When it comes to television, I am the first to admit that I am hopelessly addicted. Rarely a day goes by when I don’t tune in for at least an hour, and catch-up sessions on 4od and iPlayer have become less of a relaxing pastime, and more a stringently regulated exercise, whereby I have to summon the kind of focus and dedication to the task that I could have only dreamed of during revision for my finals at uni, just to make sure I am up-to-date with every trashy sitcom that happens to be in the midst of a series.
I have always been this way. Obviously, prior to the conception of internet fast enough to support catch-up services (i.e. in the days of dial-up), I was only able to cement my relationship with television in regimented time-periods: before and after school. Unless of course it was a saturday morning; the delicious slice of freedom in a week of classroom entrapment, whereby my sister and I would wake up at 7am sharp, charge downstairs still swaddled in our duvets, and begin a morning’s worth of slobbing in front of multiple, strangely conceptualised cartoons. I owe a lot to television. As much as I am sure it will elicit nothing but negative judgement from anybody who goes jogging, eats aduki beans or claims they don’t own a TV (this is ALWAYS a lie), I honestly do believe that I can attribute a large portion of my current assets to my childhood viewing habits. I owe much of my creativity to shows like Smart and Blue Peter, my love of animals to The Really Wild Show and Pet Rescue, my streetsmarts to pre-teen dramas like Grange Hill and Biker Grove, ability to work in a team to 50/50 and Jungle Run, and the sheer number of things I am able to make with a tea-bag to Neil Buchanan and his hugely unsettling, northern stone-head friend (who I am waiting to hear has been arrested as part of operation Yew Tree) on Art Attack.
Now that I’m all grown up, my taste in television shows has matured slightly. Slightly. (I still watch Art Attack repeats sometimes on YouTube when I’m stuck for what to make with my implausible amounts of pipe cleaners, bendy straws and poster paint.) Far from the channel-hopping heydays of childhood, I have now nailed my colours very firmly to the mast of Channel 4. Channel 4 is everything that I value and hold dear in the form of a television station. It pushes the boundaries of what is considered acceptable, challenges preconceptions and is always striving to maintain its edge. You only have to look at the truly incredible sartorial prowess of John Snow’s sock-and-tie matching skills on 4 News to know you are tuned into something good.
Whilst Channel 4 runs amok, introducing crazy concepts and avant-garde ideas, the BBC looks on in its suit and tie, disapproving and exasperated, ITV heads off to the local beauty parlour for a vajazzle, and Channel 5 curls up under an old coat for another night on the streets. Over the years, 4 has brought us some truly incredible insights into the modern human condition, mainly in the form of the documentary. At this point, I will admit that Channel 4 does have one devastating flaw in its documentary producing process, namely that it constantly creates moving, heartwarming, enlightening, eye-opening programmes, and then packages them up in trashy, cheap, badly-punned branding. For instance, the recent hit show which offered an unequalled window into the cultures and histories of an entire British minority, in a candid and heartfelt manner, was branded as ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. And a show depicting the truly touching cultural education of two girls, one having welcomed the other into her home on the other side of the Atlantic – ‘My Crazy New Jamaican Life’.
And yes, in amongst the incredible documentaries, incredible documentaries with terrible titles, innovative game-shows, edgy news-reports and ingeniously written sitcoms, there are some undeniable failures on the channel 4 programme back-catalogue. The most notable of these in recent times is the bizarre ‘Sex Box’, whereby couples in relationships have sex in a box in front of a live audience, and proceed to then discuss their erotic experiences with a panel of experts. There is simply no way that even channel 4 could make a success of such a concept. But, with more resilience than the manager of the Sugababes, the producers learn from such misjudgements, and soldier on with their never-ending crusade to push televisual boundaries across new horizons.
Recently however, I believe that Channel 4 have truly outdone themselves in the production of one particular documentary. Now in its second series, this programme is nothing more than a simply perfect, distilled portrait of modern, British life; the ornate frame around transitional emotional states and human relationships. This show is (potentially another of the badly-branded casualties) Gogglebox. The concept underpinning Gogglebox is simple: to film ordinary families watching popular television shows throughout the week. Television within television… ground-breaking, in a sort of Inception, Matrix, brain-in-a-vat kind of way.
However simple the concept, for me the result couldn’t be a more complex montage of family relations, political disagreements, hilarious cynicism and tear-inducing compassion. Week after week I look on as the selected participants watch the most influential television shows of the moment, and such pressing issues as housing prices, discussed by none other than David Cameron and Andrew Marr are rendered trivial and laughable in light of their comments. I laugh with more vigour than I do at many comedy panel shows at their family conversations.
And I weep along with the on-screen viewers, as they react to the most poignant aspects of human life on television at the moment, most notably in the current series the litres of tears that were shed as the families watched Musharaf, a young pupil on ‘Educating Yorkshire’ (another Channel 4 triumph) overcoming his debilitating stammer in a speech at his end of year assembly.
In an age where we are frowned upon for our television habits, and encouraged to do all we can to reduce the amount of hours we watch a day, I think it is important to remember that television is not simply a microwave with a picture, sitting in the corners of our living rooms and slowly sauté-ing our brain cells with its poisonous emissions. It is not a two-dimensional object, in front of which we vegetate our way deeper and deeper into the voluptuous depths of the sofa. It is in fact, when used properly, a manner in which we can all connect to each other. The viewers on Gogglebox rarely sit still for a minute without discussing aspects of the shows they are watching amongst themselves, without engaging with the characters/contestants/presenters on a personal level, without laughing, crying, singing and dancing. Television is important, because it brings people together. It provides a common ground from which friendships can grow. It can provide us not just with informative education, on a simply unfathomable array of subjects (most importantly how to use tea-bags in art pieces), but it also offers us an emotional education, demanding reactions, opinions and responses. It is a beacon of communication and humanity in a sometimes bleak and isolating reality. We need television, because we need to be connected to each other.
And if the above sounds horribly like overblown, idealistic, hyperbolic wafflings, just watch an episode of Gogglebox. You’ll see what I mean.