What’s love got to do with it?
LOVE ISLAND is returning to our telly screens. I know. As if we haven’t already suffered enough this year.
I understand that for some – my 21-year-old daughter included – the arrival of the reality TV juggernaut is a reason to celebrate.
For others – like her mother – it is a reason to switch channels while fighting down simultaneous feelings of sadness and fury. And a tiny bit of nausea.
Because here we go again, broadcasting telly’s lowest common denominator despite all the criticism and controversy surrounding it in its previous seasons.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a bit of escapism. After the past few months I think we all deserve to be taken away from our stressful lives to a spectacular villa located somewhere in the sun.
A bit of harmless fun, eh? Except it’s not harmless and I don’t get the impression many of the contestants are having fun.
And if this is the sort of escapism on offer, I’ll stay imprisoned in my own life, thanks. For a start, I hate the lack of diversity on display in Love Island.
There is nobody on screen above a size 10 or who doesn’t have impressively toned abs. And in previous series, a lack of disability.
In the Love Island universe the message to viewers – many of whom are very young – is that the only way to be successful and accepted is to be bodily perfect. And partnered.
I also hate the fact that we’re invited to watch the participants as if they were animals in a zoo, there for the viewer’s pleasure, to be poked and manipulated.
See how she cries! See how he’s furious! It’s manufactured drama that frankly does nobody any good – a grubby circus of concocted emotions.
And what of the contestants themselves? It’s their choice if they wish to take part but, really? Is this the sum of their ambitions in life? And do they genuinely understand the risks they’re taking in exposing themselves?
These are ordinary people who will be raised up to celebrity heights. Some will wilt in the heat of the media spotlight. Others will feel the cold blast of anonymity when all the hoo-ha dies away, as it surely will.
I make no comment on those associated with the show who have taken their own lives. I wouldn’t presume to understand or try to interpret mental illness in others.
But it’s telling that this year TV bosses have pledged a package of support to help Islanders deal with the pressures of being on the show, including the inevitable hostility on social media.
But Love Island lives and dies on social media, its contestants judged and commented upon by the number of “likes” their Insta pages get. It will be a tricky balance to get right.
Most of all though, hate the emptiness of Love
Viewing figures will still be huge. The programme will still command acres of press coverage, and people will argue: “It’s only entertainment.”
But that’s what they said about public executions.