![From Lifted Entertainment I'm A Celebrity... Get Me Out Of Here! SR23 on ITV1 and ITVX Pictured: Nigel Farage. This photograph is (C) ITV Plc and can only be reproduced for editorial purposes directly in connection with the programme or event mentioned above, or ITV plc. This photograph must not be manipulated [excluding basic cropping] in a manner which alters the visual appearance of the person photographed deemed detrimental or inappropriate by ITV plc Picture Desk. This photograph must not be syndicated to any other company, publication or website, or permanently archived, without the express written permission of ITV Picture Desk. Full Terms and conditions are available on the website www.itv.com/presscentre/itvpictures/terms For further information please contact: michael.taiwo1@itv.com](jpg/sei_1800660631049.jpg)
They say just small changes to an ecosystem can tip it out of balance. So it should be no surprise that when you put a non-native toad in the jungle, it sends everyone a little bit mad. Except this toad exercised its free will in being put there, and got paid £1.5m. The toad is Nigel Farage, and the jungle is “The Jungle”, or the abused square mile of New South Wales invaded by ITV every year for 21 years. My blood pressure has tangibly risen since watching the first episode of this year’s I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!, featuring Farage in a pink linen shirt being humoured by a load of other sort-of famous people wasting everyone’s time.
Said blood pressure elevation is only made worse because it’s exactly what he wants. “All publicity is good publicity” is a phrase that really comes into its own for populist politicians such as the Toad, who thrives on outrage and controversy. “I’m a hero to some, and a villain to others,” he says during his introduction, knowing full well that the latter only exacerbates the former.
But if you think a stint on I’m A Celebrity might prove a worthy punishment for the damage he has inflicted on this country, you’ll be disappointed. We’re one episode in, and it’s abundantly clear that Farage is going to get an easy ride.
His personal brand – a loveable troublemaker who tells it like it is – is being thoroughly entertained with funny little jokes about Brexit from This Morning presenter Josie Gibson, cheeky commentary from Ant and Dec about “veers to the right” as he drives a Land Rover, and a legend-status greeting (the word “Sir” was used) from the Made in Chelsea hack Sam Thompson.
Given Farage is probably the only person in the line-up who is reliably known across the nation – of whom 7.7m tuned in last night, the lowest series launch in recent history – it’s hardly surprising that jokes about him have to make up the majority of the material in a programme whose format has been milked for all it’s worth.
Strap a Go-Pro to a soap opera actor and make them wobble over the edge of a skyscraper? Tick. Submerge an inappropriately dressed YouTuber in gunge? Tick. Let them all have a go in the helicopter for a bit, because they are “celebrities” after all? Tick, tick, boom, please someone blow up my television.
The only moment in which Farage does not get the sort of reaction on which he thrives is when the gifted singer-slash-actress Jamie-Lynn Spears has no idea who he is, is told (incorrectly) by Gibson he was an MP, and doesn’t know what that is either. Gibson tries again with “politician type thing”, which sates the “girl from the South”, whom we could almost root for were it not for her uncomfortably public feud with her little-known sister, Britney, surrounding the 13-year conservatorship inflicted on the latter by their father.
Yet sadly, even here, the Toad has won: Spears’ ignorance becomes a point of amusement, and Farage’s infallible reputation as a Significant Figure is bolstered once again. Don’t know who Nigel Farage is?! The most divisive and well-known politician on these islands that he campaigned so furiously to separate from the rest of the world? Joke’s on you, Jamie-Lynn.
And us, of course. The joke is always on us. Did I mention: £1.5m? I’m a Celebrity gives the public the illusion of agency by allowing them to vote for which celebrities should partake in various gruesome challenges. Yet for all their horrors – last night, Farage, along with the YouTuber Nella Rose, were chosen to go to the “jungle pizzeria” – this just allows them more attention, more opportunities for redemption.
We should have learnt our lesson: last year, coincidentally, the line-up was infiltrated by a poisonous treefrog called Matt Hancock, whose mishandling of the Covid pandemic as health secretary is thought to have contributed to 20,000 unnecessary deaths. No amount of being doused in insects or eating kangaroo genitalia can make up for that – and yet after a rough few weeks in the jungle, Hancock proved he was a “good sport”, and ended up in the final three.
This was, of course, his aim. Farage’s is similar. He says he wants people to see the “real him” – a statement that flagrantly undermines the supposed “authenticity” he has touted as the reason to vote for his crackpot policies and fatal referendum, but never mind. What he means by this is simply that he can make himself more popular. And it’s already working. He’s part of a team! He’s sleeping in a hammock! So far, he hasn’t mentioned how much he hates foreigners!
I’m A Celebrity has never been punishment. It thrives on the fact that watching anyone having cockroaches poured on them is likely to induce as much sympathy and admiration as vengeance or schadenfreude. And so no matter how much some viewers might want Farage to struggle, it’s impossible. The toad’s out the bag, and it’s joined in with the jungle mantra: I’m a snivelling narcissist… put me on the telly!
