Sunday, May 28, 2006

Big Brother

During the halcyon days of Fleet Street, a vociferous minority of old hacks moaned that the printed page was a notoriously inadequate means by which to spread gossip. Sadly, this opinion seems to be confirmed rather than confounded by the modern media. Instead of clarifying human communication, both satellite and cable have become instruments that blunt the average attention span. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why contemporary commentators are noticeably lost for words when confronted with the gladiatorial delights of so-called reality T.V. After all, the contradictory rumours, which surrounded a potentially bewildering array of housemates for this season's multi-ringed Big Brother circus, concretised themselves in yet another predictably outrageous gathering. In the end, depressingly antagonistic personalities such as Sezer and Lea were selected to compete, mirroring their recent celebrity counterparts. We only need to recall that a year or so ago Professor Greer as well as the visibly ageing super model (ominously known as Caprice), were similarly eager to hold court in their more fashionable arena. Their was even talk in the Tabloids that New Age pundit David Icke was due to appear, but radical feminism compounded by global conspiracy theory may have caused even channel fours belligerent producers to physically balk.
Having said that, the circuitous plots of the patriarchy count as poor entertainment compared to the dark machinations schemed by Icke's sinister "Brotherhood". Icke's thesis argues that certain politically influential people are actually the servants of evil; a claim few fair-minded journalists would deny. However, based on the flimsiest of evidence, such as occult slander and hypnotic regression, he then proceeds to name the members of this crimson hierarchy. As if this were not libellous enough, he further testifies to the effect that these individuals are also courting corrupt extra-terrestrials who aim to dominate the Earth. His summation menacingly concludes that this is a significant stratagem in Lucifer's eternal struggle with the Angels themselves. A case in point is detailed in Icke's fascinating book The Greatest Secret. Here we may read about the head keeper's wife at Burnham Beeches in Buckinghamshire (near to Chequers), who noticed a group of robed figures carrying flaming torches into the woods one terrifying midnight. Unlike the majority of people, this robust British matron didn't hide beneath her quilt, or call the police, but followed them to their sabbathical destination. Eventually, she found herself camouflaged in wintry thickets while these cowled demoniacs chanted Satanic hymns into the darkness. To her astonishment, and indeed to everybody else's, the leader of this forbidden ritual turned out to be the RT. Hon Edward Heath, Conservative Member of Parliament and Prime Minister. Now, the majority of Icke's readers presumably must be struck by several rather obvious reactions to this news. First, it is hard to imagine Mr. Heath getting out of bed for anything less than Port and Stilton so late in the evening. Secondly, if Mr. Heath was personally involved with this world wide sulphurous Brotherhood, it is odd that the American establishment disliked him quite so vigorously. Yet gossip seems to have few limits and urban legends are often much more engaging at dinner than actual social events.
Casual readers shouldn't misinterpret the direction of my comments. I recently heard David Icke speak at the Brixton Academy and was suitably impressed. In many ways he was a man on fire with the Spirit, in a similar way to certain saintly free-thinkers from the recent political past. Instead, my problem is with the commodification of dissent and it's reduction to bitchy repartee in the perennially popular tower of tattle. Perhaps as certain critics have claimed this process is analogous to riding behind a successful Roman generals chariot and reminding him that he is still mortal. On the other hand, perhaps not. Either way, in our increasingly blinkered age even the hungry ghost of Samuel Pepys may soon start to complain that levelling trivia has gone too far.