Poor Chris Evans. No, really, poor Chris Evans. Not only has his version of Top Gear been violently pilloried in the press, but he’s been singled out as the sole reason for its failure.
He’s an egotist, they say. He’s too loud, they say. Carol Vorderman doesn’t like him any more, they say – and that one must really sting, especially for anyone who’s seen any of the borderline-unwatchable adverts she’s churned out.
As a result of this onslaught, and in the wake of apparently weak Top Gear ratings, Evans now spends his days defensively tweeting about the revolutionary notion of catch-up TV, like your dad did the first time he bought a VCR. All this negative attention is clearly getting to him. So, yes, poor Chris Evans.
I’m not sure he really deserves it. To see the abuse he’s been receiving over the last fortnight, you could be forgiven for thinking that he’d run over a pensioner or desecrated a sacred burial ground, when all he’s really done is present a weekly motoring programme in a vaguely unsure way. That’s it.
The truth is that anyone who replaced Jeremy Clarkson would get exactly the same reaction. Top Gear was ultimately created as The Jeremy Clarkson Show; a series custom-built by Clarkson to fit all of his primary strengths. Airdrop anyone else in and they’d similarly flounder. They’d either awkwardly try to cram their own personality into proceedings, or they’d attempt to fit around the format by performing an unfortunate Jeremy Clarkson impersonation. Over the course of the first two episodes, Evans has been guilty of both. But so, I’d guess, would anybody else.
The calls for Evans to be replaced are short-sighted. Top Gear is a magazine programme – it’s The One Show in crap jeans – and it needs a capable presenter to hold all the elements together. Matt LeBlanc, as charming as he is, is not a presenter. Nor is Jensen Button, who scored well during a brief appearance on Sunday’s episode. He was fun, and he was certainly knowledgeable, but all he really did was go “Woo” in a car a few times. He couldn’t anchor Top Gear the way Evans can – and will – once he’s found his feet.
This will take time. Look at Jeremy Clarkson’s first efforts at presenting Top Gear; he’s all received pronunciation and Open University mannerisms and Alan Partridge blazer. He was trying to fit into the show that existed before him, and his struggle is evident, and it wasn’t until he relaxed enough to truly be himself that viewers started responding to him. This is exactly the stage that Evans finds himself in now.
But Top Gear cannot simply mould itself around Evans’ quirks straight away. It’s a huge global moneyspinner for the BBC, and too many sudden changes could be disastrous. I suspect that Evans will gradually alter the show in his own image over the course of several episodes – maybe even a few years – and what we’re witnessing are just the ungainly first stages of that process. Once it’s there, though, Top Gear will truly be his. He’ll never win over the dyed-in-the-wool Clarksonites – the ones who respond to everything he ever does with a guttural “Tell it like it is, Jezza” – but that won’t matter because he’ll have an audience of his own by them.
All of this isn’t to say that Chris Evans is doing well as Top Gear host. So far, he isn’t. He’s shaky and overcompensatory. He hasn’t developed the same easy chemistry with his co-hosts as the last bunch. His new Star In A Rallycross Car segment is three times longer than it should be. He still comes across as the winner of an Impersonate Jeremy Clarkson competition. But Chris Evans is a more than capable broadcaster. He just needs to relax and ride out this bumpy patch, and all his problems will drop away. Who needs Carol Vorderman, anyway?
