“In the last 18 months my life has totally unravelled,” says Phillip Schofield at the start of his new TV series, as his boat touches down on a pristine white sand beach.
“I locked myself away from the outside world. But now I want to see if the ultimate isolation can finally set me free.”
And so the disgraced TV presenter joins the ranks of those who believe that the path to redemption is through reality television.
As the latest contestant on the Channel 5 series Cast Away, Schofield is joining celebrities including Ruby Wax and Joanna Lumley, who sign up to spend 10 days on a remote tropical island off the coast of Africa, with nothing but some basic survival gear and several thousand pounds’ worth of camera kit.
In terms of an attempted stab at image rehabilitation, being dropped on a desert island for 10 days and being made to film himself is a masterstroke. Because what it does is basically allow Schofield to monologue, uninterrupted, for a whole three hours (the series comprises three episodes, of which I was given access to the first one).
Some of those hours are entertaining: he is, after all, a talented broadcaster. We see him attempt to go fishing, and fail miserably; chop wood and set up a bivouac that promptly almost gets levelled in a storm. We see him hunt down a crab and get lost on the island after dark.
We even see him crack jokes. “I can get fired, but I never quit,” he quips at one point, when asked if he’d consider backing out. Har har.
Also batting for Team Schofield are his family (naturally), who are filmed pre-island having a casual outside dinner and who pop up occasionally throughout the episode to give their opinions on him, mostly to show how supportive they are and how great he is.
The main interviewee here is his daughter Molly, who appears during some of the more emotional moments to talk about how devastating the impact of her father’s very public cancellation had on their family.
This is something Schofield addresses too: in detail, almost like he’s in a rush to get his story across before we switch off. We get heartfelt musings on the impact of coming out later in life (“it’s just given me more anguish than joy”), scenes of Schofield sniping about his colleagues on This Morning, and even an extended speech in which he hints that the press fallout almost drove him to suicide.
All this is mentioned. What isn’t mentioned, at least in episode one, are the more toxic elements of this story. The young man Schofield had an “unwise but not illegal” affair with. The power imbalance in their relationship. The fact that Schofield hid it for two years. The culture of bullying at This Morning (this does crop up, but he insists he knew nothing about it). And above all, the fact that it might possibly be a bit too soon to try making a comeback on national television.
There’s no attempt at balance here, not even from the producers. This is the Schofield Show, and we’re just along for the ride. Schofield himself expresses hardly any remorse, settling instead for a sort of barely-concealed resentment at his perceived ill-treatment at the hands of the press and public. And while it might make for fascinating television, it’s doubtful that this is going to hasten along any kind of return to the small screen.
Instead, this just reads as a desperate grab for public redemption. Queasy viewing, best avoided.
