Makeover Madness
Created | Updated Dec 6, 2009
It's a holiday weekend, and I have nowhere to go, as the missus and I can't get the same days off. So I've been whiling away the time watching television. There's a lot of 'reality' on television these days.
I believe it was TS Eliot who said, 'Humankind cannot bear very much reality.' I'm not sure this was what he meant, but I'd love to see what the poet would have made of the shows I've been watching – most of which seem to involve ladies' clothing, self-esteem, and the concept of 'makeover'.
Makeover is a wonderful idea. Who wouldn't want to find out that all they needed to be happy, popular, successful, and gosh-darn-it-all satisfied with themselves was a lick of paint and a new pair of shoes? No wonder these stories are so fascinating. In addition, they don't require complicated script-writing, powerful direction, or years of training in the Stanislavsky Method – all you need are a camera, a willing subject, and a need of some kind.
The two best shows I've seen so far are quite different in scope and goal, but exhibit the same curiosity about one's fellow human, the same palette of quotidian hopes and fears, and the same (one hopes, always) fortunate outcome – the achievement of personal fulfilment by the subjects of the makeover, and a feeling of satisfaction on the part of the host gurus, or makeover-makers.
One of these programmes is called 'Say Yes to the Dress' – yes, my friends, I admit to boredom so intense that I watched women choosing wedding gowns for an entire hour. My empathy with the Welsh bridegroom stranded on an overstuffed salon sofa while his future womenfolk-in-law cooed over ruched organdy had the sort of enrapt quality I usually reserve for the 'providence in the fall of a sparrow' speech as recited by Branagh. (I need to get the DVD player fixed. I really do.)
This programme is informative, and has expanded my horizons considerably. Who knew that brides-to-be would drag their mothers and sisters 10 hours by car just to buy a gown and meet the designer? More importantly, how do they know about these designers? I am in the wrong business. I swear to heaven I could rearrange white silk and lace to make that young woman look less like a fashion victim...I found myself wanting to sketch empire waistlines...ah, the sorrow of discovering one's true calling too late, alas...
The other programme was even better: two delightfully eccentric, too-too-upper-class Englishwomen climb into their silver Airstream trailer and take to the roads of America to spread fashion advice and je-ne-sais-quoi. They do this with verve, wit, and pear-shaped vowels – also with kindness, which I appreciated. Much hugging, and the young lady in Rehoboth Beach (a magical place, I know it well, I was proud of the denizens of that unfashionable but friendly resort town) looked so much happier and more confident in her new high heels and touch of eye-shadow. I cannot wait to see what miracles Trinna and Susannah accomplish in Virginia. I note that they have skirted New Jersey in their peregrinations. In Delaware, some sort of fashion is possible. New Jersey is hopeless.
What I enjoyed most about 'Making Over America', besides the pun implied in the title, was that our British doyennes patronised the local rag-shops rather than shilling for the higher-priced New York variety of haute couture. The haute couture of 'Slower Lower Delaware' does not run to pricey. No $500 pairs of pointy-toed shoes for them.
Having been introduced to this wondrous world of the second chance, I have decided on my own perfect makeover programme – one for gents, not involving wrestling, boxing, or pimping one's ride, but of some interest to the fairer sex as well...one with excitement and adventure, aesthetic choices, laughter and tears...to be called...
Watching Paint Dry: The Series
The series involves some gurus, in this case DIY experts. We should have a bossy, witty one, possibly with a starched crease in his coveralls, and a sympathetic, kindly guru – maybe an older fellow who strokes his beard a lot and says, 'Now, when I was painting the White House, the First Lady said to me...'
The makeover-ee has a simple need: The wife has expressed the desire to have a room in the house painted. She's probably picked an arcane Fashion Colour, and perhaps hinted at some new technique – sponging, ragging, stencilling or stamping, for example, whatever those are (I just looked them up, I live in an apartment, painting the walls would break my lease). Quite possibly the hapless husband is equally ignorant of the finer points of home decorating as taught in the after-hours classes at Home Depot. No matter: our experts are here to save the day.
The first step is to get the wife out of the house. This can be done by the ancillary, female members of the team, who take the Lady of the House on a shopping trip she has 'won'. This part of the story will probably interest female audience members more, and can be padded with brunch and discussions of men in general. During this part of the show, male viewers may mosey off to critically inspect the contents of their fridges.
Now, I am not an idiot – er, correction, I am an idiot, but I am not naive enough to believe that these television programmes live on audience interest alone. There must be a sponsor. In this case, I have been clever. There is a perfect sponsor waiting in the wings. (Actually, there are two, but I am saving the second one for a surprise.)
The sponsor in question is of course a famous paint company, possibly backed by a hardware store that distributes same. The LOTH safely distracted, the team will now take the Makeover Husband to the store to choose the paint, buy the brushes, etc. This will be not only an opportunity to tout the wares of the company in question, but an occasion for hilarity, as there is no way in Kansas that husband is going to remember what colour paint his wife wanted. Was it periwinkle blue? Seacoast green? Er, I think she said something about 'the same shade as that awful dress your sister wore to Joe's wedding, only not quite so her, you know...' Never mind: the gurus will find it, the paint-shop expert will mix it, and before we cut to the (paint) commercial, there will be a close-up of that mixing machine that makes such a cool racket, which is the reason I hang around DIY places.
Back to the show. Paint, brushes, pans, etc, in hand, our team, with husband in tow, comes home to paint the room, aided by a cohort of brothers-in-law, cousins, and drinking buddies secretly invited by the director. With some false starts, the difficult technique of whatever-it-is is learnt, somebody remembers to cover most of the carpet, and painting takes place. Much amusement is caused when the expensive sofa is the victim of a thoughtless accident, but the bearded expert saves the day as he enlightens us as to the uses of state-of-the-art paint removers. When the spot remover fails to do the job, a new sofa is secretly purchased (note to self: possible commercial tie-in to the North Carolina furniture industry?).
When the room has been successfully, though messily, painted, the true meaning of the reality series comes to the fore. The participants must sit and watch the paint dry. Here is where my series shows its true genius, and wins another sponsor. This cannot be done without beer. Lots of it.
After a couple of well-advertised beers, the fun begins. Word games are played. Discussions are started. Points and prizes are given for wit and humour – extra points for keeping the dog from 'improving' the paint job by using his tail as a finishing brush. (Cut to innocent wife and television collaborators in mimosa-fuelled discussion of such serious topics as fashion and babies. Cut back to men trying to balance beer bottles on their noses – keeping the label in-shot, of course...)
The end of each show is almost an anticlimax – though not quite. The reaction of the wife to the wondrous makeover may range from sheer delight – 'Oh, sugar, it's the way I've always wanted it!' (Okay, probably not) – to exasperation – 'You FOOL! I wanted the kitchen painted forest green, not the living room in green polka dots!'. The degree of satisfaction felt may also depend on whether the painters have policed the beer cans, how much pizza has been consumed (and where), and whether the LOTH has noticed the new sofa.
Previews of coming attractions will include the painting of an outhouse in the Ozarks – permitting discussion of waterproof outdoor latex – and the ninja-redecoration of Bubba Smith's pied-à-terre in the Happy Campers Trailer Park over behind Bryson City.
Legal Warning
I have mooted this idea with the missus, and am undeterred by her comment that this proves that my company shouldn't give me any extra days off. I am proud of this idea of mine.
Therefore, a warning to all you television producers out there: I own the copyright to this. No fair stealing it as a vehicle for that DIY guy on the Public Broadcasting Service. I saw it first. It is MINE. I want creative control and a cut of the action.
I also want free paint and free beer.
Now, to go unpack that new DVD player...wonder if there's a manual...
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