Lame finales, wild beasts, oh, and the World Cup
Bit of a change of plan this week. Instead of rambling on about a specific telly theme - reality TV, bad goodies, my undying love for Peter Barlow - : I thought I'd ramble on about this week's best and worst on the ol' gogglebox.
This more bite-sized approach will hopefully make things shorter and sweeter, and is in no way connected to the fact I'm drugged up to my eyeballs on antihistamines and incapable of stringing together 600 coherent words on a single topic. Nope. In no way whatsoever. No siree.
Anyways, first to Fargo.
After banging the drum for this darkly delicious thriller for months now, the big finale was disappointing.
There was far too much talking for the first 45 mins, no shocks and, to get all Thom Yorke on yo ass, no surprises.
Everything was sewn up in such a neat and tidy package, I didn't quite know what to do with myself. After years of cliffhanger endings on all the biggest and best shows, having every question answered, every loose end tied was, ironically, discombobulating.
I blame David Chase for this reaction. This is what happens in a post-Sopranos world.
Still, at least Lorne continued to sport his silver fox look and the whole 'Lester on thin ice' thing was cute.
And speaking of cute, Sunday night's Born in the Wild was just that.
Documenting breeding and birth in the tree-top world of orang-utans, there were plenty of 'ahhhh' moments, especially when 25-year-old Dana proudly presented her new baby to the camera. I'm welling up just thinking about it now. Although that could just be the hayfever again. Quick, more Benadryl!
To be honest, I was grateful for the cute factor because the rest of the series has been pretty OMG-eyebrow-raising-hide-behind-the-cushion graphic.
In fact, it's been full-on animal porno. The scariest bit of which was the echidna and its four-pronged doo-dah. Strewth. I don't know whether to congratulate or commiserate.
There's also been one too many 'Rebecca Loos and the pig' moments for my liking but, still, the beauty of nature and all that (!).
Sex-craved wild animals brings us nicely on to the World Cup and pointless England's pointless match with Costa Rica. Where's Richard Osman when you need him?
England's farewell to the competition had all the excitement and entertainment of a damp grey mop. And the alternative viewing? A hungry Uruguayan nibbling on an Italian's shoulder. Madness. Utter madness.
Although, it's not all bad: the red and white T-shirts have been reduced to a quid in New Look.
