And so it came to pass that, in a moment of madness she will no doubt discuss with a therapist for the next 25 years, our very own Bachelorette Sam Frost decided to send the delightful Richie home on Wednesday night, which meant that animated tree trunk Sasha Mielczarek and cartoon weasel Michael Turnbull were her “final two”.
I finished wailing “WHYYY?!” just in time to tune in for last night’s finale in which Sam and her suitors were whisked away to New Zealand to make her choice, because nothing says “true-blue Aussie romance” like doing extreme sports in the Land of the Long White Cloud.
“There’s just one day left for each of them,” Osher says with grave seriousness, and I find myself hoping he is implying Sam will soon rope Michael and Sasha to the bottom of a whirlybird then fly them up to the top of Mount Ruapehu and leave them there to fight to the death with a couple of broken wine bottles.
Sadly, they’re heading to Auckland and surrounds for a series of romantic tourism advertisements, er, dates. “The biggest emotion that I am feeling, coming to New Zealand, is excitement,” says Michael, as his eyes narrow to two slits. “OPEN YA EYES, MICHAEL!” yells my housemate from behind the small mountain of pizza we’ve ordered to survive the finale.
But before we can get to any fireworks, we have to watch Sasha and Michael wander blankly through an extended Air New Zealand product placement sequence that was so blatant I half expected one of them to finish their dates with Sam by turning to the camera and intoning “ ... but I really love Air New Zealand”.
Soon enough they touch down in Aotearoa and it’s time for the boys to meet Sam’s brothers and sisters. “Michael came across very smooth to me,” says Sam’s big sister, Christine, perhaps confusing him with an actual weasel.
Michael responds to Christine’s scrutiny by pouring her a radioactive-coloured juice from a olde-worlde flagon but is stunned when Big Sis fixes him in her gaze, her frown as deep as the Mariana trench. He moves to allay her fears by telling her he’s bona fide when it comes to seeking Sam’s love. “I’m past all bullshit,” says the former football player who massaged the data about having played for Australia at the Sydney Olympics.
Reflecting on his brief hang time with Sam’s family, Michael says, “I could definitely see myself fitting into what they have,” with utterly flat affect. Does this guy know how to party or what?
Next it’s Sasha’s go, and the lovable lunk turns up at the Novotel and is led by Sam into a suite decked out like a “sexy date room”, full of candles and roses. Awkwardly, her entire family is present.
“Did you come on the show to look for love, or build a profile?” Christine asks Sasha, clearly having read the same tabloid rumours as I have. She continues to grill Sasha, making copious references to how her little sister had her heart shredded in this exact scenario last year, and inquiring as to whether he loves her sister.
“To use the word ‘love’, that means a lot to me,” he replies, despite having used the word roughly 12 times in the past five seconds.
More video postcards of New Zealand, by which I mean Sam’s final two dates with the dudes, follow. She stands waiting on a windy jetty while some off-brand Enya plays, looking out over a lake that looks an awful lot as though it contains the island where Fin Raziel was banished in Ron Howard’s classic fantasy flick, Willow, which I make a mental note to immediately watch after the finale.
Sadly for lovers of 1980s fantasy movies everywhere, Sam and Michael are instead off for a spot of white-water rafting. “She loves to do the adventure stuff,” says Michael of their thrill-seeking date, apparently unaware it’s unlikely Sam would take him on an extreme sports outing if they weren’t presently on national television.
They hop into a hot spring, where Michael says, “My time is coming to an end,” before tearing off his skin and revealing his true form as a humanoid weasel alien. Just kidding. They have a few glasses of chardonnay and make out in the rain.
Next it’s Sasha’s turn, and he and Sam are taken for a spin on the bay in a classic yacht by a salty sea dog who soon disappears below deck, presumably to telephone his family and giggle about the two idiots macking on his boat. “I’ve seen this on Dawson’s Creek before,” exclaims Sam as they sail out to meet their doom like Pacey and Joey.
Later, Sasha gives Sam a piggyback along the beach and I long for the sweet embrace of death as the dunderheaded pair remark they’ve even dressed similarly, with normcore jeans and white runner combinations. “I couldn’t even look at you in the eye!” squeaks Sam, remembering their first meeting. “It’s been very difficult for me to open up,” Sasha grunts.
Then it’s time for the big reveal, so Sam puts on a fishtail gown that looks like something Goldie Hawn would have worn to a Roman empire-themed cocktail party in 1987 (a hand-me-down, worn previously by the Bachelor intruder Rachel).
This isn't the first outing for Sam's stunning finale dress #BacheloretteAU https://t.co/fLusBYkOTC pic.twitter.com/UBHvAAryQ8
— Daily Mail Australia (@DailyMailAU) October 22, 2015
Preparing to break the news to the boys, she waits on a Hobbiton-esque hill that the production team have quickly decorated with a few sprigs of plastic wisteria and a series of not-at-all culturally insensitive totems.
The limos roll in and the first guy to exit his vehicle is … Michael! Seeya, stoaty!! Sam chokes back tears while some prog keyboards fire up to soundtrack the dumping. “You are such an amazing guy and you have so much to offer,” she wheezes. “You’ve just got to trust your instinct,” Michael says. He’d know a lot about instinct, being an actual stoat. Soon he wanders off in search of a football to call his own.
That can mean only one thing, and despite certain tabloid websites’ best efforts to spoil the result, we are still somewhat surprised to see that it’s Sasha.
Attempting to express her feelings, Sam jiggles up and down a bit while making noises like my dog did the day she accidentally swallowed a bee. Sasha stares straight past her head at a dot on the ground. In a line of dialogue set to rival the love poetry of John Keats, Sam says: “Sash, I love you so much. I think so anyway.” Looking like someone has just explained basic maths to him, Sasha replies, “Really?” The fake Enya music fires up again and the camera, presumably attached to a drone, starts to spiral out of control up into the stratosphere.
And that’s all, folks! Have we all learned something about “true romance”? Who will be next year’s Bachelorette (or, for that matter, the next Bachelor)? Will we ever find a love as real as these two lunks found in the middle of an Air New Zealand commercial? We can but hope.
