Celebrity Roast
Is there nothing the almost-famous can’t almost do? Celebrities are so talented that they can now dance, sing, survive on an island, pass comments on other, more famous, celebrities, answer questions on pseudo quiz shows, jump through cut-out shapes into a pool and now cook. Celebrity MasterChef (7.30pm Wednesdays on Channel Ten) comes with added star power.
Where MasterChef had people who could cook working up a treat, Celebrity MasterChef is treating us to the famous working up a lather. Actors, sport stars, comedians, musicians and politicians are doing what comes second-best and competing with each other in the kitchen. We might be watching fish out of water, but Celebrity MasterChef is trying to make sushi from fish fingers, as ‘Isn’t That the Guy From...’ sweats over an outrageously hard-to-cook dish, and runs from oven to stove top, stirring, beating and folding ingredients. The kitchen isn’t traditionally a place for competition, unless it’s the race to the fridge to get the last Tim Tam, but without the competition, MasterChef is just a cooking show.
Viewer empathy is lacking with this franchise of the show, as those watching ponder whether the rich and famous would normally have a personal chef, or eat in swish cafés and trendy restaurants, so that cooking is a novelty for them. As a Mrs Dad, I cook in the kitchen so that I can relax in the lounge room, but when I get there, sadly, I find my television is back in the kitchen.
Celebrity MasterChef features endless shots of yellow matter custard (apologies to John Lennon) dripping from shovelling spoons and disappearing into the critical orifice, as three overweight men purse their lips, roll their eyes and bring down the gavel of judgment on whichever big shot’s gastronomic feat. This is food porn and it’s not making me feel hungry, just disgusted.
The celebrity (‘celebrity’ used in the context of someone who appears on television because they have appeared on television) rotation is reaching breaking point as these ‘famous for being famous’ try to be famous for something they’re not famous for. Out-of-work or otherwise desperate celebrities use these shows to plug their latest venture or boost their flagging public profiles, and I’m worried that these luminaries won’t have their fingers in enough pies to sustain their careers. It’s time to roll out Celebrity RPA, in which the viewer votes to turn off the life support of their favourite critically ill celebrity; or Celebrity Electricians, in which if the almost famous crosses the wrong wires, they get 50,000 volts of star power and a new afro.
Why isn’t there a practical cooking show that tells us how to hide vegetables in kids’ food? What has happened to our society when the substances we use to fuel our bodies are loved more than the bodies themselves are? Must be time for Celebrity Soup Kitchen, in which the televisually beloved work hard over a hot stove to feed those who need food to live, rather than to savour.
This piece originally appeared in ‘The Big Issue’.
Matt Quartermaine is a Melbourne-based writer and comedian. He can be seen taking part in ‘The Chat’ (See four grown men in comfortable chairs spill their guts!) every Friday night from 8:30 at the Maori Chief Hotel, corner of Moray and York streets, South Melbourne. Entry is free. Click here to read Matt's article about ‘The Chat’ podcast (available at iTunes) in ‘The Age’.
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