So, I don’t want to go round scaremongering or anything, ‘cause I don’t think any extra worldly doom and gloom is required atm, but I think I might actually be in The Truman Show…
For those of you who haven’t seen the Truman Show – where have you been hiding since 1998?! Go and watch it now. Having said that, in 1998 I was 7 years old and probably leafing through my first copy of Harry Potter (best. year. ever.) but that’s not really relevant and I still managed to watch the thing. But enough about me, let’s talk about Truman Burbank.
So basically, The Truman Show is all about this huge social experiment in which this guy (called Truman, would you believe) has his entire life fabricated by the big TV hunks all for the entertainment of the world at large. I mean, these sickos literally watch his life like its a soap opera. It’s a bit like if Roy Cropper was actually a real person, and the only non-actor in Weatherfield – wouldn’t that be incredible, best conspiracy theory I’ve heard all year. Put bluntly, it’s like Big Brother on crack, without the hilarity of Nikki Grahame.
Now, I’m under no illusions here; I know that by suggesting that I’m in a Truman-show kind of orchestrated-for-entertainment world of lies, I sound not only like a paranoid schizophrenic but also like a completely self-centred wanker. But the truth is, I actually could be, and not only because I’m as comedic as Jim Carrey (what a modest statement, ey).
Maybe it’s the product of living in such a materialistic world. We quite literally live life from one marketing message to another, until we ourselves become adverts for those huge-ass brands out there (sorry for going back on my aforementioned no-doom-and-gloom policy here). How many billboards did you pass today on the way to work? How many times did you watch the John Lewis crimbo advert and weep into your afternoon brew? I almost considered starting a ‘Get Monty The Penguin On Tinder’ campaign in my local community, but I reckon he’s alright with his new Christmas bird.
As I was making my way about life the other week, a charming young gent thought it would be appropriate to shove me into one of the big London Underground billboard poster things. As I was sticking two’s up at him and calling him an arsehole like the mature adult that I am, I stood and thought about Truman. Poor old TB is manipulated to stand in front of advertising campaigns throughout his whole life for the cameras (watch the film, man). Was I, in my less-than-graceful fall into the poster, advertising the Take That comeback? I bloody hope so (love you Gary).
So I’m posting this half in jest, and half as a plea to the public to ring up ITV or BBC or even Channel 5 (surely I’m better than Channel 5) and ask them to raise the budget a little, as I could do with some extra spends. In exchange, I’ll take up a hilarious new hobby to get the viewing figures up a bit. I’m so good to you guys.
I wonder how good I’d be at competitive eating? Pretty excellent, I’d imagine.
In other news, I’m going to see Matthew Bourne’s Edward Scissorhands the ballet this evening as a gift from my long-time PIC. I’ll post up a review of the evening once the cocktails are out of my system.
I’m not going to spoil the whole thing and tell you what happens to our pal Truman, but let’s hope if I am the star of The Madeleine Show, I make it out alive. #PrayForMadeleine is a good hashtag, just sayin’.