Explainer
Culture
Film & TV
9 min read

The fortunate death of tabloid talk shows

TV tabloid talk shows made a spectator sport out of domestic conflict. Lauren Windle dissects the grim format’s demise and draws lessons for today’s media users.

Lauren Windle is an author, journalist, presenter and public speaker.

A view across a talk show TV set showing a security guard standing between two guest while the host talks to them. An audience looks on.

Do you, like me, ever look around and ask yourself:  

“What, of the things I see as normal now, will I realise were very wrong in 50 years?”  

There were times in history when a huge proportion of the UK population saw no issue with forced labour and slavery. Sexism and even sexual assault were par for the course in corporate environments. Forcing young pregnant girls to give their babies up for adoption was considered “for their own good”. The list goes on.  

Talk shows, I believe, are now transitioning into the category of: “I can’t believe we thought that was OK.” The term “talk show” is used for two different formats; first the Parkinson style celebrity interview programmes, often billed late in the evening on the weekends and attracting big name guests. Then there’s the other kind – the one I’m talking about. The Jerry Springer, Jeremy Kyle audience shows where, often vulnerable, guests are invited to resolve some sort of conflict in front of a baying audience with a taste for blood.  

When the “King of the Talk Show” Jerry Springer passed away last month at the age of 79, I couldn’t help but hope the TV format he made so famous would die with him. Brutal, I know. But it really is for the best.  

The first episode of Jerry Springer aired in the States in 1991. He may have been the most famous, but he wasn’t the first. The Sally Jessy Raphael Show launched in 1983, it tackled tough tabloid issues like teen pregnancy and extreme religious views. Sally’s firm but fair, maternal style of leadership attracted a loyal fan base.  

Outrageous content led to the sort of high viewing figures TV execs are happy to sacrifice people’s mental health for. So, the show went on.

Then in 1987, the launch of Geraldo, saw the daytime talk show make further waves. Fronted by journalist Geraldo Rivera, it was the show that inspired people to coin the term “trash TV”. Producers put virtually no effort into screening their guests, even hosting one show with Klu Klux Klan members on the same stage as Black and Jewish activists. This descended into an almighty brawl that included guests, audience members, crew and the host who left with a broken nose after someone hurled a chair at his face. You’d think that would be enough to call it off. You tried. It was chaos. Time to take your ball and go home, right? Of course not, the outrageous content led to the sort of high viewing figures TV execs are happy to sacrifice people’s mental health for. So, the show went on.  

1991 was a big year for the tabloid talk show concept, with the introduction of a number of big names; The Maury Povich Show, The Jenny Jones Show, The Montel Williams Show and most famously Jerry Springer. They were later joined by Hairspray’s Ricci Lake whose iconic addition to the daytime TV scene was aimed at a younger crowd of “stay-at-home-moms”. 

The Jerry Springer Show started off as a political talk show, but poor ratings encouraged producers to continuously adapt the model. In the mid-90s they landed on the salacious topics that it became famous for. Themes like incest and adultery were commonplace. Jerry featured a man who claimed to have married his horse, a woman who was pleased that she had cut off her own legs and a mother-daughter dominatrix duo. The bestiality episode has now been banned, but I reckon I could use my journalistic prowess to track down the others if I felt so inclined. Fortunately, I don’t. 

The format gave guests an opportunity to publicly talk about their feelings, something that until that point, had only been open to the middle classes. 

Meanwhile, us over the pond had finally caught on. If there were ratings to be boosted in America, there were ratings to be boosted in Blighty. Vanessa Feltz was one of the first to introduce the genre to the UK in 1994 with her self-titled show. The format gave guests an opportunity to publicly talk about their feelings, something that until that point, had only been open to the middle classes. People were excited by the show. Vanessa and her crew went on the road to invite real people to tell real stories. She was warm and allowed people to feel safe in opening up. While it wasn’t perfect, the programme was genuine in its desire to support those who spoke out about issues like domestic violence, eating disorders and sexual abuse. When Vanessa moved to the BBC in 1999, her ITV morning slot was filled by Trisha Goddard. Incidentally the BBC’s The Vanessa Show was cancelled later that same year after The Mirror newspaer revealed some of the guests had been paid actors. 

It didn’t matter by then, because there was a new UK chat show queen and it was Trisha. Again, Trisha insisted that she was the to support – not to condemn. As the show grew in popularity, the producers began chasing ratings and the topics got increasingly incendiary. I had a friend who went on with his girlfriend. He was a former SAS officer and was having relationship issues with his glamour model partner. After one particularly vicious argument between the pair, he tied all her clothes in military grade knots. She wasn’t able to free her garments so was left without a wardrobe. Despite Trisha’s intervention the couple didn’t stay together.  

It's a story we hear all the time in the media. If the audience keeps clicking/watching/streaming it, the producers will keep making it. 

People lapped up the opportunity to peak from behind the curtain into the messy lives of others. One former producer who worked on both shows spoke to Eastern Daily Press about Trisha:

“It certainly didn't start out as a show designed for people to watch and laugh at others: it wasn't cruel. Over time, it did change as people's expectations changed. At the end of the day, the broadcaster is always chasing ratings.” 

It's a story we hear all the time in the media. If the audience keeps clicking/watching/streaming it, the producers will keep making it. And it goes on and on. A tawdry game of one-upmanship where both the audience and producers feel vindicated as they blame the other for the problem. The serpent is eating its own tail and growing all the fatter in the process. 

And then came Jeremy Kyle. What Jerry Springer did in the States to escalate the talk show, Jeremey Kyle did for the UK. Jerry Springer capitalised on the most sexual and depraved stories he could find and then put people in a ring to fight it out (their clothes hopefully coming off in the process). While Jeremy Kyle’s tactic was to belittle. He chastised and shouted. He told people to “get a job” and shamed them for accessing state support. He was judgemental, pious and cruel. The aim became to mock and humiliate, not to encourage and support. And all this came at a time where we as a society were poised and ready to take the mick out of the working classes or “chavs”. We lapped it up.  

We weren’t “loving our neighbour”, rather loving their misfortune. Way back in the heyday of the Roman Empire, a cultural activist called Paul, wrote to some Christians living in the heart of the empire, Rome itself. He wrote: 

“Live in harmony with one another…do not repay evil for evil…if it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”  

But instead, we made a spectator sport out of domestic conflict. The audience kept growing as we lapped up the misfortune of others, often those from disadvantaged backgrounds. We disregarded the biblical proverb that advised:  

“Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice” (Proverbs 24:17) 

in favour of full audience jeering and whooping in the face of another's failure. When I first started working at The Sun in 2016, it was my desk who watched and reported on Jeremy Kyle. We pulled the post interesting segment from the morning show and wrote it up into a tabloid real life story. They are all much the same; a paternity test here, a cheating scandal there. But one in particular sticks in my mind when a guest had come on because they were desperate to work out who had defecated on a plate and put it in the fridge. Brilliant.

The show was cancelled after 14 years on the air and more than 3,000 shows because of the suicide of a participant who failed a lie detector test. Steve Dymond, 63, had been told to come off his anti-depressant medication in order to take the polygraph. He failed the test and was berated for “cheating on his partner”. He couldn’t handle the shame and the prospect of losing his relationship, so he ended his life. 

Perhaps these shows started out as platforms for healthy conflict resolution, but that’s not what we, the general public, wanted to watch. 

Since coming off air, countless horror stories have surfaced from behind the scenes on the famous show. Former production staff admitted that guests were so hard to come by that they weren’t performing the proper checks before signing them up. They also explained that they would keep guests separate and lie, telling them the other had said awful things about them, before sending them on stage for the confrontation. And perhaps most horrifically to my mind, as a recovering drug addict myself, they told guests hoping to be given rehab treatment that they were competing with other families for one bed in an expensive facility. Desperate addicts were told Jeremy had to think they were the worst case in order to qualify for care at the life-saving facility. When in fact, there was no restriction on places. 

Perhaps these shows started out as platforms for healthy conflict resolution, but that’s not what we, the general public, wanted to watch. We wanted the drama. In short, we wanted the poo in the fridge. Thankfully the genre has petered out, both here and in the States and people are now looking back at previous episodes saying: “Did we really think that was OK?” 

Prior to his death on April 27, 2023, Jerry Springer did issue an apology for his show and its wider effects. Jeremy Kyle has not, although he did explain in an interview in 2021 that his mental health had plummeted after the show was cancelled and that he felt he was scapegoated in the process. 

The grim format has, for now, been relegated to the archives but if there is one lesson I can encourage us all to take from our unfortunate dalliance with tabloid talk shows, it’s to stop fuelling the beast. We may not be showing our support to Jeremy Kyle anymore but there are other topics that we are insatiably consuming despite being sceptical about their suitability in a loving society.  

Bored of articles about Harry and Meghan? Stop clicking on them.  

Appalled by the unrealistic body image or hook-up culture of reality TV? Stop watching it.  

If it doesn’t feel right, good, kind or true – distance yourself from it.  

The fact is, you can always find something salacious and titillating if you’re looking for it. There’s always a poo in the fridge. But instead let’s do what Paul also suggests,  

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.”

We would have put Jeremy Kyle out of business a long time ago if we’d been sticking to the sage advice of scripture. 

Column
Culture
Football
Leading
Sport
7 min read

Referees and stupidity

What one referee’s foul-mouthed rant tells us about the nature of sport, and authority.
A striker is about kick a football towards a goal, a red beach ball sits between him and the goalkeeper.
Darren Bent and the beach ball goal.
Sky.

Picture the scene: 

You have a monthly column writing about football from a Christian perspective. You’ve just finished this month’s piece and are about to send it off to your editor.

Before you do, you go to make a coffee. You open Twitter, only to find your timeline filled with videos of a Premier League referee openly slagging off a Premier League club and manager in some of the most obscene ways imaginable. You sigh, trudge back to your laptop, and begin re-writing your column.  

Deary, deary me.  

It is difficult to even begin quantifying the amount of trouble Premier League referee David Coote is in, following the emergence of videos in which he (allegedly?!) calls Liverpool Football Club “s***” and former manager Jürgen Klopp a “German c***”. It’s not clear when the video was filmed but given Coote (allegedly?!) mocks social distancing regulations, it may well be from a few years back.  

There is also a second video in which Coote says: “just to be clear, that f***ing last video can’t go anywhere. Seriously.” The person next to him chimes in: “He’s a premier league referee. Let’s not … let’s not ruin his career,” seeming to confirm that Coote is the person in the video. This second person then goes on to say: “let’s face it: we’re good blokes” seemingly oblivious to having said in the previous video: “Liverpool are all f***ing b******s, and we hate scousers.”  

The marks perhaps a new low point in the relationship (if that’s not too generous a term) between fans and referees. I talked last month about the prominence of conspiracy theories amongst (some) football fans; we might forgive some Liverpool fans for thinking this particular referee had it in for them … 

My wife and I were at Anfield last Saturday for Liverpool vs Aston Villa. David Coote was the referee. We’re lucky enough to sit in the front row at Anfield, and David Coote and his linesmen were warming up directly in front of us. Even before kick-off, some people in the crowd were making sure Coote knew what they thought of him.  

In the first half, Villa winger Leon Bailey brought down Mo Salah as he was seemingly through on goal. Normally this would be a red-card offense for denial of a goal-scoring opportunity; in this instance there was not even a foul awarded. It’s safe to say that the people sat near us think even less of David Coote than David Coote thinks of Jürgen Klopp.  

In the grand scheme of things, David Coote will be fine. He’ll probably end up as a pundit somewhere, earning more than he does currently for telling viewers why any given refereeing decision in any given match was the right one.  

According to a statement by PGMOL (the body responsible for Premier League officiating), Coote has been “suspended with immediate effect pending a full investigation.” But you never know, if any institution can contrive to find a way for someone to keep their job after this, it’s PGMOL. He might be back not-brandishing red cards straight after the current international break. In April 2023, assistant referee Constantine Hatzidakis was caught – on camera – allegedly elbowing Liverpool full-back Andrew Robertson in the face. After a PGMOL investigation, he was cleared of any wrongdoing.   

But for some Liverpool fans the leaking of this video is nothing other than vindication. “We knew he [and, by extension, other refs] were corrupt. This is just proof!” 

But this is, I fear, only bad news for the sport. There is already a widespread ‘us and them’ mentality when it comes to the footballing establishment. It often feels as though football happens despite referees, not because of them. 

The footballing media don’t help this. Most post-match analysis now centres on the referees. Did they make the right decision? Should that person have been sent off? Were there too many yellow cards? Were there not enough yellow cards? 

I am, frankly, bored of talking about referees. I watch football to see Mo Salah be the best player in the world, or to see Virgil Van Dijk be the most imperious human being that’s ever walked on the earth. Not to see some wannabe police officer have a power trip. Look, I wouldn’t want to be a ref. They’re subject to horrific abuse, both in person and online. And yet, the increasing centrality of referees and refereeing to football discourse is unhealthy for the sport.  

Only those secure in their authority and competence can operate with the vulnerability necessary to have that authority and competence questioned. 

The breathtakingly arrogant assumption of authority that oozes from every fibre of Coote’s being in the videos is, I think, somewhat indicative of the way authority has been wielded in this country in recent years.  

Such heavy-handed wielding of authority – whether it’s Boris Johnson’s incessant disbelief that anyone would have the gall to question his decision to party during lockdown, or the apparent ease with which David Coote seems to imagine himself the most important person on the football pitch – all ultimately stem, I think, from insecurity.  

We have just seen the re-election of convicted felon Donald Trump as President of the United States of America. What a sentence that is.  

Perhaps more than anyone else, Trump typifies the desperate kind of insecure man who craves authority. A man of deeply fragile ego, Trump’s attempted coup of January 6th 2021 – for what else can we say it was? – was the violent manifestation of an infant’s inarticulate magpie mentality, denied their most recent ‘shiny thing’. 

A toddler with nuclear codes. 

Only those secure in their authority and competence can operate with the vulnerability necessary to have that authority and competence questioned. In a move straight out of the Johnson/Trump playbook, Coote initially denied the videos were real, and then claimed not to remember their content, as thought that in any way served as mitigation. (Imagine: “Yes, your honour, that video certainly does show me killing the victim, but I can't remember doing so!”) 

This is not a man whose authority is based on vulnerability or transparency. 

Sadly, our politicians seem increasingly unwilling to display such vulnerability, and so do our referees. The latter might seem less important than the former, but they both speak to a broader culture of insecurity that leads the authority being wielded by the unfit.  

And sport is uniquely placed to combat such insecure seriousness of authority. Because sport is, ultimately, really, really stupid.  

In 2009, a Liverpool fan threw a beach ball onto the pitch in a match against Sunderland. As Sunderland striker Darren Bent took a shot, it ricocheted off the beach ball sending it one way, while the football went another. Liverpool keeper Pepe Reina dived after the beach ball, leaving the football to cross the line for a goal.  

Sunderland won 1-0.  

It was an unbelievably stupid moment. It was the pinnacle of sport as far as I’m concerned; exactly the kind of stupid nonsense I watch sport for.  

I want my stupid sport back. The kind of stupid sport that people don’t feel strongly enough about to record videos as unbelievably arrogant as Coote’s. All sport is a gift from God, football included. It is simply a gift to be enjoyed; nothing more, nothing less. It is profoundly unserious in this respect. 

There’s an episode of The Simpsons I think about a lot. Lots of advertising billboards come to life and begin harassing the residents of Springfield. The solution? Just don’t look. The billboards thrive on the attention; it’s what keeps them alive. Without it, they die.  

Men like David Coote, Boris Johnson, and Donald Trump thrive on authority; on being taken seriously. They are human billboards, advertising nothing but themselves. This makes them immensely unsuited to the very authority they crave. 

Coote might have said “that f***ing last video can’t go anywhere. Seriously.” But the very fact that he recorded it in the first place, that he voiced such thoughts in the first place, displays exactly the kind of insecurity and temperament of character that leads to people absolutely buckling under the weight of authority. 

What is football to learn from the David Coote incident? Just don’t look. The endless, austere-faced analysis of the minutiae of refereeing leads only to a culture that attracts people like Coote to the job in the first place. The sooner we stop talking football so seriously, the sooner we will be rid of the Very Serious MenTM ruining the sport.  

Indeed, ‘looking’ at the world’s Boris Johnsons and Donald Trumps – them and the people that prop them up, like failed-author-cum-politician Nadine Dorries, or the inexplicably daft Elon Musk – is to give them precisely what they want: attention. They are attention black holes; you do not reason with black holes, and no good can come from playing around with them. 

No, only Pepe Reina’s beach ball can save us from the David Cootes of this world.