The Jeremy Kyle Show

This review refers specifically to episode 148, series 11, of the Jeremy Kyle Show. 

Is there a more despicable show than The Jeremy Kyle Show, a self-defined ‘confrontational talk show’ in which Tesco own-brand human beings are dragged in front of voyeuristic scumbags baying for blood and their worthless, miserable lives are pulled forth, analysed and solved with the disdain of an uppity expert, so furious that such disgusting human life is still in the world that you suspect he plans genocide with every waking moment and eager to get out quick for fear of contamination?

(A real and valid fear – some of these people look like you’d catch rabies, herpes and salmonella all at once just by pointing your eyes in their direction and breathing in their tainted air.)

The premise is simple – these bargain bin mums and chavvy dads attempt to solve their issues with the aid of anti-hero Jeremy – but everything about the programme has such an overwhelming aura of abhorrence and shame that it blights our world merely by existing. By conjuring up these feelings, it is the televisual experience of brutally bedding the corpse of the family kitten, and you’ll still be more human than these tracksuit gremlins when you’re finished.

Such a horrible thing requires, of course, an equally horrible figurehead, and we are damned with Jeremy. Kyle looks like the offspring of a carpet salesman and Satan, and he has an upsetting blankness on his face that I find incredibly sinister. If you look into his eyes, you get the feeling that he would ruthlessly butcher an entire prenatal ward with a machete on a whim, and it would register the same emotional response as if he looked at a building or ate some toast. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room alone with him for fear he would begin slashing at my face with a switchblade, his cold eyes just looking on as I bled to death. The ‘confrontational’ part of the show means Jeremy can join in with the mer-people, so the whole thing quickly sways from the human problem issue to a sort of bellowing fest where Jeremy and the monsters shout at each other, resembling a sort-of disco playing solely music generated by remixing the souls of serial killers and creating the ambience of a slaughterhouse. For such a low-key production, it could quite easily double up as a high concept horror film.

I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room alone with him for fear he would begin slashing at my face with a switchblade

The show opens with an intro montage, so I knew I’d get a heart-breaking tale of a mother on drugs, before it cut to the inevitable shouting as Jeremy tried to holler a woman clean. Then, the actual show – we met the daughters, who were repressed little things. They had tolerated their mother filling the house with crack dealers for ages, but have now taken her on national TV to sort out her problem when they found her injecting herself ‘downstairs’. Kyle maintained a solemn air, interviewing them and telling them how bad their situation was until they cried, at which point he decided to add to the misery by producing the mother. The mother (Zelda from Terrahawks) was heckled and belittled by our hero, the gawping cretins in the audience cheering him as he went, even producing a doctor to terrify us with stories too harrowing for television that time of day, before shipping her off with Graham (the residential problem solver, when Jeremy is done shouting) to a rehab. All very life affirming.

The next group of people were your typical fare – Sasha, a comedy representation of a council estate tart was angry because her mum Tracy wouldn’t let her see her own daughter. It turns out she went out one night to go drinking, and  forgot about her child for eight months – this is the sort of person we’re dealing with – and Tracy was fighting social services. Then, we meet Sasha’s friend Danielle (a tattooed shaven monkey) who just shouted a bit, suffixing every sentence with ‘you know’ in a dreary tone, as though even she was fed up of what she was saying – I certainly was.

It turns out she went out one night to go drinking, and  forgot about her child for eight months – this is the sort of person we’re dealing with

Our final segment dealt with Kayleigh and her partner Paul, who claims to have slept with 1000 women and is accused of cheating. They both beat each other up, which amused Kayleigh (a tanned spaced-out seal) and Paul (Walter White), and also invalidated the use of a lie detector (a show staple, used as such – a chavvy creature is accused of something. They deny it, the lie detector says otherwise – they claim it is wrong). They found the whole thing a big joke, so Jeremy ordered them away, saying he didn’t want to waste his time. Cue a massive rant about these people annoying him, before he suddenly became calm as he enticed people to enter his televised den.

In fact, we got that all through the show – after the breaks, we had lead-ins in which Jeremy encouraged people with thieves, cheaters or jealous people in the family and to get in touch so they could be on the show – it sickened me. The sheer level of exploitation to which the man will sink is horrific. I know people like watching morons being abused in the name of entertainment – hence the success of the Britain’s Got Talent franchise – but this pushes it too far. If this is allowed to continue, I say we take it to the extreme – let’s allow public floggings, and have a programme where we show paedophiles pictures of children before violently castrating them and laughing. Incorporate a phone-in vote element – shall we remove it with a meat cleaver or a chainsaw? – and I promise a ratings hit.

Go on, ITV – you know you want to.