With the eyes of the media upon them, a team of plucky Brits have ventured Down Under to do battle with hostile locals in an age-old series. But enough about the upcoming Ashes. This was the return of I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! (ITV1). Its 25th season of jungle japes and animal genitalia got under way with a decidedly lukewarm launch episode. Let’s hope Ben Stokes’ side deliver more drama.
This series has the misfortune of coming hot on the heels of all-conquering reality hit The Celebrity Traitors. The BBC series was impeccably cast, both in terms of recognition levels and blend of personalities. These arrivals in the Australian bush looked low-rent by comparison. Not so much big names as medium-to-small ones, more worthy of a provincial panto than A-list Ardross Castle.
Thigh-rubbing tabloids have worked themselves into a lather about Kelly Brook – a glamour model turned minor TV presenter turned minor radio presenter – even though most of the public have little clue who she is. Football pundit Alex Scott is marginally better known but not much more interesting. Bookies’ favourite to be crowned King of the Jungle is Angry Ginge, a YouTuber with 1.4m followers. His real name? Morgan Burtwistle. No wonder he’s angry.
Angry Ginge takes on a snake in the launch episode – James Gourley/ITV/Shutterstock
Arguably the star signing is Jack “son of Ozzy” Osbourne, whose famous father died just four months ago. As a reality TV veteran, Osborne can presumably be relied upon for decent campfire chat. So can motor-mouthed polymath Ruby Wax, who immediately marked herself out as a diva by demanding that the strapping Ginge stop blocking her camera angles. In a neat twist, these two were voted to face the first eating trial. The robust redhead better be careful where he stands.
They were joined by the industry standard soap actresses (EastEnders’ Shona McGarty, Emmerdale’s Lisa Riley) and obligatory 80s pop star (Spandau Ballet’s Martin Kemp). The field was rounded out by comedian Eddie Kadi and rapper Aitch. Cue blank faces on sofas nationwide. Even the rumoured late arrivals – reality rent-a-faces Vogue Williams and Tom Read Wilson – are more shrug-inducing than mouthwatering.
A rule change means that no campmate can be voted to face more than two Bushtucker Trials in a row. This feels like unnecessary mollycoddling. Part of the fun for viewers is gleefully torturing the squeamish screamers and resident hate figures. In 2022, former health secretary Matt Hancock was subjected to six trials in a row. At least there’s no obvious target this time, meaning the format tweak might pass relatively unnoticed.
The celebrity line-up was on the underwhelming side – Television Stills/Yoshitaka Kono
Politicians are conspicuous by their absence. Hancock and Nigel Farage hit headlines in recent years for their outback misadventures. A lack of Westminster recruits this time feels like a missed opportunity. Outspoken LBC presenter Nick Ferrari reportedly pulled out after radio bosses boycotted his participation. Neither are there any royal-adjacent figures like Paul Burrell or Mike Tindall. Was a certain Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor not bookable? He surely needs the appearance fee and accommodation, let alone the reputation-washing properties of a waterfall shower and kangaroo anus supper.
At least intrigue came from Brook’s purported beef with our hosts. She has previously claimed that Ant McPartlin and Declan Donnelly got her fired from a short-lived judging stint on Britain’s Got Talent. It’s hardly the “Wagatha Christie” spice added by Coleen Rooney last year but it’s something.
This opening episode took in the traditional meets, greets and Gold Coast arrivals. These involved helicopters, skydives, wading through offal and snake-infested challenges. Cue the guileless Brook squealing “I don’t want to get in a cock van!”, “I’m going to puke!” and “Oh my god, they’re biting my ***s!” Dignity, darling, always dignity.
Everyone was surprised about doing a parachute jump, even though it happens every series. There was way too much screeching and screaming. It was annoying that the lucky quartet to win a luxury car journey, comfortable beds and steak dinners were all the young-ish males: Kadi, Osbourne, Aitch and Ginge. Their laddish energy and lame songs were reminiscent of the world’s worst stag do.
Still, Aitch and Wax seemed like they’d be good value. McGarty and Scott displayed plenty of pluck. Ant and Dec reminded us why they’re the best in the business at such affairs. Their links were delightfully daft and they immediately struck up a rapport with the campmates. Take away the pair’s sparky presence and this extended episode would have felt interminable.
A 95-minute launch show could easily have fitted into a far snappier hour. Instead it was padded out with commercial breaks (Christmas ads ahoy) and interviews in which contestants spouted the usual clichés about comfort zones and learning curves. On its silver jubilee, this staple of the autumn schedules is looking distinctly dated. Is it too late to summon Alan Carr and swap his green cloak for a cork hat?
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