Talk, talk, talk ...
Need a pep talk? Chat to Oprah. Need to find out who the father of your baby is? Sit down with Ricki Lake. Need to snivel at how horrible your family life is? Don’t worry, Dr Phil will sort you out.
And if you’re in need of a good ol’ fashioned cussing session to ’fess up to your affair with your teenage stepdaughter, Jerry Springer will give you all the time in the world.
For American talk shows, it’s all about the ratings, baby.
I used to enjoy Oprah, on SABC3 most afternoons, but I find now she either over-dramatises a “true” story, or inflicts her “lightbulb moments” on the rest of us. When a celebrity guest appears, both Oprah and said guest spend at least half the show fawning all over each other.
“You’re amazing,” Oprah tells actor/actress/sports star, who returns the compliment effusively, barely audible against the deafening backdrop of women screaming, jumping up and down and clapping.
Dr Phil, weekdays on SABC2 at 1pm, is like Oprah’s poor cousin, and I’m almost certain I detect an evil glint in his eye when a guest breaks down sobbing.
At least both Ricki, weekdays on e.tv at 1.30pm, and the lovely Mr Springer, late nights on M-Net, are honest in what their shows are all about.
Ricki tries to help poor teens work out how to ignore a midnight booty call, and Jerry just lets the rednecks slug it out on stage.
All for the pleasure of couch voyeurs around the world.
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