TV Review Diana Wichtel
The show that cooked up a banquet of pranks, skits and sturgeon has been binned.
Fans were livid. A petition was launched. The final days of Three’s Jono and Ben after a creditable seven years resembled the demise of Campbell Live, if a show in which the hosts behave like complete numpties can be compared to current affairs.
Tragically, these days it can. The defiantly infantile antics of Jono Pryor and Ben Boyce sometimes seemed almost sophisticated alongside the work of Seven Sharp’s Jeremy Wells and Hilary Barry. Observe Wells slipping references to obscure sexual acts I’m afraid to google into his innocent-sounding intros as the camera zooms in on Barry visibly fighting the urge to flee the studio trailing shreds of her dignity.
I was never a regular viewer of Jono and Ben. Words like “prank” and “stunt” have me diving for the remote. Yet their stunts had a certain Dada-esque ambition, such as the time Jono drove a digger into Ben’s house, allegedly by accident. There were iconic cultural references: “We’re taking that tractor to Palmerston North!” As the last episode showed, they shared something with pioneering idiotic comedy duos like Mikey Havoc and Wells (yes, the one now on Seven Sharp). They’re of a generation who have no fear of the medium and ride it as if it was a Lime scooter with failing brakes, scattering pedestrians in rush hour. A lot of the television they make involves meta comment on the television they’re making, and that can make for good television.
The final episode began on an elegiac note with the excellent Laura Daniels belting out a moving farewell song: “Goodbye forever. We’re never going to see you on TV, ever again … Everybody’s thinking that TV is a sinking ship.” The history of the series was canvassed from its beginnings as Jono and Ben at Ten, delivered from a garage. “We didn’t once sell out,” they claimed, to a montage of shameless product pushing. They celebrated the odd viral success, such as their really very good multitasking-mum parody of the famous BBC clip of dad doing an interview when his kids burst in.
Rose Matafeo, Alice Sneddon, Daniels and many others got to hone their skills in a space so safe that comedian Guy Williams annoying Sonny Bill Williams counted as content. “I don’t like you, G,” remarked Sonny Bill when Williams stalked him to Japan. This is the sort of show that revelled in Sturgeon’s Law: 90% of everything is crap. Embrace it.
At least it’s been good-natured, selfdeprecating crap. And these guys, not unlike the All Blacks, were willing to put themselves on the line. There was the time Jono dressed as a human tackle bag at a rugby training session and had his collarbone broken for our entertainment. “Jono is the only person to come off second best after a run-in with the Auckland Blues,” noted Ben.
The grand finale had laughter, pathos and the Prime Minister. Daniels dusted off her impressive Jacinda Ardern impression, with Ardern playing her make-up artist. “Teeth are a little bit much,” mused the PM.
It was a night of acknowledgements. “Thank you for your 16,000 signatures but they mean shit all. It’s a cruel, cruel industry.” To quote a line from Goodbye Forever, “We got the chop to make 20 more seasons of The Block.”
By the end, I was feeling sad that it was over. No doubt these guys will be back in some mad form or other. We haven’t got enough natural television talent to squander theirs. Meanwhile, on social media, the show basked in suitably back-handed tributes: “There’s so much wrong with Jono and Ben but we’re going to miss it,” tweeted one ambivalent fan. “Thanks to everyone for all the love and support, we went out on top!” was the plucky message from Guy Williams. “Well, not on top, but we went out!” They did.
To quote a line from Goodbye Forever, “We got the chop to make 20 more seasons of The Block.”