aIN A recent episode of Don t Feed The Gondolas, presenter Sean Moncrieff introduced RTE sports journalist Tony O Donoghue as a man who had once mentioned in Hot Press magazine that he liked to masturbate while watching Alex Ferguson on television. It was a very serious allegation, which exhaustive research on my part has proved to be utterly without foundation. In the issue in question, what O Donoghue actually said was that he enjoyed masturbating while watching Glenn Hoddle videos.
Now, even though Tony s tongue was firmly ensconced in his cheek as he replied to a fairly straightforward Hot Press enquiry ( Favourite method of relaxation? ) we must take into account that the question was posed long before it emerged that the former England manager is a religious dingbat blessed with all the mental agility of a garden gnome.
They were halcyon days, when masturbating over Glenn Hoddle s silky skills was accepted behaviour for thirtysomething Spurs devotees who have been given precious few reasons to choke the chicken since the elegant midfielder hung up his boots and went into mismanagement.
Now, however, Tony has been incorrectly outed as a Manuphile on national television. If the viewing figures for DFTG are as impressive as the Montrose mandarins would have us believe, he would do well to stockpile the Vaseline and tissues, barricade his living room door, dust off his Great No. 10s Of Our Time video collection and keep a very low profile for the next six months.
Maybe then, his public will have forgotten. Then again, maybe not. After all, it is unlikely that anyone, even Mrs Ferguson, pleasures themselves while Alex Ferguson is on the goggler.
This blatant slur on the otherwise pristine character of one of Irish sports broadcasting s finest talents is indicative of the inherent sloppiness that is currently endemic in RTE. Such nonsense ensures that a show such as Don t Feed The Gondolas remains little more than a mildly amusing diversion, when, with the application of some backroom elbow grease, it could gleefully set about upsetting the national political and media applecart by sticking some very sharp verbal and visual pins in the myriad hot air balloons of smug pomposity which currently jockey for position on the Montrose skyline.
At it stands, Don t Feed The Gondolas is an adequate TV excursion, which few if any television critics have lavished with praise. With its core panel of three presenter Sean Moncrieff and team captains Dara O Briain and Brendan O Connor all the ingredients are in place for a potentially explosive satirical current affairs show, which instead contents itself with ticking over on a weekly basis, occasionally hitting paydirt but, more often than not, fizzling out like a rain-soaked squib.
As someone who has worked with team captain Dara O Briain on the stand-up circuit on numerous occasions, I can vouch that he is a fine comedian who is notoriously quick on his feet when confronted with a potentially sticky live situations. When he is not indulging in the self-aggrandising in-house tomfoolery for which Sunday Independent culture vultures are renowned, Brendan O Connor also has his moments, penning more than a few wry, mirth-inducing and thought-provoking observations. Sean Moncrieff, too, is an accomplished professional, albeit one who seems uncomfortable working within the narrow parameters that are marked out for a broadcaster seemingly earmarked as RTE s resident loose cannon.
His is a thankless task bounding hungrily after fair game while simultaneously looking over his shoulder to see how much slack is left on the chain which so obviously shackles him to the DG s desk.
Nevertheless, his regular vox pops on DFTG are unquestionably funny, although, just as Channel 4 s Mark Thomas gets his kicks from intimidating hapless receptionists and security guards in a manner which is neither big nor clever, Moncrieff s penchant for rooting out the drunk, the elderly and the terminally bewildered as foils for his wit is, of late, becoming increasingly patronising and tiresome.
DFTG s most obvious shortcoming since day one has been its mindnumbingly dull array of guests. Instead of picking movers, shakers and opinion makers, the roll call features a motley crew of the usual suspects that most of us formed opinions on approximately 20 years ago. Ronnie Drew, Twink, Linda Martin, Pat Rabbite. Why? Of course some have been amusing, but the vast majority seem to have been drafted in from adjoining studios in Montrose and have proved, as you d expect, to be banal beyond belief. The fact that the most impressive by a country mile, Galway-based hash fiend Ming the Merciless, has appeared no fewer than three times, speaks volumes.
The problem with DFTG, then, would appear to lie behind the scenes. It s no secret that vast swathes of shows such as Have I Got News For You?, Never Mind The Buzzcocks and If I Ruled The World are meticulously scripted. Needless to say, viewers who damn this as foul chicanery are invariably the first to complain when a substandard programme appears on their television screens. TV is all about the creation of an illusion, and if the recording of They Think It s All Over has to be interrupted repeatedly to enable a team of scriptwriters to furrow their brows, gnaw their pencils and come up with a suitably witty quip for the terminally unfunny Gary Lineker (why else do you think he gets an ovation on the odd occasions he actually unleashes a killer oneliner?), then so be it.
Of course DFTG also has writers on the payroll. The problem is that there are only two of them and they are not very funny. Compare this to Channel 4 s satirical flagship, The 11 O Clock Show, which has a writing team of 10, as well as six researchers. That s more like it.
Iain Lee s vox pops may not always be as amusing as Sean Moncrieff s, but he is rarely, if ever patronising and does not need to rely on the dregs of humanity to provide cheap grins. That job is left to Daisy Donovan and Ali G, who are happy to patronise their utterly unwitting victims the rich, the powerful and the inherently smug with aplomb. The creators of The 11 O Clock Show have obviously twigged that in the war against fat cats, top dogs and sacred cows, their greatest ally is a general public that, given the opportunity, is only too happy to act as co-conspirator when it comes to fighting the good fight.
There are those, of course, who have accused The 11 O Clock Show of being Chris Morris Lite. As a criticism this is simultaneously fair and unfair. Yoof TV presenter Ali G is as inspired a creation as anything conceived by the man behind Brass Eye, and the arch prankster must surely approve of the majority of the programme s other devilish schemes, not least their fake documentaries and government seminars. Of course, those that argue that The 11 O Clock Show is merely a pale imitation of Brass Eye, can at least rest assured that the makers are only copying from the best.
It would appear evident, then, that with extra expenditure, Don t Feed The Gondolas does have the potential to revolutionise television comedy in Ireland by emerging from its vacuum of mediocrity and becoming as funny, if not funnier, than its British counterparts. Needless to say, the suits have always argued that their budget doesn t stretch to a committee of writers headed by a single script supervisor. Then again, perhaps if the national broadcaster were to jettison some of the excess baggage currently taking up space in the hold of the good ship RTE, lack of finance would cease to be a problem. n