Todd Chrisley’s surgically puckered and theatrically downturned lips are running through the plans for his new department store, Chrisley & Co. “I understand we’re going to have a certain amount of those sizes that I don’t particularly care for,” they say. Multi-millionaire and family man Todd would rather his customers were no fatter than a size 6, but then I suspect his retail venture isn’t really that dependent on a viable business plan.
Chrisley Knows Best (Wednesday, 10pm, ITVBe) concerns itself with the lives of an affluent, God-fearin’ Georgia family and the buffed, preened dictator at its head. You can’t take your eyes off Todd as he towers over his brood: wife Julie, whose perpendicular blow-dry is so powerful her eyebrows are pulled into its gravitational pull, and children Lindsie, Kyle, Chase, Savannah and Grayson. This may be a little premature, but it’s a contender for the most jaw-droppingly compelling programming of 2015.
By now, we all know the deal with this type of reality TV and the dysfunctional rich families at the centre, whether it’s the cute dysfunction of the Osbournes (all fun and games until two Osbourne children ended up in rehab), or the Kardashian brand of sterile dysfunction engineered by sexy woman farmer Kris. Todd’s dysfunction is closely linked to his nouveau riche status. As he takes us through his vast mansion, he’s keen to remind us he hasn’t forgotten his country roots, nor the proper way to raise his children. We then get to watch him remotely monitoring their calls and texts, tracking the cars he buys them, and scrutinising all internet traffic lest his sons look at online pornography (spoiler alert: Chase’s laptop ends up in the bottom of the Chrisley pool).
With the show already two seasons deep in America, keen readers of Mail Online will recognise the Chrisleys from stories about their bankruptcy or their now-exiled son Kyle, who has Daily Mail reporters on speed dial for each time his father does something bordering on sociopathic, like kidnap his granddaughter. But as Todd explains: “It’s Todd’s way or the highway, because he who has the gold rules. And I have the gold”.
Also having the gold this week is The Super-Rich And Us (Thursday, 9pm, BBC2), a detailed inventory of Everything That’s Wrong With This Country, and the most depressing hour of television you’ll get this side of Mark Wright gurning his way through a pasodoble. In short, it deconstructs the myth of trickle-down economics: the idea that if the rich are extremely rich, any pennies falling out of their diamond-encrusted purses might eventually be picked out of the gutter by the poor. In related matters, it also explains how Britain has become a playground for the rich thanks to our obscene tax loopholes which can be traced, like a trail of bin juice, to Britain’s Empire.
I’m using my entire earnest quota for the year here, but it is very important that you watch this programme, even if it might – MIGHT – have you doing that weird cry-laughing most often seen at lights-up at ill-fated house parties. The moments which might occasion such a response include the bit where it’s revealed that the austerity cuts – which total £80bn – are exactly equal to the sum the rich have gained in the same period, almost as if the cash is flowing directly into their pockets while others literally starve to death. Presenter and Guide alumni Jacques Peretti takes to the middle-class streets of Twickenham and finds they’re even struggling there. One woman explains how she’ll cope with no pension: “I’m off to Dignitas!” But euthanising yourself for capitalism isn’t the answer. I’d previously thought eating the rich was, but watching this stream of corpulent free-market merchants clammily lying through their pointed teeth, I’m not sure they look so appetising.
I soon realise it’s not reality TV – or failing to live in a mansion containing 30,000 square foot of rococo-style moulded plastic – that make me feel inadequate. It’s the limited access to any working guillotines.
