Coming clean about soaps

Soap operas are as much a part of British culture as Wimbledon fortnight, talking about the weather and being sure that someone ought to do something about those awful asylum seekers. Tabloids would sell fewer copies were it not for the exploits of these sensationalist dramas and their brain dead casts. People would have nothing to go on and on about in pubs and cafes and offices save the annual event that is Big Brother (don’t get me started…)

It will surprise literally none of you that have been reading this guff for the last few weeks that I don’t watch soap operas. It might yet surprise you when I go one step further and say that I have never watched even a single episode of –

Coronation Street

Eastenders

Emmerdale Farm

Neighbours

Crossroads

The Bill

Family Affairs

Eldorado

Hollyoaks

Some would say I am therefore in no position to judge them. Experience is the basis of any fair judgement. I have had spells of watching Brookside (when I found out that legendary actress Mary Tamm was in it) and Home and Away (way back in 1989 when it first began) and they were all fine and large. The accents were rather grating on the ears but if the brain is disengaged one can happily enjoy the hotshot plotting and permanent state of crisis dialogue.

What I hate is the way soaps are treated. Soap operas represent all that is wrong about our modern age. The press calls them “soap stars” and then calls them by their character name. Call me old-fashioned but a “star” is someone who is known around the world and celebrated by legions of admirers. Knowing the person’s name would be the absolute bare minimum requirement. The truth is that they are untalented pawns in a game played by the producers and the papers. Interchangeable drones who say the lines they are given and are expected to do nothing more than avoid being caught with the needle actually in their arm.

I hate how people talk about them as if they were real. They do not talk about plots, story lines and characters, they talk about events, people and real lives. They are not simply suspending disbelief, they have the line between reality and cheap entertainment blurred by over exposure. If they stopped to think, they would be able to separate the two but they don’t stop to think just in case they miss a moment of the drama. Soaps become the closest thing yet to the virtual reality world of science fiction. Viewers cannot yet live in the world of Albert Street (or whatever it’s called) but they can be voyeurs at the window.

I hate how they treat homosexuality. The two main branches are treated very differently but equally shamefully. Lesbianism is the ultimate cheap ratings ploy. Viewership is down? Bring in a couple of lesbians and have them snog a bit. That’ll get the saddos watching. Better still, play into the male fantasy and have a couple of straight women dabble with lesbianism, snog for a bit and then be won over by blokes. Because, deep down, all women want to try lesbian sex (just for a laugh) and all lesbians want a man. Gay men are more controversial. Male homosexuality, being disgusting (obviously), is used to get the show condemned by the Daily Mail and whatever Mrs Whitehouse’s lot are called these days. Take two men, build up to a kiss and wait for the condemnation to pour in. You might lose a few of the older viewers but it’ll have the Kennedy Factor (an unpleasant event which you have to watch because it’s “history” and you want to be able to say “I was there”) with the younger ones. Once you’ve milked the relationship for all its worth (avoiding any bedroom scenes before the watershed) you kill one of them – not of AIDS as that takes too long, a car crash is better – and the other one settles down with a nice lady.

I hate the people who make television dramas and sit coms think that they have to have someone from a soap opera in order for the programme to be a success. Never mind that most of them are failures, they believe the theory is sound. Vast contracts are given to anyone who has spent a year or two filling the tabloids like a baby fills its nappy while real actors are left in rep and independent cinema. This uniform casting process is, I suppose, no more alarming than the uniform programme formats. A detective with a character trait where his personality should be, usually with a regional accent, a bit of a maverick, solves crimes in under two hours, drives a flashy motor, marital problems, clashes with boss. That’s it. None of that nasty and expensive imagination.

So I hate soap operas because they are like weeds in a garden. Once they get a hold they block the light from reaching anything else and gradually all other forms of life begin to wither and die. Soon the garden of television will be nothing but weeds. The viewers are being programmed to believe that just because their garden is still green everything is flourishing.

3rd November 2003