SINCE there are only four good ideas in the overcrowded playpen of reality TV, logic decrees that they will inevitably bump into each other once a week, for ever. Take Gerry's Big Decision, a new series in which troubleshooting millionaire businessma
n Sir Gerry Robinson decides which small, moribund businesses are worthy of large cash injections from his own coffers. It is, blatantly, a mass pile-up of The Secret Millionaire, Dragon's Den and Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. TV isn't so much eating itself these days, as grabbing leftovers from the table and reheating them, hoping no-one will notice.
And yet, against the odds, Gerry's Big Decision actually works, and that's entirely down to Sir G himself. The acceptable face of capitalism, he comes across as a decent man who genuinely cares about the fortunes of the people he encounters, and always manages to convey those rarest of TV commodities: compassion and sincerity. He's like a benign cross between David Attenborough and the world's most understanding headmaster. As he listens intently to troubled souls confessing their woes, it's not surprising to learn that he once trained as a priest. The Catholic Church's loss is a struggling mattress manufacturer from Dingwall's gain.
Despite its derivative nature, there's nothing cynical or mocking about Gerry's Big Decision. But although that makes a refreshing change, ironically, it may also be its undoing: Gerry Robinson might be too nice for a format dependent on upset and drama. In this opening episode, he was so touched by the plights of two couple-owned breweries, he ended up sharing £350,000 between them. I don't think his conscience could have survived otherwise. He even cried while informing one couple of his decision. All very touching, but since I can't imagine him ever refusing to assist anyone in need, bang goes any possibility of suspense. It'd be like watching a version of The Apprentice where every week Sir Alan tells everyone they're smashing and buys them all an ice cream.
Nevertheless, you'd have to be heartless to remain unmoved by a programme in which a kindly man throws a lifeline to people drowning in debt. But unless Robinson subsequently comes across people so egregious they eradicate every molecule of charity in his body, I can't foresee too many dramatic twists in future.
I could be wrong. It has been known. In fact, after watching Can I Get High Legally? I'm almost willing to admit that I was wrong about the appalling BBC 6 Music DJ George Lamb. Maybe he doesn't represent everything that's wrong with humanity after all. Because he actually came across quite well fronting this worthy investigation into the murky world of legal highs.
Unfortunately, despite his concerned, big brotherly intentions and frequent warnings about the risks, I suspect he may have accidentally inspired many BBC3 viewers to investigate these dubious products further after repeatedly telling them how widely available, cheap and – judging by Lamb's blissfully zonked reaction after he sampled one – effective they are. God knows what's in this stuff, though. One scientist even grudgingly admitted that he'd prefer kids to imbibe MDMA than these untested highs. But that still wasn't as shocking as the suggestion that Lamb might be a tolerable guy outside of his bullying radio bear-pit.
The full article contains 565 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
