Meet the
Rees-Moggs: this is impeccable reality TV – but should the ex-MP be allowed on
our screens?
Trump,
Farage and Hancock have done it. Now, the ex-Conservative minister joins the
list seeking to reinvent himself via reality TV – is it really ok, though?
Joel Golby
Sat 30 Nov
2024 02.00 EST
We have to
start by getting all of the Jacob Rees-Mogg caveats out of the way: Jacob
Rees-Mogg is staunchly anti-abortion, even in cases of incest and rape; Jacob
Rees-Mogg is still, amazingly, pro-Brexit; Jacob Rees-Mogg admires the
political machinations of Nigel Farage and Donald Trump; Jacob Rees-Mogg once
slouched down in Parliament in a way that made Caroline Lucas get mad at him.
Then we have to cover the “MPs on television” caveats: Matt Hancock shouldn’t
have been allowed to reform his image on I’m a Celebrity, Farage shouldn’t have
been either, and while I’m at it I don’t like Ed Balls on Good Morning Britain.
Now all the caveats are out of the way, a fun one just for me: Jacob Rees-Mogg
looks like an umbrella Dracula threw away so he wouldn’t have to take too much
baggage on to the ship Demeter. There. Now we can get going.
All that is
to say, Jacob Rees-Mogg this week launches a reality show on Discovery+ (from
Monday). It’s one of those statements that makes you feel you perhaps made the
wrong sandwich choice once in 2014, leapt on to an alternative timeline as a
direct result, and now we’re here. But no: ham and cheese was correct, this is
really happening. His wife Helena is in it, his various children are in it, his
castle is in it, his SW1 townhouse is in it, his nanny is in it, a man called
Sean who buffs his vintage Bentley is in it, his mother – whom he calls “Lady
Rees-Mogg”! – is in it, the buildup to the 2024 general election is in it.
There’s a lot of idle playing with cricket balls, dressing too formally for
dinner at home, actually saying “yah”, and a big coordinated two-car drive to
Boris Johnson’s birthday party. It has to-camera confessionals and scenes of
unbelievably familiar domesticity and a few snatched glances of moments you can
very much tell they would have preferred had not been captured in full HD by a
crew. It is, by any measure you’ve got, fairly impeccable reality TV
show-making.
But I do
have to be quite boring and question whether it should have been made in the
first place, sorry. Let me set out my stall: I don’t think Hancock should ever
have been allowed to go on I’m a Celebrity and do his “Mate, mate, hear me out
mate: I feel bloody awful about Covid mate” shtick. Even though the public
consistently voted for him to consume anuses, he was given a chance to change
hearts and minds and probably managed with a few of them, and there’s a
squeamish moral grey area there: Hancock should not have been allowed to wash
some of the blood from his hands in jungle water just because ITV needed a
ratings hit. It would be easy, too, for me to point out that giving cosy-edged
reality platforms to people with nerve-janglingly right-leaning opinions – I’ve
already done Farage, so I may as well mention “former Apprentice host Donald
Trump” here instead – feels like a similarly slippery slope, one that seems
harmless until the exact day it isn’t. But none of these people align with my
immaculately perfect politics, so it’s easy for me to say that them being on TV
is “dangerous, actually”. So do I want to say the same about Jacob Rees-Mogg?
Well, hmm.
I’ve chewed
on it and decided: weirdly, no. Meet the Rees-Moggs is in the language of the
Kardashians but paints a British eccentric unique to our shores. He’s an
exceptionally spooky guy – every UK university had a first-year student whose
whole bit was “wears a suit to class”, and Rees-Mogg is the final boss you have
to kill once you have defeated all of them – and watching him do normal things
(go to Greggs, interact with children’s toys, and I have to say it made my
fight-or-flight response go off to watch the man look at a television) is one
of the more curious and jarring TV experiences I’ve ever had.
He’s so
polite it is unnverving – in a way that makes you want to polish your own
manners – but possibly what is weirdest of all is seeing him on the campaign
trail, looming villainously over some Somerset voter, and them going: “I like
him, yeah.” I mean, this is reputation management of the highest order, the
softest editing possible, and painting him as a harmless gosh-and-golly goof
was exactly what got us into the position known as “Boris Johnson is our Covid
prime minister” But from a purely TV perspective – from a purely TV perspective
– it’s … listen, I can’t say “good” in case this column is read out one day
during an inquest. But it’s very well made.
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