HAVE you got the smell of desperation coming from Meghan Markle’s kitchen in California?
It’s tinged with the heavy fragrance of sycophancy and fawning.
Meghan’s show is what happens when an under-employed actress spends too long watching old Nigella episodes[/caption]
Prince Harry at Invictus Games last month – but there’s precious little sign of him in the show[/caption]
And there’s a bitter after-taste you may also experience if you consume all eight episodes of Netflix’s With Love, Meghan, which is what happens when an under-employed actress spends too long watching old episodes of Nigella’s Cook, Eat, Repeat and The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills.
That is to say, it’s a cookery and lifestyle show, of sorts, up until episode five when it suddenly turns into a gardening show.
With the slightly weird twist being, Meghan’s flower arrangements look a lot more appetising than her food which would serve her far better if she wore it to the next Met Gala as Carmen Miranda.
Although, talking of bad fancy dress costumes, there’s precious little sign of Prince Harry here. It’s all about Meghan’s “friends.” She has lots of them, apparently.
Frozen-faced Hollywood clones
Terrified-looking creeps, for the most part, like Daniel, her make-up guy, who thinks he’s getting a sleepover, until he isn’t.
There’s also a couple of frozen-faced Hollywood clones called Kelly and Abigail, who look like they’ve just fled the latest White Lotus bloodbath, and a Korean chef called Roy Choi, who has so much in common with Her Ladyship.
“He’s from LA. I’m from LA.”
He likes dancing while he’s cooking.
She likes dancing while she’s cooking. “He loves donuts.” She married one.
And you better not forget she’s royalty either, or you’ll get the same treatment another “friend”, Mindy, received, in episode three, when she breached etiquette by saying: “I don’t think anyone in the world knows that Meghan Markle has eaten Jack In The Box (a US fast-food chain).”
“It’s funny,” replied Meghan, letting the world know she didn’t think it was remotely funny, “You keep saying ‘Meghan Markle’, you know I’m Sussex now. It’s our family name.”
With a passive-aggressive nightmare like that in charge, you can probably understand why the atmosphere on this show is so tense.
In fact, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen such a strained or prolonged display of silent vegetable prepping in my life.
Eight episodes it lasts and the relentless “chop . . . chop . . . chop” is only ever broken by small talk, cut-away shots of Guy the dog, who is the real star of the show, and a whole load of Californian profundities, like: “The only difference between ritual and routine is intention.”
None of which should come as a surprise to anyone who has been following Meghan’s story closely, of course.
Nor should they be too flabbergasted to discover she cannot fake sincerity and has an unmatched ability to turn any compliment round to herself, even if it’s just aimed at a fecking cake: “’Cos you just don’t know how good she is until you go deep.”
She’s a liar and a limelight-chasing hypocrite who can’t act, host or offer TV anything more profound than the question: ‘What do you do with carrot tops outside of sharing them with the chickens?’
What did shock me a little was the discovery that the hostess with the mostest is actually an international class tightwad who thinks she’s doing “friends” a big favour by sending them home with a bag of homemade dog biscuits, yet is so divorced from reality she tosses out advice like: “You can get wax from your local beekeeper.”
It’s a desperately unattractive combination and makes for the exact opposite of good TV.
So how, then, did it ever make it on to Netflix?
Well, the only credible explanation I’ve got is it’s an act of deliberate self-sabotage by the streaming giant, designed to rid them of their disastrous £100million investment before she brings down the whole franchise.
I’ve no such crumb of comfort for Meghan, though.
The UK public who welcomed her to their hearts and got a lecture about racism, by return favour, has long since worked out she may well be the grifter of the century, but she’s also a liar and a limelight-chasing hypocrite who can’t act, host or offer TV anything more profound than the question: “What do you do with carrot tops outside of sharing them with the chickens?”
You hold their hand at the Invictus Games and try to stop him catching the javelins.
TV GOLD
Jack Whitehall captured the public mood two hours into The Brits[/caption]
BBC2’S brilliant Israel And The Palestinians: The Road To 7th October.
Kursk: 10 Days That Shaped Putin (Sky Showcase).
Supermarket singer Stacey Leadbetter out-performing all the ringers at Britain’s Got Talent.
Po-faced Gladiator Matthew “Legend” Morsia proving the perfect comedy foil for Lee Mack, Rob Brydon and David Mitchell on Would I Lie To You. Jason Isaacs torpedoing the Oscars, live on ITV.
And Jack Whitehall finally capturing the public mood, over two hours into The Brits: “This show has been going on so long Five have broken up again.”
GREAT SPORTING INSIGHTS
CLINTON MORRISON: “If Liverpool had an 80 per cent chance, after that game you’d give them another six and a 95 per cent chance.”
Simon Thomas: “Szoboszlai covers so much ground it’s like he’s got a fourth lung.”
And Terry Gibson: “I won’t say how many touches City had. They had 20.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray)
GREAT TV lies and delusions of the week. The Weakest Link, Glaswegian podcaster Susie McCabe: “I’m Susie and I’m a comedian and podcaster from Glasgow.”
The Brits, Jack Whitehall: “Little Mix reforming makes me so happy.”
With Love, Meghan Markle, cooking Korean food: “I’m going to put a lid on it.”
Promises promises.
RETREADS and ringers galore on the first two episodes of Britain’s Got Talent, where familiar-looking acts have included: Synchronised street-dancing from Obsequious, which has already been seen on World Supremacy Battlegrounds.
Nose dangling acrobatics, from Auzzy Blood, which has already been seen on six other talent shows.
And out-of-tune singing, from a stroppy Yorkshire pudding, which has already been seen from Mel B in the Spice Girls.
Give us something fresh.
FOR the 23rd year in a row, Sycophant Of The Year goes to ITV’s Oscars reporter Ross King, for this comprehensive red carpet greasing of singer Raye, right: “Class, absolute class.
Singer Raye on the red carpet at this year’s Oscars[/caption]
“We’re so thrilled to have you here. I was wondering, ‘How’s she going to get here’?
“I thought, ‘the magic of Hollywood will get you here’, and you look so fresh, you look amazing.”
She looked ok.
LOOKALIKE OF THE WEEK
This week’s winner is Jamie Oliver and the forensic facial reconstruction of Mozart.
Sent in by Callum Milne, York
JASON’S TRUTH OSCAR
White Lotus actor Jason Isaacs dropped a truth bomb on the Oscars[/caption]
HERO of the week was White Lotus actor Jason Isaacs who dropped a ten-megaton truth bomb on the Oscars ten minutes into ITV’s live broadcast, on Sunday.
“I don’t think awards ceremonies are any good. I think they’re rubbish and have been for years. I think we should change almost everything to do with them.”
A statement so uncontestable, all host Jonathan Ross and the other guests could do, for the next 30 seconds, was laugh nervously.
If the outburst shocked them, though, it should’ve been no surprise it was delivered by Isaacs who, 24 hours earlier, had presented a Brit Award wearing a yellow Israeli hostage pin.
A gesture that, on the face of it, could be seen as just another celebrity virtue signal.
But, in a venue filled with some of the woke establishment’s loudest and dumbest supporters of the Palestinian cause, like Paloma Faith, Stormzy and Jade Thirlwall, and on an ITV broadcast where Danny Dyer was muted after being asked to swear by host Jack Whitehall, it was as close to an act of rock n’ roll rebellion as the event was ever likely to get.
A day later, he wasn’t done with the Oscars either and with three and a half hours of the ceremony still to go, he asked Jonathan Ross: “What’s the next award?”
“Animated feature.” “Right, I’m out.”
And with that, our hero vanished into the night. Job done.
AI COMEDY
THE Last Leg, Adam Hills: “We asked an AI programme to describe Josh Widdicombe’s style of comedy. It said . . . ”
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Column returns March 21st.
UNEXPECTED MORONS IN THE BAGGING AREA
TIPPING POINT, Ben Shephard: “Florence Welch is the lead singer of the band Florence and the what?”
Medi: “Nightingales.”
Ben Shephard: “Sudamerica is the Spanish word for which of the world’s continents?”Medi: “Europe.”
And Impossible, where A)Linda Evangelista and C)Christy Turlington (correct) were possible answers to Rick Edwards’ question: “Which of the trio of supermodels known as ‘the trinity’ married actor Edward Burns in 2003?”
But contestant Ed chose: “B) Nicky Campbell.”
RANDOM TV IRRITATIONS
CHANNEL 4 confusing professional flasher Jordan Gray with a comedian. Every culturally sensitive imbecile on The Apprentice suddenly pronouncing Turkey as “Torquay-yah,” like Fawlty Towers had just hit the Sunday Times travel supplement.
And Last Leg host Adam Hills actually beginning a sentence with the words: “Donald Trump, Mr President, if you’re watching, we want to…”
Stop you there, Adam. He’s not.
