For the last couple of nights I have had the great misfortune to see Tallafornian TV in action.
To this of you who have missed this great pleasure, they call themselves TV3 and are Ireland’s independent TV station.
A major chunk of them is owned by Granada, who in turn produce a lot of the popular ITV programs. So TV3 just run a simultaneous broadcast of the highly rated ones. This is a bit pointless as most people can receive ITV anyway. In between the ITV programs, they show the worst outcasts of American television.
Their presenters are the only thing going for them. The presenters are so appallingly bad that they are compulsive viewing. The male presenters all look like blokes who have failed their accountancy exams, and the female ones all look like they got bored with being hairdressers and decided to become TV presenters instead. And then there is Martin King.
Martin King is their Weather Anchor [or Wanker, for short]. He is like Pinocchio on steroids. He looks like he is constantly bursting for a pee. He never stands still, and never shuts up. He dances around waving at his fancy graphics, and when he has thoroughly confused us all, he goes on to show us photographs that people have sent in. And when he has finished that, he starts handing out birthday greetings. Yes. This is the weather forecast I’m talking about. Martin King is the ultimate in car-crash television.
Last night, I had the great misfortune to see Vincent Browne in action. Vincent Brown is a good newspaper reporter. He is also a good panelist. He is a shite interviewer. He looked bored, or hungover, or both. He constantly interrupted everyone. He tried to interview Father Brian D’Arcy. I don’t particularly like D’Arcy, but his heart is in the right place. But Brown treated him appallingly. I actually got the impression that there was a hidden agenda there and that Browne was trying to belittle him. Brown actually made fun of him which is not the job of an interviewer.
And then there are the advertisements. These are the cheapest, nastiest ones out. You know the type – dial such and such for ring-tones for your mobile, or dial this number to meet the girl of your dreams. They all seem to be for premium dial up numbers [Irish Psychics Live, for fuck’s sake!]. And the ad breaks are up to American standards. They barely squeeze the programs in between.
So what is the point of TV3? Its programs are crap. Its presenters are crap. It’s all ads anyway. They haven’t even got the hang of wide-screen television yet. Are they in cahoots with the Catholic Church and we get a Plenary Indulgence for watching?
I’m going to get that remote control back tonight even if I have to kill Herself to do it.
And now, I’ll leave you with the weather forecast.