Bit of a batshit hatstand ending to the series last night, with the psychological terror of the Interrogations.
Now obviously this is one area of Special Forces training that can't accurately replicate the rigors to which recruits would normally be subjected, especially in a sanitized TV show, but even so there was something eminently pathetic about the 'Harshing' sessions being reduced to a bawl-out from a guy who looked like he'd stumbled out of a Wetherspoons late one night and taken offence to you staring at his baseball cap. "Strip down to your fucking skiddies!!" howled baseball cap man, forlornly attempting to inject some actual menace into his playground taunts. Suffice to say his berserk rants didn't faze any of the remaining recruits. More effective was the stress positioning, with Posh Boy Toby finally succumbing to the physical strain by rather brilliantly admitting "my neck is absolutely throbbing". He was out of the reckoning, but the show wasn't finished with him - lest we forget, in the last installment he'd proved resistant to the top trio's attempts to get under his skin and coax out some tears, so we were treated to the sight of him back in the dormitory calling home and blubbing pitifully to his mum. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO UPSTAGE ANT MIDDLETON you silly boy, he'll find a way to tear you down. Funnily we didn't get to see any of the other competitors' calls home. Could it be that Ant Middleton harboured a special desire to see his nemesis humiliated? I wouldn't put it past him, that's all I'm saying.
(By the way, I don't get this thing about breaking people down by playing them loops of electrical glitches or power drills. I like Autechre and Einsturzende Neubauten - that stuff is literally like music to my ears.)
Anyway with five competitors left in the mix it was away with the "Did you touch my fucking kebab?" tactics and in with the softly softly approach, as a whispering, honey-tongued female interrogator with eyes like paperweights was brought in to cajole secrets out of the interrogees. It was at this point that the process became so nebulous and impossible to gauge objectively that it basically left Ant Middleton free to put his own spin on who did well. A young female competitor, still remarkably perky despite her physical tribulations, was castigated for deflecting the questions of her silver-voiced examiner; while skittish Milo, clearly foundering in an extreme state of mental and physical exhaustion, was commended despite almost immediately spilling all the beans, including the entire team's cover story, and even going on to reveal that his father had been a member of the armed forces - information an enemy power would no doubt seize upon joyously. But Ant Middleton was enraptured, believing it was the deer-hearted lad leading the interrogator a merry dance.
So on to the prizes. Perky interrogation-resistant girl was summarily dismissed, as was a nondescript 'did fine' bloke, whose one transgression appeared to be a one-line, throwaway dismissal of his companions' integrity - and a well-founded one, I would argue, since a few weeks ago half of them voted him the most untrustworthy recruit. Still, off they went, rather bizarrely walking out the training area's main gates to... where exactly, in the middle of the Andes? I hope someone let them back in to get their stuff. And the winners were? Woeful Milo, 'cause brother died in Afghanistan, ARE BRAVE BOYS; stolid Mark, still grieving after his wife's suicide, 'cause COMPASSION (even though his failure in the Harshing led to Milo being buried alive); and... oh yeah Woman, 'cause WOMAN, with Ant Middleton graciously admitting she'd convinced him that women might actually be good at something.
After that all that was left to do in the Isn't Ant Middleton Great Show was for Ant Middleton to show he was Great by hugging the woman and giving reassuring but frankly condescending shoulder-pats to the blokes, and demonstrate his messiah complex by redeeming them all their sins, for truly he is kind. Although, to tell you the truth - if I was a jounalist and I'd written an uncomplimentary piece about him or one of his shows, I think I would genuinely fear for my safety.
