"Hmm, a subtle pallette, fruity notes, with just a hint of desperation."
Eastenders, East-fucking-enders, the very name strikes fear into my heart, the bastard show increases my blood pressure to the sort of level where I could prick my finger and jet wash graffiti off a brick wall*. For over 23 years, this glum little show has delighted us by systematically crushing the hopes dreams, and sometimes legs, of Walford residents in a Technicolor whirl of misery.
It’s awful, truly awful, and not just in terms of subject matter. There’s so much wrong with this show that I could, and may, write ten bile-spurtingly angry blogs on the subject, but for now I’m just going to focus on the main offender, realism.
We’re constantly told by our creepy aunt Beeb that ‘Enders is the serious soap, the one that confronts issues and strives for authenticity - “We don't make life, we reflect it... Above all, we want realism,” Julia Smith, Creator. This is why we’re not allowed even vaguely attractive actors and why no one - except that comedy gay guy - ever smiles, it’s all justified in the name of realism, which is fine, very noble, very worthy, very BBC.
Except, of course, that it’s a complete crock of shit!
Eastenders is not only unrealistic, it’s the least realistic of the soaps: Coronation Street, Emmerdale, Holby City, Hollyoaks, even fucking Skins can all claim to be more representative and true to life than this middle class fantasy and here’s why...
Walford doesn’t exist! Yeah, yeah, obvious I know, of course it doesn’t dumbass, neither does Wetherfield or Sun Hill. The point I’m trying to make is that at least these fictional towns exist in a world recognisable to people who’ve actually been to the areas they dramatise, ie. Manchester for Corrie, or Bristol for Skins.
This annoys me so much only because I know the East end of London pretty well, I go there at least once a week, I’ve worked there, I even lived there for six months of my life (that I’ll never get back) and let me tell you, Walford REALLY doesn’t exist.
In reality East London is a hotch-potch of migrant workers, well-to-do city types, drug addicts and rich white kids who’ve devoted their lives to pretending to be artists**.
What it certainly is not, is the sixties-style den of gangsters, cockneys and ‘Joanna’ pubs represented in Eastenders – I am yet, for example, to hear anyone unironically using rhyming slang anywhere in East London - for that, you want to head to Essex or Kent. Old Eastenders do exist in London but they’re few - usually they’re about a thousand years old and sat alone nursing a pint in Wetherspoons. Hardly a demographic large or interesting enough to warrant a prime time TV show.
Wake up BBC, your flagship TV show is a lie!
But don’t worry, it’s okay, there’s a way out. Here’s what you have to do to...
Characters: Kill off the Mitchells, the Fowlers and the Slaters, bring in the Patels, the Khawajas and the Zawadzki’s. The drizzle in a few token white Brits, might I suggest Troy and his life partner David: a ‘Freelance’ Web Designing couple, Toby: a Financial Analyst and Suzannah: a Rodean educated performance artist who pretends the monthly cheque from her Dad is an Arts Council Grant.
There might however be a slight problem, in that these characters won’t all have English as a first language (or even as a second), they’ll also never, EVER speak to each other.
The Vic: Proper East End boozers still just about exist (I know of two) but they are squarely in the minority and filled with people enjoying them ironically. To be properly representational the Vic should change its name to something like ‘Junk’ or ‘Spunk’ or ‘Ailment bar.’ It should also have two-year-old-standard stencil-art for sale on the walls and a small television showing a video loop of a fountain, on a white plinth in the corner***. Oh, and if you want to keep Sharon behind the bar, she’s going to need to lose about eight stone and get an unflattering hundred-quid bowl haircut.
Gangsters: I, like 99.999876% of the population, have no direct experience with gangsters, East End or otherwise****. However, I’m pretty sure that their work revolves more around selling drugs to people than it does donning sheepskin coats and plotting to ‘knock off’ banks or armoured cars with sawn-off shotguns. And, while we’re on the subject, I’m also fairly sure that for the most part they’re not white and middle aged – again, I’d point you in the direction of Essex for that.
As far as I can tell, London gangsters actually lead fairly boring lives. They sell their drugs with impunity and only really risk getting arrested at the end of the quarter (if the Met’s stats are down). VERY occasionally someone gets shot, though not nearly as often as in Birmingham. Maybe ‘Midlanders’ would be a better soap for that sort of thing.
In summary, Eastenders is about as authentic as the Cambridge University Hip Hop Society*****. Keep showing it if you insist, BBC, but please don’t try to feed us this authenticity shit. The truth is that for all the resemblance it bears to London, Eastenders might as well be set on a space-station orbiting Klargon 7... Actually, that I might watch!
*Before dying of blood loss and creating a gritty urban tableaux far more upsetting than whatever was written on the wall in the first place.
**and so, enjoy hanging out in the ‘arty’ part of London, apparently not realising that the area is waaay too expensive for any actual artists to live there. Try Camberwell, luvs - actually don’t, I still like it there.
***I’ve actually seen this is in an East End ‘pub.’
****So maybe, just maybe, they’re not the best subject for a populist soap to tackle.
*****I Googled this and it actually exists! Doesn’t seem to be a lot going on though...
