Very little fills me with as much anger, horror and dismay as BBC1′s Celebrity Masterchef. In a single-handed bid to dilute the concept of ‘celebrity’ to yet further inconsequence, this week’s stars Lisa Faulkner, Dick Strawbridge, Christine Hamilton and Neil Stuke (no idea…) made some shepard’s pie for some builders who were building something. A fairly innocuous event one would have thought, maybe of some mild entertainment value for those in their autumn years. However, there must have been a typo to end all typos in the notes for the post-production crew, as they seemed to think we needed the sort of soundtrack and editing speed that would otherwise accompany Christ’s return to earth to do battle with the four horsemen of the apocalypse backed up by the titans against the backdrop of ten super-massive supernovae, just as the sprits of Valhalla arise and jump on Vishnu. Zooming camera shots dashed, strident orchestral pieces flared and shrieked as media whore Hamilton plopped more shepard’s pie on a builder’s plate. The deafening cacophony then waned for one perfect moment, awaiting said builder to conjure a mighty synopsis of the world anew-ing meal he’s just consumed: “Yeah, nice.” Then, the crescendo peaked as the two moderately creepy hosts, whose combined shtick consists mostly of them both being very, very serious about food, whilst also repeating the word “food” and words “plate of food” until they almost lose all meaning, gather the superstar contestants to announce the next chronicle of this epoch defining saga. “Next week you’ll be cooking for…” a heavily pregnant silence engulfs the contestants. Lisa Faulkner is shaking with anticipation, a sweaty Hamilton is staring wide eyed – half in fear, half in flirtation. The gravity of the situation hits as the host’s pause stretches to an eon. Who could be this mystery person deserving of such reverence? The Dalai Lama? A reanimated Albert 
Einstein? St John the Baptist? “Dame Kelly Holmes…” I think my arse has just fallen off in shock. Meanwhile, 101 Ways to Leave a Game Show should be renamed 101 Ways to Undeservedly Eke Drama Out Of Mild Public Embarrassment. Like a hybrid between Fear Factor, Total Wipeout and the Lottery Quiz, this new BBC primetime game show is as charm free as it is gormless. Fronted by ex-T4 himbo Steve Jones, the show basically consists of five interesting seconds of footage showing contestants being humiliated in various ways and 59 minutes 55 seconds of mind destroying filler. Jones’ slightly surreal laddish humour was tolerable as he introduced friends on T4 during the holidays, but in 101 Ways he’s got time to fill and boring situations to make exciting. Being cynical and disinterested won’t cut it on primetime, and Steve is like a fish out of water, put into a pan, covered in oil and starting to flake. But Steve is the last of this show’s worries. What they should be more concerned with is the public defenestrating their TVs and ripping up their license agreements in a spitting rage of traumatic frustration due to the show’s sloth-like pace. First we have to wait for the almost nonsensical question round to conclude before some preview footage showing what will happen to one of the contestants, mostly involving them being pushed, punched or catapulted into a swimming pool. This is followed by a long wait to find out who got the question wrong in a drawn out process of elimination thing, then more preview footage. Each saved contestant is then announced after a slow countdown from ten with another long pause at the end – followed by more preview footage. Then we have a post-saved interview (in black and white for some reason), before the next countdown from 10, eventually… eventually leading to the village idiot being singled out, before another extended countdown and eventually… eventually the actual footage of said idiot falling into the swimming pool. The sequence is then repeated several times until most of the contestants are eliminated, by which time you’re trying to climb into the pictures on your walls in a bid for escape. I’d rather file down my own face than watch 
this tortuous mush again. Lastly, Pete Versus Life is Channel 4′s new British comedy hope and, two episodes in, this blokey muddle of a show is strangely enjoyable despite some potentially fatal flaws. Firstly a lot of the camera work feels very claustrophobic. This cramped style worked well for Peep Show, mostly because you were viewing from the character’s perspective, but here it feels a little uncomfortable, making it difficult to settle into the show. Secondly, the script is very laddish and full of sports references, which isn’t a major problem – if anything it’s refreshing to see a male show with heart on sleeve – but the two male writers, Bert Tyler-Moore and George Jeffries, are content to focus only on beer, sex, sport, one-upmanship, and social awkwardness. I’m not saying these things don’t take up a lot of male headspace but we’re a bit more complex than that… aren’t we? Anyway, the main problem is a very underdeveloped lead character. As likeable as Rafe Spall’s portrayal of Pete is, the character is unusually one dimensional for a sitcom lead character. He does some funny things, but it’s never clear exactly why. Is he moral or immoral? Why is he so socially awkward? Why should I care about him? The show would do well to answer some of these questions and draw us in to the character as opposed to leaving him as the mildly amiable mannequin that awkward things happen to. Having said all that, the use of sports commentary on Pete’s various follies, although an old idea, is often capable of generating a guilty belly laugh. Damn you, male brain… More next week, Delivisioneers!
