someone she's just met, though to be fair that's only because that is exactly what she's been doing. But win or lose, one thing is certain: before this contest is over, Anita will cut a bitch.

And so Blake hands out a bunch of roses and oh Anita gets one, so her inevitable murder spree will have to wait. Jessica gets one too, allowing her to continue her deluded fantasy that her date was special.

Blake gives Katrina a rose. Katrina asks him to show her more interest next week. Blake looks at her in the manner of a man who has just been asked to donate his penis to a museum. Katrina giggles in a way both endearing and severely deranged, and trots away, safe in the knowledge that Blake never wants to talk to her again for as long as he lives.

Oh the confident one was "Stacey-Louise" I think. She doesn't get a rose. She can go straight to hell as far as Blake is concerned. Also Charlotte, who was apparently on the show, is now not on the show. On the ride home Charlotte is devastated, but she hopes that one day she can find the strength to once again go on a game show. Meanwhile Stacey-Louise thinks something better is waiting for her around the corner, but that seems unlikely.

Next week on The Bachelor, Blake and Sam eat popcorn and Sam can't believe something or other, while Amber keeps bitching constantly.


Below: Blake and Lisa on their date

The Bachelor Recap: Snow, Bridesmaids, and Models

We begin, of course, with the traditional recap of last night's action, in which we are reminded that twenty-four women we had no connection with met one man we had no connection with, and then some of them went home.

We are then shown Blake on a boat. It's only just occurred to him that one of the contestants could be his future wife. Only just. It only just occurred to him that the premise of The Bachelor is indeed the premise of The Bachelor.

Meanwhile at the house, Chantal would like to get to know Blake more, whereas Anita would like to know more about Blake. For her part, Alana wants to see more of Blake. The variety of opinions is quite amazing. They all want to go on the first date with Blake, to which end Blake has sent Osher with a "first date card", the traditional way for a gentleman to court a lady on television.

It could be a group date or single date. Anita would definitely like it to be a single date, not a group date, because she feels she is one of those women who is more attractive to a man when by herself rather than with nineteen other women.

Unfortunately though, Jessica will be going on the date, which doesn't surprise Holly, because as a professional netballer she sees deeply into human nature.

Blake shows up at the mansion in a car, and explains that with Jess, "It was her smile, it was the look in her eye, it was a spark", so there's clearly a pretty profound connection here. Jessica can't believe Blake actually came to the house to pick her up - she's never known a man who could drive before.

Jessica always thought she would settle down and start a family, but at twenty-four she realises she's on the verge of drying up and shrivelling into a useless husk, so it's about time she went on TV and tried to pick up a stranger.

As Blake and Jessica drive off, the crucial question is raised: is this a date or a kidnapping? It's still unclear as Blake stops the car in a middle of a blizzard: he has apparently driven her to the Yukon. Jessica sees the snow and becomes convinced Blake is a wizard.

"I'm a romantic at heart, I wanted to do something special for our first date," Blake said, and what is more special than asking the production team at Channel Ten to come up with something?

Jessica is pretty smitten: ever since she was a girl she longed for a man to shower her with fake snow. Back at the mansion the other women file their nails and talk about how much their lives suck. But at the snowfields, Blake thinks the date is going better than he'd ever imagined, inasmuch as Jessica has yet to spray anything toxic in his eyes.

There's a chandelier hanging above the ice rink. What?

Jessica leaps into Blake's arms. They both fall over. Overcome with the romance of the moment, they take a moment to watch an ad for Wonderland, wondering why it is that Ten is pretending it's a new show.

By the way The Bachelor is proudly brought to you by Ford, so you know who to send your letterbombs to.

Back at the ice rink, Jessica jumps into Blake's arms again in case we'd already forgotten that happened. Luckily, nobody has suffered a severed artery. Blake informs us that the chemistry between Jessica and himself is fantastic; but like any young man in the first blush of romance, what he's really looking forward to is doing this with nineteen other women.

Blake has a present for Jessica, or more accurately, Channel Ten has a present for Jessica and has hired Blake to hand it to her. It's a dress. "It's like something out of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe!" Jessica gasps as a talking beaver leaps out of it.

Back at the mansion, Sam is jealous, which is pretty novel. A new dating card has arrived, promising "a big day". Alana surmises that this means it is wedding-related. "What else do you call a big day except a wedding day?" she says, which is pretty stupid logic, but unfortunately she's going to turn out to be right.

On this date, a lot of women have been invited, including Anita, which is lucky because the look on her face as the names are read out made it pretty clear she was about to go on a killing spree if she didn't get to go on a date.

Back to the frozen tundra of Spitzbergen, and Jessica is now dressed as the White Queen, and sits down with Blake to dine on Turkish Delight.

Jessica can't quite believe the depth of feeling she already has for Blake. I hope this isn't going to continue for the rest of the series. The show desperately needs someone to call Blake a wanker to provide a bit of light and shade. Maybe they could get me on the show to do that.

Blake thinks this is the best first date he's ever had, possibly because it's the most heavily sponsored.

Jessica is impressed by the fact Blake is a perfect gentleman, meaning that he hasn't tried to grab some boob while the cameras are rolling.

And then suddenly, Blake speaks the words that every woman longs to hear after suffering severe head injuries: "Jessica, will you accept this rose?"

And then they kiss, a moment made all the more romantic by the knowledge of all the other women he'll shortly be kissing.

Jessica returns to the mansion, where Anita is insanely jealous of Jessica's dress: she wishes she could groom a dog like the one the dress was made from. All the women want to know if Jessica kissed Blake, but she doesn't want to tell them in case it "unleashes Pandora's box". We have yet to hear much from Pandora, but apparently her box is terrifying. Good luck when your date with Pandora comes around, Blake!

Later on Jessica is in tears because she lied about kissing Blake and because she is an idiot. But anyway.

Next day it's the group date, in which Blake will make it entirely clear to a group of women that he is in control of their lives, in true romantic style. The date will involve all the women being models for Woman's Day, because this show is all about romance and style and class and celebrity gossip and weight-loss tips.

The shoot will be bridal-themed, because these women clearly are not already obsessed enough with weddings. But only four women get to be brides, and the rest will be bridesmaids. Everyone is desperate to be a bride and not to be a bridesmaid because they don't really understand how reality works.

The brides are Alana, Diana, Stacy-Louise and Laurina. Nobody claps for Laurina, but she knows this is because they were just expecting it because she's done modelling before and so obviously she gets to be a bride because she has done modelling before and the lack of clapping is in no way connected to the fact that her personality was stolen from a vulture.

But to her credit, Laurina manages to keep her cool despite knowing that the other girls are intimidated by the fact she's a model. As the shoot begins, she feels pretty confident taking control and telling Blake what to do because although she's kept it pretty quiet, she's actually had some modelling experience.

The second photo involves Alana as the bride. She's not had modelling experience, so she looks like a piece of garbage really. To look good in a photo you really need modelling experience. It would've been good if there'd been a model among the women to give her some advice.

Blake, though, is grateful that Alana let him "guide her", making sure to say the words in a way that I want to make clear doesn't sound at all hideously creepy.

Next up is Stacy-Louise, who giggles a lot about Blake taking his shirt off, and is just generally unpleasant like that.

Diana has been dreaming about her big day ever since she saw it on Cinderella, which is a statement both alarming and weird. She also wants Mickey Mouse to be her wedding celebrant, so she saw a different version of Cinderella than I did. But I get the feeling Diana sees a different version of pretty much everything. Certainly she's seeing a different version of the photo shoot, as it seems fairly certain that when she leaves she firmly believes she's actually married.

Laurina thinks Blake is having more fun with Diana than he did with her, which Laurina can't really fathom, because Diana isn't even a professional model.

Following the photo shoot, Alana surprises the viewer by revealing she'd actually quite like to get to know Blake more. Which she does, as she sits down with Blake, and he asks to wait. I wonder what he'll do? Will he return with a bucket of water to throw on Alana's head, or a restraining order? No, it's a rose, so there you go.

Anita doesn't think Alana should get a rose unless there's been a real connection, and Anita hasn't seen that connection, so Anita thinks Blake has made a terrible mistake. Anita begins working on an Excel spreadsheet detailing what Blake's feelings really are, that she can email to Blake so he understands himself better and remembers to always ask Anita before making any major decisions.

Blake is looking forward to tonight's cocktail party. "There are so many amazing women I haven't even spoken to," he says. possibly referring to the women on this show. Laurina is pretty confident that her tactic of ignoring Blake completely is paying dividends, as she's not given him a reason to not keep her around, which, let's be honest, talking to him for thirty seconds definitely will.

The girls sit around and chat a bit. Laurina enters with a glass of wine to explain to the others how horrible she is. Sam doesn't think Laurina is here for love, which is a bit cruel, given Laurina is incapable of understanding any human emotions.

It's time for the rose ceremony. One of the women - I don't know which one, one of the dark-haired ones - says she thinks all of the women want a rose tonight. It's an interesting theory: do all the women, indeed, want to not be eliminated from the competition they have entered? Only time will tell, I guess.

As the roses are handed out, many of the women, and one hundred percent of the audience, is hoping Laurina does not get a rose, and if possible falls into a ditch or gets bitten by a pig or something on the way home. Laurina is fairly sure she will get a rose though, because when she was modelling she learned that men like women who are models, and as she has modelling experience she is fairly sure that Blake will enjoy her ability to model and therefore choose her. Laurina really wants a rose, as it would reinforce her reasons for being here. What those reasons are, we're still not sure: something to do with eating human flesh or opening some kind of portal to the netherworld I assume.

Luckily Anita gets a rose, obviating the need to assault anyone. So does Diana, thus extending the amount of time she's had to spend without professional mental health care.

It's time for the last rose. Three ladies left: only one can stay. Will it be Laurina? Bridgette-Rose? Tiarnar? Will arrogance and obnoxiousness win the day against being boring and people not really knowing which one you are? The suspense is...I dunno.

It turns it's Laurina, Blake being unable to resist the opportunity to learn more about the fascinating world of modelling. Bridgette-Rose and Tiarnar head home, knowing their one chance at happiness is gone forever and they will live many long years of loneliness and regret. Not that Bridgette-Rose has given up entirely. "I hope there's still someone out there for me, or at least I hope there is," she says, her grief having destroyed her ability to form cogent sentences.

Back at the mansion, Laurina is devastated that her best friend has left: her best friend being...I dunno, one of those ones who just left. It's suggested to her that she should be happy that she is still in the house. Laurina doesn't care. It means nothing to her. She has no interest in Blake. "I'm here for me," she says. At some point someone will explain to her the premise of the show she is on and she will be shocked. For now, she weeps, having been told by a producer that eliminated contestants are taken out the back and shot.

Tomorrow on The Bachelor, Blake will say insincere things in a really deep voice, and the women will act really bitchy towards each other. It's the twist that will change the game forever.

BELOW: Blake and Jessica get up close and steamy on their date.

The last seven days

This is just a quick update for you all on what I've been doing in the last week, so you can really sink your teeth into a whole bunch of me at once.

For example, if you want to read me in The Age on the subject of television, you can.

And if you want to read me in The Guardian on the subject of the Labor Party, you can. 

Or perhaps you'd like to check out my exclusive interview with Australia's Federal Racism Commissioner in the King's Tribune?  (and while you're there, subscribe FFS)

But maybe you'd rather read me on rugby union?

Or rugby league?

Probably you'll get the most satisfaction out of my piece on asbestos and how the government is using it to kill us, on New Matilda. (subscribe there too. Jesus)

Or you could just kick back and relax with my recap of the first episode of the new series of Masterchef.

Not that you need to, because my friend Dan Hall and I have covered all bases re: Masterchef's return in episode one of a brand new web series by GAMers Cam Smith and myself, MASTERCHAT. Check it out below, and stay tuned for next week's ep.







OK that's all for this week. There'll be some more stuff next week. Don't say that I never do anything for you people.

Time to get real

Yeah I'm talking to you, Mark Scott, managing director of the ABC. Because the news tells me that you're looking to the models of the Daily Show and Colbert Report to create news and current affairs shows for a younger audience on the ABC.

And this means, Mr Scott, it is time to cease this assiduous avoidance of the area below your nostrils.

It is time to stop pretending you don't know what you need.

It is time to be a man and admit that you were wrong in the past to not give me my own TV show, and proclaim to the world, this is what the ABC needs.

Because Mr Scott, I'm your man.

Just check this out:




Uh, hello? Can you say "peas in a pod"?

And if that's not enough:




To cut a long story short, Mr Scott, come ON. You know you want me. Put me on TV now, or wear the consequences.

If YOU support this worthy cause, why not contact Mark Scott, care of the ABC, at:

ABC Ultimo Centre;
700 Harris Street;

OR

Ultimo NSW 2007;
GPO Box 9994;
Sydney NSW 2001;

OR just give him a friendly ring:

Phone (02) 8333 1500

Or tweet him @ABCMarkScott. He values your feedback! Probably!

Ugh

Feminism, right? Sometimes, I think, we can get sick of talking about feminism, and hearing about feminism. Sometimes it's just exhausting, isn't it? Boring. We wish sexism and misogyny and patriarchy didn't keep getting raised. We'd like a break.

I feel this, I really do. I bet a lot of the people who spend a lot of time talking about feminism get sick of it sometimes too. Unfortunately, as much as we'd all like a break, it is difficult for feminists to take a break when every day some idiot goes and illustrates perfectly why they have to keep hammering away, because there is just so many more concrete-thick skulls to penetrate.

I was watching Q&A last night, and this really hit me with monstrous force, as I watched Kate Ellis MP attempt to answer questions and address issues in the face of some truly mind-boggling rudeness and disrespect from a sniggering bipartisan triumvirate of Lindsay Tanner, Christopher Pyne and Piers Akerman.

Now, in my opinion, in the area of feminism and gender relations, there are very many areas on which room for disagreement exists. I think reasonable people can differ on many issues without anyone being assumed to be stupid or bigoted. And you can disagree on all sorts of things. You can disagree with me, or anyone else, on women's portrayal in the media, or on women's dress, on affirmative action, on pornography or sexual freedom or sexism in the workplace. I would not necessarily think you a fool for taking a different position to mine on any of these issues.

But if you try to tell me that feminism's job is done here, that we are not still living in a society that is positively drenched in sexism, then I will laugh you right out of that cosy little cocoon you're snuggling up inside. Because if you're living in this world, and you think everything is cool, men-and-women-wise, you're pushing a line so obviously and directly at odds with the evidence in front of your face that you might as well be telling me that you just rode into town on a flying sheep.

Q&A seems such a minor, petty thing to focus on - and it is. It's a tiny drop in the sexism ocean, and there are sure bigger problems out there. But last night's episode crystallised so exquisitely for anyone watching the heart of the matter - the disrespect, the sneering condescension, and the hostility towards women from which so much inequality and injustice springs.

This wasn't a rowdy debate where everyone was talking over one another. This wasn't someone feeling so passionately about a subject he just had to break in to be heard. And this was not a case of one or two interruptions. This was interrupting, cutting off, and shouting down Kate Ellis pretty much every time she dared open her mouth, in a manner that couldn't have been more efficient and systematic if Tanner, Pyne and Akerman had got together beforehand and plotted the course of the evening out on a spreadsheet. This was Akerman preventing Ellis getting her point out simply by repeating the word "shadecloths" four or five times, as if that was a counter-argument that would shoot her down; or later on, breaking in to an answer she was giving on education in order to kindly tell her to go and talk to Margie Abbott. This was Ellis attempting to answer an audience member's question but being drowned out by Pyne and Tanner starting up a conversation about Downton Abbey as if she wasn't even there. And this was Pyne in particular (and this is pretty much his lifelong form line) talking over the top of the minister every single time she looked like getting near speaking her piece. It was a horrible display by three men who, according to all reports, claim to be grown adults of fully-functioning intellectual faculties. But in the presence of a federal minister whose views on a range of issues are actually quite important to the country, but who happened to be a woman, they could not find it within themselves to grow the hell up and act like decent human beings. And, what's more, host Tony Jones seemed quite happy to let them stomp all over the discussion like a pack of St Bernards tracking mud over a carpet.

Of course the other guest, US playwright Nilaja Sun, barely got to talk at all, although some of that could be put down to  most of the discussion being very Aus-centric: but when you have five guests, two of whom are women, of which one is barely allowed to talk, and the other has every statement swamped by the bellows of the swaggering Ox Chorus surrounding her, it paints a stark picture of how women are treated 'round these parts.

Bear in mind, again, this is a minister. Not just a woman who wandered in off the streets, but an accomplished, elected representative, in a position of considerable responsibility with significant influence on our government. Patronised and shut down like a schoolgirl answering back to the principal. It was, to put quite mildly, revolting.

And why did they do this? Because they knew they could. They knew that if you shout down a woman, you get away with it. Let's not pretend they would have acted that way if Bill Shorten had been in that seat - nobody's default setting is "disrupt" when a man is talking. What's more, they knew that Shorten would have fired back, and they knew that Kate Ellis couldn't without being painted as shrill and hysterical. Ellis knew that too - she knew the minute she rose to the bait, told someone to shut up, demanded to be given due respect, she'd be tagged a harridan, which is why she put in a performance of superhuman restraint and class, and emerged looking a more worthy person than those three men put together.

And this is not a Labor vs Liberal thing - Akerman and Pyne were repellent, but Tanner joined in the shut-up-girlie game with gusto. The Liberal Party seems to be captive at the moment to a particularly nauseating cabal of misogynists, but this cuts across the left-right divide. It's not even man vs woman - rest assured there are women who would have watched that show urging the men on to shut the mouthy bitch up.

I've said it before: the battle is between pricks and non-pricks. You're sick of hearing about feminism? Fine: let's not mention feminism. Let's drop the battle of the sexes schtick. How about we just talk about human decency? How about we talk about the ability to treat another person like a person, that ability that is sorely lacking in men like Akerman, Tanner, Pyne, Alan Jones, Tony Abbott...and on, and on, and on. How about we talk about looking at someone and not deciding, based on what they've got in their pants, that you're perfectly justified in treating them like a cross between an irritating insect and a disobedient toddler? How about we talk about, if this isn't too much of a stretch, a public discussion where how seriously you get taken doesn't depend on whether you're packing a penis?

Last night, we saw that the men who believe they have a right to power over all of us have zero tolerance for any woman trying to muscle in on their turf. We saw the clear, shining face of sexism. And those of us with a scrap of decency should be under no illusions: we're in a war here.

If you would care to peruse my CV...

So, in the wake of Kyle Sandilands's latest courageous stand against tall poppy syndrome and fat chicks, many people have been asking, why?

Why does Kyle Sandilands have a job, these people (not me of course) have been asking. Why does he continue to be granted opportunities to enrich himself and raise his public profile on radio and television, even though he is, according to scientific testing, the worst person in the world? Why does he occupy a position of power and influence in the entertainment industry even though his only marketable skill is putting gel in his hair and he possesses all the charm and personal magnetism of a Gestapo officer masturbating on a dead rabbit? How has he managed to keep his job in the face of the fairly well-known fact that he is a puffy-faced dead-eyed misogynistic little blobfish of a man whose appearances on radio and television are the audio-visual equivalent of being urinated on by a camel? And how is it fair that due to his inexplicable success, he has also created a long-lasting media career for Jackie O, a woman who, if she one day lost the ability to giggle inanely, would be immediately reclassified as a species of moss by the botanical community?

These are the questions that apparently, so I hear, people are asking.

But of course these are harsh questions. I do understand why Austereo and Channel Seven continue to employ and promote and pay Kyle Sandilands - it is because they have literally been unable to find anyone more talented than him. They've scoured the world, hoping to find someone with more talent than Kyle - which is to say, someone with some talent - but have come up short.

But don't worry, showbiz bigwigs - I am here.

I am here to solve all your problems, I am here to soothe all your doubts, I am here to rescue you from the chubby bearded quagmire you find yourself in.

I am here to replace Kyle Sandilands. Yes, I hereby launch the Replace Kyle With Ben campaign, or if you're on Twitter, #replaceKylewithBen (pronounced "hashtag replace Kyle with Ben" if you need to say it out loud)

What will you get from replacing Kyle with Ben?

1. I am much taller than Kyle. This means that fellow employees will no longer be called away from important tasks to assist Kyle in getting the Milo down from the top shelf.

2. I have a wide and varied assortment of female friends and acquaintances to choose from for the the purposes of sidekickery. Not only are they smoking hot (because duh, as if I have ugly friends), but they can all speak in words of more than one syllable, thereby out-qualifying Jackie O by some margin.

3. I can beat Kyle at arm-wrestling.

4. My Sean Connery impression is near-flawless, creating endless opportunities for breakfast radio shenanigans of a hilarious nature.

5. I appeal to a broad demographic, being equally popular with both pre-schoolers and the elderly.

6. I have never been involved with the singing career or Tamara Jaber.

7. I know how to conceive, write, and perform "jokes", as well as possessing the capacity to "discuss" "issues" with "people", thereby obviating the necessity to conceal an inability to do any of these things by abusing women or strapping children to lie detectors.

8. I have bigger tits than Kyle.

9. I would quite like to be rich and famous, so you know I'm committed.

10. I have little to no desire to threaten violence upon people who give me bad reviews - in fact I tend to make friends with them.

And finally,

11. I am able to deal with my own deep-seated sense of personal inadequacy in ways other than hurling obscenities at others, belittling those with more talent than myself, or whining like a sissy little bitch every time someone criticises me for anything.

As you can see, I am the complete package - at least compared to what you've got now - and am available to start RIGHT AWAY. There is no need to thank me - I ask only for a generous salary and an enormous amount of fame. So, Seven, Austereo, and any other major media organisations who'd like to get in on the action, just have your people call my people, and we can have this deal stitched up quicker than you can say "ambushing a child-rape victim is ratings gold!"

No hard feelings Kyle - it's just that I'm a lot better than you.

Trust me I am a professional television viewer

Hello.

I think we need to talk. It's about television.

You see...you know that TV show you like?

Well, you see, you don't. Like it, that is. The fact is, I've been a bit embarrassed for you, seeing you go around saying you like it, when it's perfectly obvious to me, as a professional television watcher and opinion-monger, that in fact you don't like it at all.

How could you? After all, I have seen that show, and it's perfectly obvious that it's not funny/interesting/realistic/well-acted/well-written/morally acceptable to decent human beings. I knew it from the very first scene, and I had the honesty to admit it. I don't see why you can't show the same integrity. Why not just admit that you hate that show? Why do you persist with this charade that you like it?

I mean, you know it's not GOOD. You obviously know this, because it is objectively true, so why not admit it? Why keep watching it? It seems to me that watching a show, and raving about its quality, when in actual fact it's very bad, is kind of perverse. I cannot imagine why anyone would do it, but then non-professional people who are not professionals move in mysterious ways. As a critic it is often difficult to understand non-critics and their struggles to comprehend the obvious.

I mean, look: of course television is all a matter of taste. And that is exactly my point: now that I've told you what my taste is, why do you continue to fight it?

It's getting a little awkward to be around you, frankly, the way you keep pretending to like this show that you actually hate. I have to keep making excuses for you. It's almost a weird kind of insanity, really - a denial of reality, a lying to yourself.

Let's be frank - you've been tricked. It's all the slick marketing, the tabloid hype. It's the manipulative commercials and the hysterical PR that's conned you into acting like you enjoy this terrible show that in actual fact you can't stand. If only you could see how you've been deceived. I guess you do start with a handicap, in that unlike professional critics like me, you are essentially stupid. But that's not your fault. Well it is a bit, but not entirely. It's your parents' fault really.

All you need to do is be honest. Stop lying to yourself, have the courage to tell the truth about your likes and dislikes. That show you hate, admit you hate it, stop saying you love it. And stop pretending you like all that music in your CD collection, when you know full well it's awful and you can't stand it. And please, for the love of god, stop going to see films that you fervently do NOT wish to see. Why not see a film you WANT to see, for once? If you're unsure of which films you want to see, I can give you a list. But stop pretending those ones you DO go and see are films you want to go and see, when it's perfectly clear to everyone especially me that they're not. But look, it has to start with that awful show.

It's time to come clean about your tastes in entertainment, and finally admit that they're the right ones. Just open your mouth and set yourself free with those four simple, lovely little words: "I agree with you".

You'll be OK. I'm here to help.

Off the Planet

(NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS PURELY AND SIMPLY MY OWN OPINION. IF YOUR OPINION DIFFERS, GOOD LUCK TO YOU. LET A THOUSAND FLOWERS BLOOM ETC)

So as a professional television thingummy, what do I think of Ben Elton Live From Planet Earth?

Having missed the first episode because of urgent recreational demands, I tuned in to the second, having heard mostly terrible things. Not surprising things, mind: somehow, from everything I'd read, it just sounded like it wasn't quite going to work.

And so it came to pass.

Because gee, I mean, it's a bad show. Like, really bad. It's a show that has a strong feel of having been written by a TAFE scriptwriting class during their first-day workshop. It's so bad it makes Comedy Inc look...well, not good, but it makes me think about Comedy Inc, which is unforgivable.

I didn't get to the end - not, I should note, because I couldn't stand anymore, though it was a close-run thing, but because of a prior commitment that meant I had to leave - but presumably the show was pretty heavily back-ended with guests, since Tim Minchin and Fiona O'Loughlin hadn't been on yet. Canny move - had they been on in the first fifteen minutes I doubt anyone would have been watching by the half-hour mark.

Ben Elton apparently writes all the scripts for the sketches himself. I can only assume that with such a workload, he has resorted to writing scripts as follows:

Two people enter.

They talk in funny voices.

The end.

What we were served up was a succession of sketches on the following themes:

Doesn't Julia Gillard talk funny?

Don't teenagers talk funny?

Don't wealthy snobs talk funny?

And for a bit of variety: Isn't young people's music terribly hard to understand?

This is correct: comedy legend Ben Elton, the daring comic innovator of years past, now cannot summon forth any better than funny voices and the odd bit of half-hearted Grumpy Old Mannery.

It even permeates his stand-up - whining about Twitter in the manner of an OAP trying to program his VCR. The rest of his stand-up seemed to be fixated mainly on Shane Warne. Who, you know, has quite a lot of sex which is funny.

Not that the stand-up was THAT bad. Just...average. Which is what was to be expected because truth be told Elton's always been an average stand-up. To make a great show he needs to offer Elton the comedy writer at the peak of his skills. Which he has not.

"A little bit of satire," Elton informed us after the Gillard "King's Speech" sketch, which was nice of him, given there's no way we would have known otherwise. I certainly wouldn't have known it was satire, I would have thought it was a lame sketch about the prime minister's accent, mashed together with a sort-of-but-not-really movie parody written by someone who didn't actually know anything about the movie he was trying to parody, all creating the overwhelming impression that the entire production team had overslept and woken up five minutes before airtime with no idea what to do.

Following this was the sketch about teenagers talking funny, which was apparently predicated on the idea that Australian audiences felt that Kylie Mole left our screens too soon; and the one about some other people who also had comical voices and were no doubt making some scathingly satirical point.

Then there came the one with the R&B; singer singing about how hard her rapping partner was to understand, which was the point at which it became clear that Ben Elton Live From Planet Earth was aspiring to comedic heights rarely seen outside the world of the Year 8 talent show.

Good Lord but it was dire. Every joke had me wincing as it burrowed deep into my flesh before unfolding its iron barbs of badness. The tired unoriginality of each concept thumped dully in my skull, a suck-migraine of nauseating proportions.

I think it was a mistake for him to write it all himself. At the very least it was a mistake for him to channel Ian MacFadyen while doing so.

Then there was Elaine Front. I had heard she was the one bright spot in the first week, and after seeing her...I guess? Sort of? I mean she wasn't very funny, but I suppose she wasn't as UNfunny as everything around her. Basically Elaine Front is a sub-Norman Gunston stab at comedic celeb-interviewing, raising an occasional smirk and a constant musing on how much better Gunston, Pixie-Annne, Sacha Baron Cohen, Steven Colbert and any number of others do it. The twist with Elaine is that to be honest the celebrity is superfluous to her process - although the concept is Gunston, the execution is Edna Everage - essentially what the character does is talk about herself. In, of course, a funny voice. Ha ha.

So it's true, Elaine Front is the best thing about Live From Planet Earth. It is also true that if Elaine Front is the best thing about your show, you are in desperate, desperate trouble.

It's sad, but true. This is not The Young Ones. It's not Blackadder. It's not even The Thin Blue Line. Ben Elton is a mighty name in the annals of TV comedy. Every minute of Live From Planet Earth diminishes that name just a little bit. I tweeted while watching that it was like the day you realise you can beat up your dad. Oh well.

So anyway look, Live From Planet Earth is a dreadful show and it was a painful, painful time in my life that I spent watching it. But let's not dwell. Let's look back to happier times in the life of the energetic Mr Elton.

Official Minutes

Did you miss the return of Q&A; last night? I bet you're kicking yourself and thinking you'll feel really left out in conversations for the next week and nobody will be your friend and probably you will die.

No need! I was taking notes the whole time, and here present my official Q&A; Recap/Cheat Sheet For People Who Are Too Lazy and Ignorant to Watch the Show.




It went like this:

The show began with host Tony Jones, as usual, in the central panel position, a mooted move to a hovering cage above the set having been scrapped in pre-production. On his right sat Catherine Deveny, in between Graham Richardson and Gerard Henderson, or what political scientists call "the Corned-Beef Sandwich Formation". On Jones's left sat David Williamson and Amanda Vanstone, an estranged couple from Mount Gambier looking to rekindle the spark in their marriage.

The show began briskly enough, as Jones went around the panel asking each member in turn whether they were a climate scientist. Having established that, in fact, none of them were climate scientists, a hearty sigh of relief was emitted by all and the contestants shook hands politely in preparation for the coming hostilities.

The first question was asked by a thickset man in traditional Burmese dress, and was addressed to Graham "Graho" Richardson: "How often do you buy new underpants?" Richardson responded with a baleful glare and some graphic hand gestures, and the show was genuinely afoot!

The applause having died down, another audience member now stood to address a question to Amanda Vanstone. "Who is looking after your dog?" the young lady asked pointedly. Vanstone responded that Tim Fischer had promised to look in from time to time, which drew audible gasps from the rest of the panel. Vanstone immediately winced, as if realising her tactical blunder too late.

At this point Deveny leapt onto the ceiling and demonstrated her spider-walk, which was warmly appreciated by all.

Tony Jones himself asked the next question, in his guise as "Ol' Mother Standish". "How do you sleep at night?" he asked the panel at large, forcing each member to climb onto the desk and demonstrate their bedtime poses.

Following this came another question from the audience, this time posed by a small fawn in the front row, who asked whether anyone on the panel had considered the possibility that our main problem was that Australia was too wide in the middle? Vanstone responded that she had always wanted to cut some bits of the country off, whereupon Deveny leapt upon her and bit off her lips.

At this point Williamson thumped on the desk and announced he had written a play that everybody had to perform. Titled "Betrayal: A Farce", the play followed the adventures of Stanley, an inept yet loveable fieldmouse, who travels to the big city to visit his cousin Yvette, but on the way falls in with a gang of disreputable roughnecks who dub him "Prince Otto" and force him to perform peculiar favours for them. When he gets to the city, Stanley discovers Yvette murdered by pirates and his childhood home converted to a bikini carwash, where he gains employment and quickly dies.

Gerard Henderson is to play Stanley. The play only lasted five minutes, but still surprised with the frequency and volume of the obscenities uttered.

Following the play, the entire cast took their bows, and Henderson returned to his seat, where he sighed heavily and gazed mournfully at Deveny for the remainder of the programme.

The next question came from a super-intelligent hivemind who had come to the show as part of a group of Young Liberals. "Why not crack down on the Spaniards?" it suggested jauntily. To this, Vanstone responded with a vague shrug, Williamson with a lengthy dry retch, Richardson with a clever balloon animal trick, Deveny with an explanation of how a Van Der Graaf Generator works, and Henderson with a poignant declaration that he was "the saddest little bear in all the forest". At this point Jones broke in to admit that he, too, had often thought of cracking down on the Spaniards, but feared reprisals from the shadowy cabal of industrialists and master-criminals to whom he owed his broadcasting career. Seemingly in a candid mood, Jones then lit up a spliff and waxed eloquent on the question of "just what is it all about, y'know?" After several minutes Jones fell down behind the desk, never to emerge for the duration of the show.

Seeing her chance, Deveny then declared herself moderator, and demanded that Vanstone "shake what her mama gave her", to which suggestion Richardson reacted with a loud whooping sound and a sinister brandishing of electric clippers, the purpose of which he refused to divulge.

A brief, violent struggle between the opposite sides of the panel then ensued, before the heaving mass of punditry collided with the camera, causing the show to be replaced by a blank screen for several minutes. When transmission resumed, Henderson was alone in the studio, rubbing linseed oil into his abdomen and crying softly to himself.

Then there the credits.

Let Nothing You Dismay

Hello everyone from my holidays! I'm desperately trying to get some actual holidaying in this festive season, but it's always shameful to neglect one's blog for too long, and so I thought I would update with something that, in the spirit of the season, is both Christmassy and lazy.

Those of you read my Age column last weekend will be aware that it was on the subject of Christmas TV (no, it's not online yet and no I don't know when it will be). I contend that television is one of the essential parts of the Christmas season, lending a flavour and a mood to the holidays that really bring them alive. If you're anything like me you'll have many fond memories of sitting down in front of the Christmas favourites - specials, movies, whatever - in the lead-up to the big day. It's not Christmas without Christmas TV, and I therefore here present you with my Christmas message, in the form of my...

TOP 10 CHRISTMAS TV FAVOURITES

A CHRISTMAS STORY

In this reporter's opinion the king of Christmas movies - yes, even better than Die Hard. Beautifully capturing the insanity both of Christmas and childhood, and the innocent materialism of youth.



ELF

A close contender for the title claimed by A Christmas Story, probably only losing because it falls into the classic "adults don't believe in Santa Claus even though he's real" trap of complete illogic that most Santa movies do. But still the best Sante/Elf movie ever, one of the best fish-out-of-water movies ever, a prime showcase for Will Ferrell's demented man-child bit, and it has Zooey Deschanel. ZOOEY DESCHANEL.



THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

One of my fondest of childhood memories, and sadly one they don't seem to play anymore these days. The old Rankin Bass stop-motion classics were a staple of Christmas viewing in my youth - thank God for DVDs allowing me to keep the memory alive. This is the one with the Snow Miser and Heat Miser songs, and - wondrously - one of the very, very few movies or specials NOT to fall into the illogical trap mentioned above with Elf - in this one the grown-ups believe in Santa Claus, as well they should - because if Santa was real, parents would have to wonder where the presents were coming from...



SANTA CLAUS IS COMIN' TO TOWN

Yes, another from Rankin Bass, and another from the days when childhood dreams were narrated by Fred Astaire. In this one, Mickey Rooney stars in the origin story of Santa Claus. As a kid I was absoutely enchanted by the idea of learning Santa's secret history. It humanised him somehow. I'll stop with the Rankin Bass now, but it's also worth checking out Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman.



A MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL

There have been approximately 7 billion versions of A Christmas Carol produced over the years, but as is true with pretty much everything in life, the best version is with the Muppets. Another indisputable fact about life is that everything is better with Michael Caine, so this is kind of like the perfect storm.



SOME MOTHERS DO 'AVE 'EM CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Frank Spencer's Christmas holds a very special place in my heart for a particular reason: when I was a kid we used to have Psycho on VHS, taped off the TV, and at the end of it a Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em Christmas special was recorded. So if you watched Psycho, it would cut directly from the terrifying psychotic smirk of Norman Bates in his cell, to Frank Spencer in green tights playing the chief pixie in a department store. Unfortunately, I couldn't find that particular scene - which was from the 1975 special (there were three specials in 74, 75 and 78). But I found a really funny one from a different special - the Some Mothers specials were classics of the Britcom Christmas genre.



FUTURAMA: XMAS STORY

Futurama has had two marvellous Christmas specials too, revolving around Evil Robot Santa, which is, I think you'll agree, an unbelievably perfect conceptual confluence, and also he's voiced by John Goodman.



SIMPSONS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE

Of course I am in desperate, near-sexual love with just about everything the Simpsons has done, and although their Halloween eps overshadow their Christmas ones, they still do a good Christmas. Take your pick of the Christmas specials, but Christmas is a time for nostalgia, and Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire is not only 21 years old (!), and the first Simpsons Christmas ep, it's also the very first full-length Simpsons episode of all!



YOGI BEAR'S FIRST CHRISTMAS

Oh this is so bad. I mean, really, it's so incredibly bad. Did you watch this as a kid? Wasn't it bad? It's so great how bad it is.



And of course...

BLACKADDER'S CHRISTMAS CAROL

Blackadder reigns supreme. That is all.



What are your old Christmas favourites?

Merry Christmas best beloveds.

Break out the Raspberry Cordial!!!!

UPDATE!!!!! It'll be on at 8.30, NOT 7.30. Outrageous!

When engaging in our beautiful and exciting Anne Party (see last post) tomorrow night, why not add a bit of pep to proceedings by playing:

POBJIE'S OFFICIAL ANNE OF GREEN GABLES DRINKING GAME!

You can play this game with whatever beverage you like, although obviously it will lend the occasion a particularly delicious piquancy if you can get hold of some raspberry cordial or currant wine. Or, even better, if you can get your friend to drink some currant wine which they THINK is raspberry cordial. Or just spike the Pepsi with vodka, it'll have the same effect.

Anyway, here are the rules of the game:

- Every time Marilla says "hold your tongue", DRINK!

- Every time Rachel Lynde judges someone, DRINK!

- Every time Anne says, "bosom friend", DRINK!

- Every time Anne makes reference to her imagination, DRINK!

- Every time Matthew interferes in Marilla's parenting, DRINK!

- Every time Diana says, "Oh, Anne!" DRINK!

- Every time someone refers to the negative side of having red hair, DRINK!

- Every time Miss Stacy grins annoyingly, DRINK!

- Every time Gilbert gives Anne a cheekily flirtatious smile, DRINK!

- Every time Anne gives Gilbert a haughtily nasty look, DRINK!

- Every time Anne's temper gets the better of her, DRINK!

- Every time anyone says "Anne with an E", DRINK!

- Every time Matthew awkwardly struggles to find the right words, DRINK!

- Every time Marilla mentions God, DRINK!

- Every time Josie Pye brings everyone down, DRINK!

- Every time Anne reaches a new level of academic achievement, DRINK!

- Every time Anne wastes a chance to score with Gilbert, DRINK!

- Every time you wonder what Anne sees in Diana, DRINK!

And of course,

- Every time someone has a heart attack and dies, DRINK!

Happy drinking, Annelites!

"That West Coast Cooler should kick in any second now..."

Let's Get Organised, Avonleaps!

UPDATE!!!!! It'll be on at 8.30, NOT 7.30. Outrageous!

It has come to my attention that this Saturday, 4th December (TOMORROW! EEK! Do we have time????) at 7.30pm, Channel Seven will be screening seminal 1985 Canadian telemovie "Anne of Green Gables", also known as The Greatest Story Ever Told.

In celebration of this fact, I call on all men and women of goodwill to join together, cancel any frivolous, futile plans you might have had for that night, and sit yourselves down to watch this masterpiece in a spirit of community and togetherness. If you like, you can gather your friends around in a literal "Anne Party", but even if you're watching alone, you shan't be, for we shall be holding a VIRTUAL Anne Party, all of us, around the nation, watching together, feeling the spirit and the message of Anne, bound together by the bonds of bosom friendship and period romance just as surely as if we were in the same room. On that night we shall all be brothers and sisters in Anne. It will bring us closer together, and by Sunday morning we will all be better, kinder, gentler people for having watched it together.

Why not join the anticipation on Twitter? The Anne Party hashtag, it has been decreed, is #anneparty. Use it to engage in discussion before, during and after the broadcast, to inform about preparations for the Anne Party, and just to commune with like-minded souls.

See you there, Annelites!

The Time Has Come To Speak Of Important Matters

We have to talk about Junior Masterchef.

Why has it taken me so long to discuss this? Because I have only just awoken from the torpor into which I slumped upon the end of the finale, having collapsed to the floor in a great puddle of disgust, disappointment and pastry.

Because let me just say this:

11/10.

Let me repeat it:

11/10.

And again?

ELEVEN OUT OF GODDAMN FREAK-BUGGERING TEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me explain something to everyone involved with that travesty.

YOU CANNOT HAVE ELEVEN OUT OF TEN

I know this, because back in kindergarten we did a maths problem that went, how many numbers are there in ten? The answer was...TEN.

Then in first grade we learned another maths problem that went, what is one more than ten? The answer was...ELEVEN.

Get that, Junior Masterchef? ELEVEN is MORE than TEN.

MORE

MORE

MORE

In other words, "11/10" is not a score - it is a FREAKING DISGRACE.

Is this how it had to end, Junior Masterchef? After wowing us with how great these kids were at making wonderful dishes, after impressing us with their poise and skill, after dazzling us with their adorable enthusiasm and sincerity, this is what you serve up?

You tell us these kids are real talented chefs, you set us up to believe there is an actual competition going on, and then...

And then you bring it all crashing down around our ears with your 11/10s, with your 53/50 versus 50/50, making real all our worst fears: that it was all a sham, that it was never a real contest at all. You would go to any lengths necessary to manufacture false tension for that final challenge.

What I can't believe is how some people think that pressures of Junior Masterchef were too cruel for the kids. Good Lord, the show wasn't cruel enough! We managed to swallow our qualms about the ridiculously generous scores all series, but when you stoop to the depths of 11/10, we cannot stand any more.

There is NO SUCH THING as 11/10! It's a cheat, it's a fraud, it's a gold-plated five-star supernova of Go To Hell What Do You Take Us For?

Perhaps I can let Kate Miller-Heidke sum up my feelings at the Junior Masterchef finale:



My faith is shaken, Masterchef. You will need to work to restore it. You will need to reassure me that everything I see is not a cruel hoax, an attempt to play on my emotions and my love of vigorous competition in order to sell paper towels, while secretly all of you are laughing behind my back and punching numbers into a supercomputer to determine what mathematically impossible fraction is best-suited to creating a false impression of drama.

I guess what I'm saying, in essence, is: This would never have happened if you hadn't got rid of Zoe.

BRING BACK ZOE!

ZOE!

Coming Soon

Hey read this! It's by me and stuff, from the weekend's Age.

But having thought so much about the shows we miss, I began thinking about the future of TV, and the part I have to play in it. I happen to know that most of this country's television executives read this blog religiously (on their knees, hands clasped, etc), and so I thought I would pitch:

BEN POBJIE'S TOP TEN SUREFIRE SMASH-HIT TV SHOW CONCEPTS:

1. Gene Pool - the zany shenanigans of three single men called Gene living in the same apartment, as they compete for the affections of the sexy female lion-tamer across the hall.

2. Easter - Over the course of one fateful Easter weekend, seventy-three very different people meet, fall in love, fight and kill each other a bit. Also it is set on a space station.

3. Hangdog - Can a dog in the big city make it as a professional hangman? Find out as we follow the wacky escapades of Lester the Executioner Dog, who's trying to juggle a demanding career, the strange ways of the city, and a turbulent romantic life. Lester is not a talking dog and possesses no particularly high level of intelligence. This only makes it harder.

4. Apples and Oranges - What happens when a racist greengrocer is ordered by a mentally-ill magistrate to share a mansion for a year with a Vietnamese confectioner? Well let's find out!

5. The Slippery Slope - This year's reality smash hit, in which fifteen hopeful contestants are placed on top of a mountain without food, clothing or shelter. Each week the contestants vote out their least favourite mountain-mate, who is then hurled down the mountain. It's a battle of wits/hypothermia!

6. Buried - The Series - If you enjoyed the new Ryan Reynolds film "Buried", you'll love this small-screen spin-off, starring Saved By The Bell heart-throb Mario Lopez in the role of Paul Conroy, a bumbling contractor who can't seem to stop getting buried alive every week! Also starring Dirk Benedict as the mysterious "Mr Elf".

7. Between a Rock and a Hard Place - Another reality crowd-pleaser, in which 12 teams of eight find themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. The twist? The hard place is actually another rock!

8. Every Cloud - The hilarious adventures of a family of eight, indulging in wacky zaniness on an 1840s wagon train, where mom and dad find themselves completely out of touch with the younger generation and have to rely on Apax the robot butler to keep everything together!

9. Little Red Riding Hood - A cracking TV adaptation of the classic children's tale, with Red Riding Hood reimagined as a Mossad assassin, the wolf reimagined as a Somalian pirate lord, and Grandma reimagined as the United Nations Security Council. Throw in an alternative timeline in which the Boer War never happened and Nelson Mandela was born in Krakow, and you have a recipe for the wackiest five-minute stop-motion claymation show in years!

10. A Bird in the Hand - A harrowing in-depth look at the depraved world of professional ornithologists. Follow the lives, loves, lusts and hate-crimes of this twisted set of feather-fanciers as they wreak havoc on the mean streets of Hobart.

How Bad Is Too Bad?

And what I mean is, where is your threshold?

We all have breaking points in various areas. Friendship, for example. Most people are willing to maintain friendships with people with differing opinions, but there's always a point at which the friendship just has to end. This might be the point at which you discover your friend owns a Tony Abbott for PM t-shirt, for example; or the point at which you discover your friend is sexually aroused by Fran Drescher. But there's always a deal-breaker.

It's the same with TV. Anyone who loves TV loves at least one terrible show. And by the same token, there's always a show that is a bridge too far.

This occurred to me when watching a little show called Four Weddings. Perhaps you have seen it. If so, my condolences. I had been pretty sure it was going to be my deal-breaker before I even saw it, but out of a sense of duty to my loyal reader (hey that's you!) I sacrificed myself.

Oh my goodness, what a show it is. Here is how an episode of Four Weddings goes:

We open with Fifi Box, making a gallant bid for the world record for Most Unnecessary Host of a Television Programme, standing in the doorway of a church, quivering in that nervous way she always has due to her deep instinctual knowledge that she is in the wrong place, telling us the premise of the show in a manner that obviously an anonymous voice-over person could never do because the task is such a skilled one it requires a famous radio giggle-jockey and weathergirl with a solid record of garnering big votes in FHM's Sexiest Lists from men with peculiar fetishes and poor TV reception.

We then move on to the four brides, who take it in turns to tell us about their lives, and how they will be meaningless without a massive wedding and a free trip to Fiji. Fifi will then explain how each bride is spending between a year's salary and the budget of a small but prosperous Arab state on her wedding, and we meet the ladies' fiances, who are mostly mild, balding men who float about the place wearing a slightly dazed expression, as if they do not quite know how they got into this situation, but have no idea how to get out of it.

Then we move on to the weddings themselves. The weddings fall into four basic categories: Extravagant and Tacky; Cheap and Ugly; Weird and Embarrassing; and Not-Really-Exotic.

For example, on the first episode I watched, an Indian lady had a Not-Really Exotic Wedding, which was promised to us as a "Bollywood Spectacular", but turned out to be a woman in a white dress exchanging vows with a man in a tuxedo, before proceeding to a reception hall where non-Indian food was eatan and an African drummer entered the room for no apparent reason to bang on his drum for about three weeks.

For each wedding, the other three brides come along to judge the event in four categories: Dress, Ceremony, Reception and Food, or something. Each one will in turn tell the camera how disappointing all the others' weddings were and how much better their wedding was/will be. Having given their views on how bland and disgusting the food was, how dull and lifeless the reception was, how weird the ceremony was, and how the dress was ugly and made the bride look like a dumpy toilet doll, they then give scores in each category. The scores will reflect both the brides' desire to make it clear just how much better they are than everyone else, and their essential failure as human beings

During all this, Fifi Box's voice-over, which costs about eighteen times as much as a voice-over from someone who could not possibly be worse, breaks periodically in to make observations that I think are supposed to be wry and witty but are actually just meaningless strings of words shoehorned into the show to assuage the typical TV producer's terror of putting anything on air that doesn't have at least five minutes of complete vapidness from a minor celebrity.

After the scores are tallied, the brides wait outside a house for a limousine, which pulls up and disgorges one of the grooms, the other three having been taken into the woods and shot. Whoever's husband emerges is the winner, and the happy couple are jetting off to Fiji, the Pacific's partyingest military dictatorship, for a dream honeymoon that only a fairly small amount of money can buy. The happy winners will then express their euphoria, given they could never have afforded such a wonderful honeymoon themselves.

Yes! They really say this! One couple said this, right after SPENDING FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS ON THEIR WEDDING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's right, Four Weddings is a show about people who will happily spend enough money to rent a Tuscan villa for a month or sail down the Nile, in order to win the prize of a trip to Fiji which they could have bought themselves just by getting a slightly cheaper brand of napkin for their reception.

In other words, it is an insane show about horrible women for whom no price is too high to get their faces on TV, for whom the rest of humanity exists only to service their desire to demonstrate the extent of their vulgarity to the world, and who are filled with such a loathing for their fellow women that one assumes the reason Fifi Box never actually appears in the same place as the contestants is that they'd probably strangle her for wearing nicer shoes than them

So...it's pretty bad. I may watch it again due to my basic masochism, but it's pretty close to my deal-breaker.

What's yours? Is it Four Weddings? Is it Australia's Next Top Model which, the hilarity of Murdochgate notwithstanding, forces you to hurl rocks at the screen in anger every time Alex Perry squints his beady little eyes at a lovely young girl as she towers above him in mentally-deranged shoes and tells her she's too short and fat for his liking?

Or are you one of those who will watch pretty much anything, even Random Breath Testing, and whose pressure point has only ever been triggered four hours into Hot Dogs' Up Late Game Show (clip below, for those of you who've forgotten how much you loved it)?

Or are you at the other end of the spectrum, who has taken a strict monastic vow to watch absolutely nothing except shows rated "Mad Men or Higher"?

How bad is too bad? Let me know.

The More You Learn

So my first A2 column was up on Saturday. If you're in Melbourne or near a cosmopolitan newsagent, or even managed to find it online, hope you read it, and hope even more you enjoyed it.

Writing the column has, quite naturally, led to much thinking on the topic of TV. It's often said that TV is somehow a "deadening" medium, that watching it turns one into a zombie, staring blankly at the screen.

I defy this assertion. Nothing rouses the passions like TV. Nothing stirs the emotions like one's favourite show. No medium is its master in terms of provoking furious debates, declarations and defences. Standing up for the show you love, and lambasting the show you hate, put the lie to the "TV as neural deadener" interpretation.

I myself am passionate not only about the undeniable quality of the shows I like, and by extension the undeniable quality of my good taste, and not only about the undeniable awfulness of the shows I won't watch, and by extension the etc etc, but also about avoiding a certain kind of like-minded fan.

Because possibly the worst thing about being a TV fan is the other fans who claim to love the same show you do, but who are so bafflingly wrongheaded about them, so ignorant of basic facts, and so mind-bogglingly misguided about the motivations of characters and meanings of plotlines, that they drive you into a rope-chewing frenzy every time you log into their forum. A fellow fan with different views is far worse than a hater. Sometimes.

But really, the point is, television is an artform with just as much potential for provoking intense love, hatred and all emotions in between as any other. Although it is important to remember that when you and I disagree about the quality of a show, it is all just a matter of purely subjective opinion.

And your subjective opinion is wrong.

That said, here's a slice of my new possibly-regular blog segment, Thursday Classics:

The Power!

In the latest development in my efforts to a) take over the world, and b) make sarcastic comments about Rebecca Gibney, I am pleased to inform you I have taken on a new job. As of this Saturday, 18th September, I am the new television writer for the A2 section of Melbourne's Age.

This means that every Saturday from now on I will be writing poignant and heartwarming treatises on issues of import to lovers of the medium, and probably some stuff about Kim Kardashian too. I do hope you will grace my column with your eyeballs. I'll do my best to make it worth your while.

It is a shame though, that just as I receive such wonderful TV-related news, I also hear some equally distressing news in the same area. A moment's silence please, for beloved Golden Girls boyfriend and Mel Brooks villain Harold Gould, and for beloved bumbling Gestapo henchman and occasional Ripping Yarns South American John Louis Mansi. Goodbye Miles, von Smallhausen; well done, good and faithful servants.

OK

So climate change denialists aren't the only stunningly stupid people out there. There are also those who read humour columns. I mean, not all of them, but some.

Check out my latest, here. It's not the worst example of the "I don't get it, and I shall now prove it beyond doubt" genre, but there are a couple of prize pigs in there.

"mocking of women taking non-traditional roles". Sigh. Yes, yes, of course.