Who needs Trump vs Mamdani when we’ve got Big Dogs vs Hundies? Sure, mistakenly freed prisoners are a scandal but so are celebrity murders in plain sight. And forget the ass hat formerly known as Prince Andrew. We’re more interested in who’ll be crowned king or queen of the castle.
I’m referring, of course, to The Celebrity Traitors - the blockbuster BBC hit which reaches its killer climax tonight. It might just be a TV show but boy, how we’ve needed it. This glorified game of wink murder has brought the nation together at a time of doom, gloom and hate. After four weeks of welcome respite from the real world, parting from it will indeed be sweet sorrow.
For services to national morale, host Claudia Winkleman deserves to be upgraded from an MBE to a damehood. Ardross Castle in the Scottish Highlands should be given listed status and encased in a glass dome to protect it. The sinister cloaked statue, the ropy mannequin heads, those portraits with red crosses on them… Put them all in the British Museum, then let us queue up to take selfies and give thanks.
It seems ridiculous now but remember when nobody thought an all-star series would work? Well, a big old Alan Carr cackle at that. As soon as their black Land Rovers rolled up that gravel drive in, all 19 VIPs were fully invested. The inaugural celebrity edition has become the most talked-about TV show of the autumn, if not the year (Adolescence is surely its only rival). As our obsession snowballed, viewing figures doubled from 6m to 12m, propelled by a gust of Celia Imrie's flatulence and a push uphill from man-mountain Joe Marler.
Ratings are predicted to hit 15m for the finale. The nation normally only sits down together in such numbers when England football teams reach tournament finals. The Celebrity Traitors has triumphed like our Lionesses. Think of Carr as a bespectacled, giggle-prone Chloe Kelly. And Winkleman as Sarina Wiegman wearing a cape and fingerless gloves on the touchline.
Production company Studio Lambert has treated us to nine episodes of precision-tooled, fiendishly addictive entertainment. Imrie didn’t just go viral for her impeccably timed parp (“It’s nerves but I always own up”) but for wailing down a well like a constipated banshee.
Jonathan Ross - who we’ve come to take for granted over the decades - reminded us what a charismatic screen presence he is. He wasn’t just deliciously evil in the traitors’ turret but stole the fashion spotlight from Winkleman with his flamboyant wardrobe. Unmasked at last, he gleefully wound up castmates and viewers with his exit speech: “I am now, and have been all through the game, completely faithful... to the traitors!”
Still the memes and conversation points kept coming. Kate Garraway wore daft hats and gormlessly repeated things. Tom Daley gave her graveside side-eye. Mark Bonnar furiously banged his fist on the table like a thespy Begbie from Trainspotting. Mild-mannered Clare Balding swore at a lever. And of course, there’s been Alan Carr’s ascent to national treasure status. The reluctant traitor has blossomed from perspiring, panicking, rosé-guzzling liability into a stone cold killer - although he might just have blown his cover with his inability to say “I am a Faithful” without dissolving into laughter.
The show has created breakout stars and cult heroes. Dry-witted Marler, ice cool Cat Burns, ranting Ruth Codd (“Don’t piss in my ear and tell me it’s raining”) and “puzzle ninja” Nick Mohammed have all done their careers no harm at all, merely by being themselves. We’ve got to know big names better than in any chat show interview, just by watching them gossip, play badminton badly and munch stale croissants around a crescent-shaped breakfast table.
It has pulled back the curtain on fame, like Celebrity Big Brother or I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! in their pomp. In fact, The Celebrity Traitors has done it way more stylishly and without ever outstaying its welcome. Other reality shows risk overkill with nightly episodes and blanket coverage. We’ve been rationed to one or two trips to Ardross Castle per week. Impatient waits have allowed anticipation to build, speculation to mount and theories to be hatched.
As much as any culture fix, it has provided welcome escapism. We can’t resist speculating about how we’d fare. Would we want Winkleman’s shoulder-tap to anoint us a traitor? If were a faithful, could we spot lies and sniff out treachery? How would we cope at tense round tables or on adrenaline-fuelled missions? Who would we befriend? And would we betray them, like Carr and Paloma Faith? Ooh you are awful, Alan. But we like you.
The Faithful’s utter uselessness at the actual game has been oddly reassuring. It took them seven round table showdowns to rumble Rossy. In the meantime, they mistakenly banished six of their own team, while another seven were murdered. They’re officially the worst sleuths in any UK series but it’s somehow endearing. A fascinating glimpse of groupthink in action.
Who could blame Claudia for telling them off like a glossy-fringed schoolteacher? She’s not angry, she’s just disappointed. OK, and a bit angry. So-called brainiacs like Stephen Fry and David Olusoga proved just as useless as anyone, perhaps even more so. These public intellectuals were totally outplayed by a mohawk-haired prop forward and a 25-year-old singer with ADHD and autism who’s never heard of Helen Mirren.
Cloaks and conclaves. Scrolls and slates. Trust and treachery. The Celebrity Traitors will be much missed. The last time so many tuned into a TV event was for the Gavin & Stacey Christmas special. No wonder Ruth Jones is reportedly in talks about signing up for the inevitable second series. “Oh, Traitors, what’s occurring? Murder and mindgames? Tidy.”
Banishing our worries and killing off our cares, The Celebrity Traitors has bonded the nation at a time when too many malign forces are sowing division. It’s been a reminder that we’ve got far more in common than we’re often led to believe. And if all else fails, there are always farting old ladies and camp comedians to unite us.
The Celebrity Traitors finale is on BBC One at 9pm tonight
