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Take Me Out TV review

The Grouch gets Saturday night fever and wants to be put out of his misery

Published on March 22nd 2011.

Take Me Out TV review

When the Apocalypse does come, some people will rue the incumbent beauty of the world and ask if we did all we could to preserve it. Some will cling to memories of special people, places and treasured time.

John was all about table tennis and clicking his heels, two pursuits that may not perhaps instantly scream ‘HUSBAND!’ although one girl did liken him to a ‘better looking Mr Bean’, which is as back-handed as compliments come and only one step up from a “less mental Charles Manson.’’

Others, like the panel of squawking numpties on ITV’s Saturday night shame-fest ‘Take Me Out’, will simply rejoice, thinking it’s the name of a new nightclub opening in town.

The most recent run drew to a close this weekend, but as the end credits invited us to surrender any morsel of dignity we may have left by appearing on the next series, it will be back, with the grim inevitability of a red-faced return journey to the clap clinic.

Perhaps ITV should consider renaming the show ‘Desperate Moron Lift Disco’, such is the crushing shallowness of the people involved.

A panel of 30 needy single women wink, gawp and dribble at anything that host Paddy McGuinness put in front of them, like Stepford Daleks on alcopops. I have a sneaking suspicion that if the contents of my kitchen bin were emptied on the floor in front of them, more than 20 of them would leave their lights on.

One of the girls, a dippy-looking version of Nicola from Girls Aloud, had an exacting list of qualities for a potential suitor. “I’ll pretty much take anything,” she said. Another simply stated that “a pulse is good”, which is lucky, because that was pretty much all the ensuing parade of aching bell ends could guarantee.

How about Dan from Warrington, wearing a woman’s top with a plunging neckline so we could see his freakish man-tits, and looking like an awful lump of fake tan and plasticine with designer stubble and over-groomed eyebrows.

Obviously, he had a dog called Tyson, and loved his nan and Englebert Humperdink in almost equal measure. All the girls left their lights on, in an almost creepy fashion, determined to bag a date on the final show.

He picked a girl who compared herself to Ross from ‘Friends’ and had never heard of Englebert Humperdink.

Specimen two, let’s call him John from Bournemouth, because that’s his name, looked like he’d been stretched by the hair, ankles and ears and came on to ‘Danger Zone’ from Top Gun.

Perhaps this was a warning about a dangerous temper or a love of watching semi-naked men play volleyball near airfields. No matter. The 30 strumpets jumped and clapped like over-excited seals at feeding time.

John was all about table tennis and clicking his heels, two pursuits that may not perhaps instantly scream ‘HUSBAND!’ although one girl did liken him to a ‘better looking Mr Bean’, which is as back-handed as compliments come and only one step up from a “less mental Charles Manson.”

His special talent? Playing his armpits to classical music. Amazingly, he got a date with a lovely looking girl called Holly, who presumably was only still lucid thanks to a truck load of hallucinogens and the runners telling her it was all a dream.

No time to rest until we met Bobby, who came across like a gay Rainman, wearing a grin so vacant it almost had squatters living in it. Was he cheeky, or simple? Hard to tell, but even harder to care if you were one of the dateless spinsters. He received a glowing reference from two of his friends, who had the collective IQ of the monkey enclosure at London Zoo. If there was one monkey in it. That was dead.

He turned up to his eventual date wearing what can only be described as his dad’s underwear from the 1950s to try and moronically outstare some poor girl who now realises that even free holidays can be deeply unsettling.

The final man-child was a triathlete who looked like a disturbing mix of Shakin’ Stevens, John Robb and Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, who seemed to be under the impression that the best way to hide a receding hairline was to grow an almighty quiff.

All 30 lights were left on as single anxiety reached fever pitch, until he eventually chose a white witch called Marytia, who he later quizzed about the existence of intelligent life. Oh, the irony.

On top of all this, we caught up with dates from the previous show, which featured a man called Anthony, who decided to knee his date Ellie in the head then spend an entire lunch telling her exactly how much he didn’t fancy her; an utterly joyless horse-riding session with Dan who confessed he normally went for girls “a bit more tarty looking” than the tarty-looking Laura; and Peggy and Andrew, who barely made it on their sailing date through almost humping each other into submission before they’d left the jetty. “He could be Mr Right,” she sighed, as she fluttered swathes of fake eyelashes at a mono-syllabic Scouser, who’s mother helped choose his date.

The show is like a drunken Saturday night out that ends up in a dodgy club having a quick fumble with that girl from the hairdressers you’ve been eyeing up all week. A guilty pleasure for many I’m sure, all strung together through the wise-cracks of professional Boltonian McGuinness, whose contrived gags arrive like an unwelcome barrage of kicks to the knackers.

Take Me Out? Yes please. I’ll even buy the bullets.

Follow Grouch on twitter @Mcrgrouch

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12 comments so far, continue the conversation, write a comment.

Flourescent AdolescentMarch 22nd 2011.

Get over yourself you miserbale git - it's an hour of light hearted fun. Does every output have to be 'cool/cutting edge/inovative' - no. Sit back and have a laugh at it as the program is intended.

DunnyMarch 22nd 2011.

Here, Here! Flourescent Adolescent! enjoy the show for what it is! Garbage, but highly entertaining garbage!

Rob17018March 22nd 2011.

What a fantastic article. Very Charley Brooker.
Great comment on the shallow and vacuous numpties that live in our society today and think it´s acceptable to be a needy, clingy, airhead.

HHavocMarch 22nd 2011.

Whilst I laughed out loud reading this article I can't help but feel that the author has missed the point somewhat - this is mindless television at it's best! You are almost supposed to laugh at them rather than with them!

Richard Hector-JonesMarch 22nd 2011.

TMO is my guiltiest pleasure currently.
And I'm not alone.
I can also number an Xfm presenter, a Warehouse Project DJ and a raft of other outwardly hip Manchester people as shameless devotees.
We are here.
We are legion.
We are stuffed for anything to do on a Saturday night for a while.
We are.... f**king idiots.

Get on the bus Grouchy...

Lady GreayMarch 22nd 2011.

I watched this for the first time a few weeks ago when I had friends around who watched it regularly. It made me feel so utterly blessed that I never had to resort to that level to 'bag a date.'

If the girls have confidence issues beforehand, how on Earth are they supposed to feel afterwards? And the guys? I wish this whole concept including the Isle of Fernandos could be shot into Orbit. What a load of tosh. You want garbage telly, watch Come Dine With Me, even that is nowhere near as awful as this tripe.

FlowersMarch 22nd 2011.

Missed the point indeed. Such a harsh review of a light-hearted not at all serious entertainment show.

What shows do you usually watch? Question Time and the Andrew Marr show. Maybe sticking to them would make you happier. Leave this kind of TV to the rest of us because we like it so there!

The GrouchMarch 22nd 2011.

I don't watch TV. I just stare at myself in the mirror. And weep.

Adam RichmondMarch 22nd 2011.

I bloody love TMO. Utter utter trash and completely summed up in this brilliant review. But for everything said about it, THIS is why people watch it. Terrible, cheap and tacky, and the show is even worse.

AnonymousMarch 22nd 2011.

RE: Rob17018

Except that Charlie Brooker wouldn't have repeated the phrase "wise-cracks" twice in the same sentence and he would know when to use "whose" instead of "who's".

A barstool rant given a wider audience without the wit to deserve it.

Anon TooMarch 22nd 2011.

I think a few of you are missing the point actually.

Tongue firmly in cheek on this review I'd say.

Richard Hector-JonesMarch 22nd 2011.

"I like sauce... and I like mayonnaise", said one of the twins on Saturday.
C'mon... who wouldn't be moved by a chat up line such as that...

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