Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. And the first rule of celebrity TV stardom is: you talk about it as much as you can. In fact, you go overboard. You spill the beans everywhere you go. Actually, let's go one better. You grow your own beans (it's to do with being green and all that), you carry them around in your pockets and then you spill them: on the tube, at your parents' Sunday roast when the whole family is present, in Trafalgar Square and of course, on the telly.

Modern polity has taken the renowned Warholian maxim of being famous for fifteen minutes and revamped it for the 21st century: nowadays everyone will be famous through fifteen people. And sometimes fewer.

If not, have a look at the current batch of reality TV celebrities and their contribution to society. Katie Price, aka Jordan and Page 3 model, famously bedded Gareth Gates, a former contestant on Pop Idol, a few years ago and then eloped with Peter Andre - apparently he releases the odd album every now and then - after the two of them met whilst taking part in "I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!". The couple split up last May only for Jordan to start dating cage-fighter Alex Reid shortly after, whilst Pete, allegedly, began a romance with ex-Big Brother 'star' (oh, please, no giggling at the back!) Chantelle Houghton. Are you keeping up? What do you mean you are not paying any attention? This is important! This is the stuff that makes headlines nowadays.

When did the world become a gigantic Truman show? When did some people take leave of their senses and allowed the lunatics to take over the asylum?

Just like in the 1998 film featuring Jim Carrey, sometimes I switch the telly on and I feel as if I am in a town where everyone else is an actor or actress. And I am not referring to programmes exploring the realms of fiction. When I recently read that Channel Four was thinking of bringing to an end its infamous Roman circus show, Big Brother, I clapped and cheered on the common sense displayed by my fellow humans. But my ecstasy lasted as long as an ice-cream cone would last in hell, niente. I soon began to imagine how Channel Four would now commission a reality-TV series based on their decision to scrap Big Brother with producers and directors running havoc in the television company's building, vandalising property and painting graffitti on the walls. Cameras would be placed strategically to capture each minute of the action until a teary-eyed programmer was shown in the Diary Room recounting how ashamed he/she felt about defecating on the Director General's mahogany desk. And for some people that would be an American Express moment: priceless.

All facetiousness that my previous words might have conveyed is rendered a more sombre tone when faced with the hideous deeds committed in the name of reality TV and the rewards reaped by it.

Recently the Brazilian city Manaos, capital of the Amazona state, has become a cause célèbre due to a series of events that could well serve as a reminder of how low our society has sunken.

Wallace Souza was a journalist and producer who directed a television programme called Canal Livre, which had a similar format and brief to BBC's 'Crimewatch'. On it, Wallace showed the most sordid aspects of Brazilian society: crimes, assaults, rapes and the like. As many other programmes dealing with the same subjects, Souza's regular outing was a ratings-chaser. And I think we are all full aware of the price some people pay for such high profile.

Wallace acquired such notoriety that he traded his journalistic career for that of a politician. Some people might argue that between a bloodthirsty reality TV producer and a representative of the government there's hardly any difference, but that's a moot point, although perfectly understandable. Wallace became a deputy in the Amazonas state attracting the largest share of the votes amongst the candidates contesting the seat. All was well until the local police arrested a small-time crook. Moacir Moa Jorge da Costa was an ex-copper who doubled up as an assassin for hire. He was guilty of a string of murders and felonies. Under harsh interrogation and possible torture he confessed that indeed he was responsible for these crimes but that he had only been following orders. By whom, you ask? By the charismatic politician Wallace Souza. After the initial shock, the detectives began to piece together all the different missing links from the puzzle and arrived at the conclusion that all the violent acts in which Moacir Moa Jorge da Costa had taken part had featured at some point on Canal Livre whose cameras were always the first one on the crime scene.

Gulp. Yes, I know, I had to do it, too.

Last night I dreamt about an elephant playing chess with a donkey. The latter mocked the former and called it a liar. The elephant struck the table and the board cracked. Sorry, that has no relation to this post whatsoever.

To sum up: Wallace Souza, allegedly, ordered hitmen to carry out horrible crimes so that they could be filmed before any other competitor did. In order to achieve this he commanded an infrastructure made up of both members and ex-members of the police force. Although many of his accomplices are in jail, the politician is still free (as I write) enjoying his impunity. Will the National Assembly take away his exemption from punishment? Only time will tell. But what this tale does show is that Wallace Souza is not the only culprit in this sordid saga.

You see, for the Brazilian deputy to break the law he had to have a motive. I am not implying that Wallace did not have a money-minded conscience. But what he also had was a public eager to switch on and enjoy the debauched episodes on offer. Souza understood his mission and he tried to fulfill it in whichever way he saw fit. Even if that included killing. In the same way an alcoholic reaches for the bottle and promises him/herself that will be the last drink, Wallace's audience kept his avarice alive. That's why I cannot absolve the erstwhile journalist's spectators. The myriad morbid morons who tuned in regularly to watch women in distress, beheaded youngsters and gangs fights are just as accountable as the politician.

It would not be hard for any person with half a brain to reach the conclusion that Souza is a product of our 21st century where the ruling philosophy is that one found in Tina Turner's excellent song 'Private Dancer': I wanna make a million dollars/I wanna live out by the sea/Have a husband and some children/Yeah I guess I want a family. And this principle is not gender-based. Far from it, men apply it as well as women.

And how did Wallace choose his victims? Were they picked up at random? I doubt it. Many were allegedly drug-addicts and prostitutes, gang members or beggars from economically deprived backgrounds. So, there was also an element of class and moral voyeurism. Look at them, the working class. This is what they do. This is how they behave. On this point, one of the most obvious examples that comes to mind is that of Jade Goody, another ex-Big Brother contestant who was demonised and lionised in equal measure before her untimely death earlier this year. Jade lived her life on television until she exhaled for the last time.

If this is the world that awaits us as we are about to wrap up the first decade of the 21st century, then maybe, just maybe, we need to modify Tyler Durden's words in Fight Club: 'Reality TV was the beginning, now it's moved out of the basement, it's called Project Mayhem'.



Copyright 2009

Next Post: 'What Makes a Good Writer', to be published on Tuesday 6th October at 11:59pm (GMT)