Wednesday, June 09, 2010

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: Big Brother 11 Launch

The ad that's been trailing the eleventh and final series of Big Brother is oddly poetic. While it begins life as morose, mournful and respectful, it soon turns into a brash, colourful, noisy carnival affair, which has sort of become most people's thoughts on the end of the one-time reality groundbreaker. A nation of reality addicts seem to be glad to see it go. And while we'd sworn blind to avoid at least one series, we figure the last ever outing might as well get a fair go. So thank you for joining us this evening for this... um... momentous occasion, and keep hitting refresh for updates.

And so it begins. Or ends, depending on your general half empty/half full take on proceedings. Davina's flanked by no less than 80 hopefuls, who'll be somehow whittled down to a final 13 housemates. We say final, but let's face it, they'll chuck in another dozen throughout the series.

We're treated to a selection of highlights from previous seasons, including Nikki Grahame screaming, Caggy cackling, Fight Night, Grace Adams-Short being an UTTER CUNT, Brian Dowling's half-shorn head, and Alison breaking a table. Doesn't sound like much on paper, but there's truly been some proper entertainment in that headfuck of a house.

These launch night twists never end well, do they? It saw the premature evictions of potentially-awesome Bonneh, Anouska and Beinazir, and presented us with jokes as unfunny as Noirin's permanent marker spectacles, or the Halfwit/Dogface renaming train wreck. Reckon this'll provide similarly disastrous results?

And Davina's going in for a tour. How about they just lock the door and leave her in there on her own for the summer?

Davina sits on the winged Diary Room chair and asks if it makes her look like an eagle. No love, your massive beaky schnozz makes you look like an eagle.

And THE TREE OF TEMPTATION IS BACK!!!!! The greatest thing about the last series of Celebrity Big Brother - aside from Stephanie Beacham - has made a comeback in the form of a chest of drawers. This will be THE STUFF, I tells ya.

And we have our first housemate. Josie, a farmgirl with a comedy Westcountry accent, seems likeable enough. Her anecdote of choice is a tale about accidentally guzzling petrol. Pretty grim stuff, of course, but she's charming enough to make it quite the megalolz-fest. However, her entrance shows her to be a squeeing bimbo rather than a female Russell Howard. Sadface.

By contrast, the second housemate is Steve, a former soldier who lost both legs and one eye to a bomb. He now works with injured soldiers. Winning material much?

Are the ad breaks always this long? Christ, I could be watching Junior Apprentice instead.

A hideous fop in the vein of Rex Newmark and Com-PRON-dez Tim is the third victim, and we've entirely missed his name. Surely it's Barnaby Huffington-Smythe? Let's call him that anyway. Barnaby's hair is fucking atrocious.

Oh, he's called Ben. Must be short for Barnaby.

Davina's back outside whipping the gathered morons into a frenzy over precisely nothing. Who goes along to these things? Seriously? Why trek all the way to Elstree just too boo complete strangers? It's like The Jeremy Kyle Show: The Live Tour.

The fourth housemate is Rachael, a supposed Beyonce lookalike, but she's closer to Shaniece out of Miss Frank in all honesty. Mind you, that's probably not much of a money-spinner. Vanity aside, she seems alright.

Nathan is the fifth offering, a laddish joiner with a serious affliction of oldface. Suddenly that random mention of The Jeremy Kyle Show feels all the more appropriate.

As Davina counts down the line-up so far, it's difficult to see any of the current housemates as anything new. Dizzy blonde; working-class Jack-the-Lad; diva; man with disability who other housemates will be afraid to argue with in case it's viewed as prejudice; and the aforementioned entitled Etonian. Expect the next clutch of housemates to be a shrieking, unbearable queen; a WAG-in-training; a middle-aged loner; and half a dozen promo girls.

And we have our middle-aged loner! Well, a 39-year-old Christian minister, anyway. Dave is a raver-turned-preacher who, in fairness, seems bearable enough. Or as bearable as a man can be when he's come in dressed in monk's robes and has hair like Saffron from Republica.

As the camera pans the hopefuls, it's hard not to notice the massive pink goth who looks like Dr Robotnik. Sadly, it stops on Katy-Perry-esque-pretend-bisexual Caoimhe, who'll follow Aisleyne and Orlaith in making the good people of Britain scratch their heads at the concept of Gaelic spelling. Sadly for her, the SMS vote no longer exists, meaning she can't rely on misspelt eviction texts to keep her in by default.

And we have our bitchy queen! Govan minces his way through his VT and into the house, where he'll inevitably piss off his contemporaries. Perhaps sooner rather than later - we're guessing Toff Ben will feel somewhat plagiarised that Govan Zachariah-Hinds has a posher name than him. Frankly, it's his own fault for not being called Barnaby Huffington-Smythe.

Davina makes a joke about housemates entering Big Brother's ring. Yeah, LOL and that. Idiot.

The next housemate seems to be an 8-year-old boy who works as a chimney-sweep, and whose name sounds like Shappi Khorsandi. But sadly, it's a gobby lesbian filmmaker named Shabby. Her entrance alone channels the attention-seeking falseness of Pete Bennett and the gruff snarkiness of Kitten. This does not make for an appealing mix.

Hold up - that's not Ife from DanceX, is it?

It is! It's bloody Ife from DanceX! Christ, that show was fucking atrocious. If we have to have someone from that gory home-abortion of a talent show, couldn't we at least have Rana? Still, at least it's not Phoenix.

Davina makes a pianist/penis joke. HA HA HA HA. Mong.

What the frickin' Holy Zippy kind of backwards name is John-James? Double-barrelled names are all well and good, but John-James does NOT work. Not like Huffington-Smythe works. It turns out he once changed his name to Achilles, so there's still hope for Ben/Barnaby. John-James is Australian, and thinks he looks like David Beckham. Did he discover this amidst that ash storm in Sydney where people couldn't see past their own nose?

The next housemate is Sunshine Martin, who is apparently the currently-unborn child of Chris 'n' Gwyneth and has travelled back in time to take part in the final Big Brother. She's a vapid socialite who's also training to be a doctor. Jesus, if I ever end up on the operating table and that loon is stood above me with a scalpel, someone PLEASE set off the fire alarm and get me the hell out of there. I'd end up with rhinestones studding my oesophagus.

Corin is a day-glo orange Katie-Price-a-like who ticks the Wannabe WAG box with a glittery pink lipstick. However, her VT is completely overshadowed by the open mic of Davina, who's narking at someone called Cheryl about needing a tissue. Professional stuff, this.

Ooooooh, a twist! As if the main twist itself wasn't enough. Each remaining would-be housemate has their name placed in a tombola, which gives Davina an opportunity to make a 'balls' joke. OH MY SIDES. The spazoid. This is a similar process to that used in the Great Kit Kat Golden Ticket Debacle of Big Brother 7, which gave us Susie and, by extension, the worst implants in the history of plastic surgery.

This time round, however, it's given us someone called Mario. There's nowt remarkable about him, so it bodes well that he's been given an 'impossible task'. Mario will be a mole, performing a number of unpleasant deeds for Big Brother. However, Mario himself doesn't know this, given that HE CANNOT READ. Seriously, dude, there's audio AND massive three-foot letters on the screen behind you. What exactly are you squinting at?

Right... Mario the Mole has been given a mole outfit, a sign stating he is a mole, and will be sleeping in his very own mole-hole. And the housemates are expected to think he's just one of them? Are they really that stupid?

Inevitably, the housemates are asking questions about Mario's mole attire, and he seems to be swatting them away fairly well. Maybe they are, in fact, THAT stupid. Wow. Stupid housemates in the hands of equally-stupid producers will inevitably result in a death within the first fortnight. But whose? YOU decide! Not really. But wouldn't that be one hell of a public vote?

And that brings launch night to a close. It's not been the most remarkable of openings, but it could be an interesting mix. Not an original mix, you understand, but interesting. Whether the series can hold the nation's attention amidst the World Cup, the impressive summer we've been promised, or the ongoing trauma that comes from listening to Davina McCall's voice remains to be seen, but in honouring the phenomenon as it writes its own epitaph, we'll give it a go. Gawd bless you for joining us this evening, and the rest of you, don't go spoiling the Junior Apprentice result til we've caught up. You WILL be annihilated.

1 comment:

Flo said...

I'd go to see a Jeremy Kyle Live Tour - if only for the intellectual stimulation and the fitties that would no doubt take part. Didn't watch tonight's BB but after reading your blog I feel like I was there - many thanks for enabling me to not feel like a social outcast at work without actually having to watch the damn thing.

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