Raging seas of testosterone

EVER since dear old Dicky Branson was thwarted in his bid to overthrow Camelot (that noble enterprise which takes from the poor, keeps a generous tithe for its own shareholders, then gives the rest to the needy rich so they can carry on enjoying subsidised opera), I've been preparing for the launch of my rival, Vom-a-lot. The rules are simple. Go to any shop where you see the "Vic's Chunder Card" logo (a finger of fate pointing right down a throat, and the slogan "it's for huey") and claim your free ticket, which bears a random sequence of letters. Then, each week on live television, I will eat a bowl of alphabetti spaghetti before watching the most dreadful programme I can find, which will cause me to projectile-vomit my edible alphabet over a wall. If my arrangement of letters matches your card, you'll win a prize.

YOU may think that the simple act of vomiting wouldn't make for entertaining television, but in that case you've probably never tuned into Jackass (E4).

Originally commissioned by MTV (under the catchy epithet "never before has arrested development looked like so much fun"), it features a preppy group of amiable American boneheads who devote themselves to performing feats of grossness and insane bravado, the result resembling a cross between a Buster Keaton movie and Glasgow General Hospital's A&E ward at midnight on Saturday.

I've always been suspicious of old men who eagerly send young men off to fight wars on their behalf, but we pacifists of a certain age can enjoy the exhilarating sight of these intrepid rollerbladers and stunt skateboarders without guilt, knowing that they'll usually suffer nothing worse than a few minor cuts and bruises. After all, I've reached the age when, if I jumped off a wall, I'd shatter rather than bounce, so frankly I'd rather leave the feats of derringdo to these young whippersnappers, while I sit in my armchair and derring- don't.

Last night's edition was one long tribute to the analgesic properties (and demented potency) of juvenile testosterone, and contained some of the most reckless sporting action I've seen on television since Des Lynam began bungee jumping with his ratings (and his career).

The US equivalent of the rugger buggers I encountered (and despised) at university, they skateboarded into lakes, wrestled with grizzly bears, rollerskated in midair, and went hurtling crotch- first into their own handlebars, until there were more crushed nuts on the screen than you'd find atop an ice-cream sundae. Many of the falls and crashes must have been very painful, but there was no sadistic manipulation by unscrupulous producers going on here (the maniacs concoct all their own stunts), nor the nasty streak of cruelty that made You've Been Framed so distasteful, and I wondered what it is that twists the minds of young men, making them want to do such things to themselves? I suppose it's all down to the little joke that God has always played on teenage boys, pumping their bodies full of chemicals that make them desperate for sex, while simultaneously giving them baked-bean faces to ensure that the urge cannot be fulfilled.

AT times, the format seemed like a more gymnastic version of Trigger Happy TV, but whereas the portly Dom Joly wisely relies on cerebral bravado to challenge expectations, Johnny Knoxville and his chums prefer to challenge the laws of gravity. And the laws of decency too, because one of last night's stunts involved someone cycling stark-naked through town (useful when they want to park, I suppose, because they can just bend over), and another required a contributor to have two tons of stinking sardines poured over his head. At one point, a manic dwarf dressed as Superman even attempted to break his miniature spine on a wooden roller coaster, presumably in a bid to resemble Christopher Reeve a little more closely.

Speaking of which, isn't it ironic that, during the Nineties, the Iron Man got the electric chair, while OJ Simpson did not?

"If you're gonna be dumb, you'd better be tough," declares the show's theme song, in which case this bunch must be as tough as two short planks, but they positively exude joie de vivre, lan, and esprit de corps, even though they probably don't know what any of those words mean. Apparently, they're making a no-holds-barred movie of their exploits this year, and sooner or later one feels there's bound to be a death. But what they're doing clearly makes them feel alive, and it gave me a buzz too, albeit a vicarious one. So much television nowadays is dead at the centre, but this simply pulsates with energy, as one has come to expect from a Spike Jonze creation, though even he wouldn't dare to go as far as the highly-dubious stunt man in the deep south of the US, who allegedly performs under the name of Ku Klux Klaneval. His speciality? He tries to jump over 15 black men in a steamroller.

Copyright 2002
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.