I’m a big fan of anthology shows, what with their self-contained episodes of spooky stories designed to raise hairs, bump gooses and chill bones. The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Tales from the Crypt, Tales from the Darkside, Tales of the Unexpected, Masters of Horror, Freddy’s Nightmares, Red Shoe Diaries … I love them all, even the shitty ones.
Sadly, however, Australia’s not had much to offer on the anthology TV front. The only ones kicking about in my memory, such as it is, are Bryan Brown’s Twisted Tales (1996) and Two Twisted (2006).
Now while Bryan Brown is arguably creepy, and indeed suitably decrepit, the barman from Cocktail never much gelled for me as a spooky anthology show host. He was no Rod Serling, no Roald Dahl, no Crypt Keeper, no Freddy Krueger and sure as hell no Sir Alfred Hitchcock. No, he’s always been a better fit prosecuting Japanese war criminals, teaching Tom Cruise how to get people drunk, fighting crooked government agents with homemade special effects and generally being broad-accented, leathery and incorrigible.
Still, at least he made an effort to give us some sweet anthology goodness marinated in local flavour, which is more than anyone else in this bloody country’s managed to do. Unfortunately, for all that effort, Australians stayed away from both Twisteds in droves — largely because by midnight most of us are either in bed, passed-out drunk, or sitting at kitchen tables with our heads in our hands, wondering where our lives went wrong.
Also, we tend to ignore pretty much everything our industry makes that isn’t a soap, ‘reality’ show or lifestyle programme, as an informal but steadfastly-held rule.
Well, I’ve had enough. I say this anthology TV drought has to end, right now, and I’ll be buggered if I’m not the one to end it — viability and audience-share be damned.
Here’s my proposal: A new anthology show, for a new millennium, full of smash-cuts, drab blue filters, cheap CG, blandly good-looking twentysomethings, obvious Iraq War metaphors and frequent references to the fucking internet — all delivered with a cheekily tiresome hint of hipster-definition irony and boldly square transgressiveness, and hosted by a lifelike puppet of a syphilitic cock.
Episode One: A skanky Paris Hilton wannabe offends a gypsy crone or disturbs an ancient burial ground or some shit and switches minds with her toy dog. Her body barks, bites, mounts people’s legs and pees in public, then gets carted off to the loony bin while she (in the dog’s body) hides in her own handbag, trying to work out how to use her iPhone. The doctors think the dog-brained her is pathologically acting out for attention, so they dose her up and send her back into the night. Her-brain-in-the-dog’s-body ends up in a shelter, where it’s picked up by another skanky rich Paris wannabe … [stupid twist ending to be determined.]
Episode Two: For one dodgy speculator, ‘bear market’ takes on a whole new meaning when he’s kidnapped and sold into sex slavery … [stupid twist ending to be determined.]
Episode Three: Stern Michaels’ life had never been the same since the accident. If it weren’t for his best friend Spunky the helper monkey, he’d probably be in a nursing home. But Spunky holds a terrible secret … He’s the world’s tiniest man, sent by shadowy puppetmasters to assassinate the Prime Minister during a rally being held across the street. Stern discovers the plot and the two struggle it out Misery-style … [stupid double-twist ending to be determined].
You can see clearly that, as with most television, this shit practically writes itself. A chimpanzee could do it — no doubt quite profitably if it worked for FremantleMedia or Southern Star Endemol.
The only thing stopping my noble idea from becoming a reality is my inability to decide on a title [either Tales of the Unlikely, or Don’t Shit Yourself] and the fact that no bastard in this country would ever greenlight it because a) I’m nobody, b) I’ve just offended two of the country’s largest production companies, and c) no bastard would ever watch it.
What say you, Internet?
Things and Stuff and Stuff and Things, and Also Occasionally Whatnot. 