Break­out star

Joel Creasey is ready for his close up on Seven’s Take Me Out

The Sunday Telegraph (Sydney) - TV Guide - - Front Page -

IN any­one else’s hands, a dat­ing show where 30 flirty women bru­tally pick or f lick po­ten­tial part­ners be­fore a live stu­dio au­di­ence could seem like a mod­ern- day ver­sion of throw­ing Daniel into the lion’s den.

Messy and wrong for the times we’re liv­ing in, where so­cial me­dia is the town square and one wrong move in the game of gen­der pol­i­tics ends in its vic­tim be­ing stripped bare.

But Joel Creasey is no or­di­nary lion tamer, us­ing his ra­zor sharp wit to cut through po­lit­i­cal cor­rect­ness to get the crowd laugh­ing.

Fronting Seven’s new shiny floor dat­ing show Take Me Out, the 28-year- old Perth-born, Mel­bourne-based per­former did what he does best – throw­ing cau­tion to the wind, and a few cheeky one-lin­ers, with hi­lar­i­ous re­sults. As the openly gay comic tells

TV Guide: “I’m not some­one who’s re­ally into dat­ing shows and I’m not your con­ven­tional dat­ing show host. So I just ap­proached it like a stand-up gig, in that I truly be­lieve that funny is funny.

“Some­times in this day and age, we over­think things … I mean, that said, I think some peo­ple could think things through a bit more … but this is just a re­ally light-hearted com­edy show at the end of the day.

“We know what we are and we’re not tak­ing our­selves se­ri­ously. We even joke in the ads … there’s no rose cer­e­mony, or im­promptu wed­dings, we’re a com­edy show and we’re here for a laugh.”

For those not fa­mil­iar with the for­mat, the show has lit­tle pre­tense but a few bells and whis­tles: 30 sin­gle women are pre­sented with a sin­gle man they could po­ten­tially date.

Keep your light on and you’re still in­ter­ested; if he turns them off, then it’s lights out.

With each match made, an­other woman ar­rives to take her chances; with three cou­ples paired up and sent off to the Gold Coast each episode.

Be­ing in the au­di­ence for one tap­ing was a side- split­ting eye­opener, with car- crash mo­ments at ev­ery turn.

This is the Tin­der gen­er­a­tion on show and cap­tures all the van­ity and in­san­ity of mod­ern match-mak­ing.

For Creasey, the task of get­ting to know up to 50 women cast for the show wasn’t ex­actly in his wheel­house, but be­came an ex­er­cise in speed- dat­ing.

“It to­tally was … we had a day where they all came in, one by one and we sat down and had a chat. They were all lovely,” he en­thuses.

From this viewer’s per­spec­tive that might be a lit­tle kind, with the fick­le­ness of some women writ large; while the pa­rade of overly-man­scaped men sure to make The Bach­e­lor Nick Cum­mins look even more like a wild man of Bor­neo.

Creasey finds a bal­ance be­tween play­ing wing man to both sexes, and a judge in the court of public opin­ion – com­ing down hard on some of the more vac­u­ous or out­ra­geous en­coun­ters; with hu­mour his weapon of choice.

He ex­pected Seven to curb his risqué brand of com­edy, but flour­ishes with a free run at things. “I never got that talk­ing to and I was so ex­pect­ing it. I’d worked at Ten and SBS for ages and they know me, but I thought, ‘Oh Seven are go­ing to do that whole … you’re a bit of a loose cannon’ … [but] they just let me run with it and I can’t ever re­mem­ber get­ting reined in.”

The fam­ily times­lot is a sur­prise from Seven, but as Creasey ex­plains: “Most of the in­nu­endo … the naughty stuff … will go over kids’ heads, thank God.”

If it rates, he’s also hop­ing to push the boat out fur­ther – ad­dress­ing early crit­i­cism the for­mat was not open to same- sex pair­ings.

“The hope is that peo­ple will love it and we can do tonnes of episodes and mix it up like they’ve done over­seas,” he says.

His work on Euro­vi­sion and an up­com­ing Net­flix spe­cial (filmed in Mon­treal last July and due to air on the stream­ing ser­vice next year) has al­ready in­tro­duced him to in­ter­na­tional au­di­ences – find­ing a fa­mous fan in Harry Pot­ter au­thor J. K Row ling.

Creasey’s rather blue han­dling of a stage crasher dur­ing SBS’ broad­cast of the kitsch song con­test – call­ing the in­truder “an ab­so­lute c---head” – won over Rowl­ing, who took to Twit­ter to be­queath him a Pot­ter- es­que “Or­der of Mer­lin, First Class.”

It was a ma­jor fan-boy mo­ment and ca­reer high­light he’s still milk­ing, he says. “My man­ager’s added it to my C.V, so I’m run­ning with it,” he laughs.



Joel Creasey with Chrissie Swan, left, and Myf Warhurst.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Australia

© PressReader. All rights reserved.