Not a shred of boorish Clarkson’s wit
INTrIGueD to see what all the fuss was about, I tuned in to watch the second episode of Chris evans’s Top Gear, which has already lost a third of its live TV audience.
Now I see the problem. The old Top Gear was a deliciously naughty, shamelessly sexist, cheerfully bigoted affair presented by three white middleaged men for the benefit of other white middle-aged men.
In this respect it was a fine example of public service broadcasting, uncharacteristically catering for an increasingly marginalised section of the population.
The new Top Gear, by contrast, has more the feel of a media schmoozefest. one senses a focus group or two has been involved, and possibly a few North London dinners.
There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with it — it’s a perfectly well-produced show. But those who routinely switched on to watch Jeremy Clarkson humiliate richard hammond are not the same people who enjoy watching pop stars such as Tinie Tempah and Sharleen Spiteri ponce around in expensive off-roaders.
Truth is, Clarkson, hammond and James May were pretty rubbish presenters, but they had a certain blokeish charm. Yes, they sailed close to the wind; yes, their show was held together by insults — but it had an authenticity that endured season after season.
By contrast, everything about the new Top Gear, from the sets to the guests, is far too slick and professional.
Chris evans and Matt LeBlanc have nothing in common except their bulging contacts books — and neither has a shred of Clarkson’s wit, however irritating or offensive he may have been.
The old Top Gear was a lawless joyride. This is just a show about celebrities in cars.