Winona Ryder once said: “Dear diary, my teen angst bullshit now has a body count,” clearly she was watching Skins where, in the opening three episodes of the season, two people have been brutally butchered from the cast list. We haven’t seen one funeral.
In fact the closest we come to Richard Curtis territory is a seaside elegy and mere reference to a wedding. Obviously this is too inherently British for the residents of Bristol who are more content to wallow.
It’s all getting totes emosh up in here which is no doubt why the writers this week introduced us all to a new plucky character to reconfigure the group dynamic. He’s gay too, so that not-graphic-enough-sex-scene ticks another demographic box for the youth enveloping programme.
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It’s a brand new week, scum buckets, and to start the downward decline is a brand spanking new episode of Skins and boy oh boy is it miserable this time around! Are you lucky?
First, let’s get real for a moment folks. This is the second episode, so they have to bring out the big guns now that everyone’s back in boring old Bristol and not some country that bristles with sexual heat, so of course, the writers needed to make an episode that tackles the burning issues—as long as something is hotter than fire we’re all happy right?
Of course there were parties and of course there was sex there was even some minimal drug use, but who isn’t rocking a casual line of coke these days. Where was the hard liquor though? We all remember the days when a bottle of vodka lasted for one quick swig, but now it seems everything’s a little too melancholy for anything stronger than a can of lager. It’s so down in the dumps this week that Phil Collins made the soundtrack when not even rain was in the air. These writers need to get their shit together and go on a rollercoaster or something.
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And-roid Warhol. A psychedelic treehouse. A tank made of cheese. If there were any words we could employ to try and sway you into watching Noel Fielding’s newest “offering”, it would be these.
They show us many, many things. That Noel Fielding is sticking to his tried and tested roots of clashing the realistic with the absurd, with brain warping determination. That he clearly takes himself either far too seriously, or not serious enough. And that there clearly isn’t such a thing as flogging a dead equine.
We all liked The Mighty Boosh, that was unashamedly brilliant [No we didn't. Some of us hated it and everyone who watched it. Ed]. Everything from the ground to The Moon was dead-on: keep things simple and fun and show everyone why Caroline Quentin probably shouldn’t be in a mismatched family unit. The mixture of boring situations clashing with fantastical characters kept us coming back for more. But Luxury Comedy seems trite and, slightly forced. Watch. Watch us how we’re magically become Noel Fielding.
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Before we even start talking about the first episode of the new season of Skins can we just discuss the opening titles for a second? As per usual they are the best thing about the show, but they’re also artistic to the point of idiocy.
Why anybody would put an opening sequence so shiny and clearly full of effort onto this absolute shambles of youth television is beyond us. They make you think you might be watching something with vague pretensions of quality instead of a braying collection of ingrate arseholes.
Apparently the writers thought that ‘Racism’ might be a good theme to adopt this year and so the girls colour code each other and add the suffix ‘bitch’ to the end of all terms of endearment, for example: “Hey black bitch, hey white bitch.” It’s like a novelty smack-talking chess set. They all seem to be much more fulfilled in themselves though so it’s clearly worth trying in your own life. Skins after all does come across as a manual for good, clean, wholesome living.
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If you’re under the age of 22 then you will be familiar with the Daily Mail’s nemesis; common sense. Whoops! That should read Skins. If you’re living like the characters in the show, then you’re probably dead and we offer our sincerest sympathies; we died around the same time as Tony who was paralysed by youthful happiness and, you know, a bus.
If you’re lucky enough to be a child now, then we can blame you for the continued success of what is shaping up to be a life affirming/sucking programme.
Either way you will all be suitably disappointed to find out that a new series is going to be cuming (see what we did there?) to E4 on Monday. There are mere days to prepare yourself. Here in the ‘spray bedsit we like to think of Skins as a disease and as you know, with diseases, you must inoculate yourself with small doses to become immune. Based on that logic and no small amount of self-loathing we subjected, or watched, the two ‘webisodes’ on that thing some of you are calling The Internet. It’s a sharp learning curve for us all.
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When E4 had eventually grown tired of showing endless repeats of Friends and Scrubs, the channel eventually spat out its own unique programming, aimed at the sort of person that hecklerspray writers aren’t; the young, the cool, the hip and the trendy. Arseholes, basically.
On one end of the spectrum, there was Skins, a programme which captured everyone’s dream college lifestyle, in a show which frequently used drugs, booze and sex, but portrayed them in the most extreme way to great effect.
Skins was escapism for most whilst The Inbetweeners offered a firmer dose of reality, especially for hormonal teenage boys. These are the sort of people who couldn’t quite make that move from fingering a girl to using an empty packet of Space Raiders as a makeshift condom when that first awkward sexual experience arrived.
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Hey! Adults! Like watching children’s programmes filled with hideous, soul-sapping, nine million part harmonies, systematically destroying all those pop songs you love? Then, chances are, you like watching Glee and consider yourself to be a member of the corporate-designed clan of The Gleek.
Well, for people like us who like laughing at people like you, we’ve got some wonderful news! Glee is no longer going to be on your television.
That’s right, Glee won’t be shown on E4 after parent company Channel 4 decided to walk away from negotiations for the forthcoming series, leaving the show to Do A Richard & Judy. That basically means that it’ll slope off toward the blank chequebook of Sky, watched on television by a scant handful of people, leaving those who can really be bothered to stream it illegally online. Essentially, the show is about to die, which is brilliant news.
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This may come as a shock to people used to the gritty realism of documentaries like Eastenders, Coronation Street, and Strictly Come Dancing - but it’s pretty much all smoke and mirrors. Even the bits that look really real, like the copious twirling. It’s all staged and you’re being played like a fiddle.
There’s a show that’s two episodes in, called Made in Chelsea. It’s basically The Only Way is Essex but with more-abrasive accents and less fake tan. The show centres around the entirely contrived lives of a group of people we’re no longer convinced even know each other.
Let’s start at the beginning – the show follows wealthy 20-somethings as they walk around Chelsea in circles, occasionally making passive-aggressive remarks toward each other. Producers fill any awkward gaps with scenery or shots of the cast wishing they were somewhere else. An hour long show contains about 30 minutes of the cast, mouths agape and struggling to find some witty put down for the asshole who crossed their paths while wearing Topshop.
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