There’s a moment in the latest episode of The Rest Is Entertainment, Richard Osman and Marina Hyde’s phenomenally successful pop culture podcast, that’s been kicking up a minor stir on social media. Osman, the TV game-show presenter and writer of lucrative “cozy crime” novels, is discussing this year’s Oscars, and the supposed lack of interest among the British public. “You look at the Best Actor and Best Actress winners, Adrien Brody and Mikey Madison,” he says. “If you were watching any British chat show and they were on, you would probably switch over. You would probably think, ‘I wish this was Sara Pascoe and Greg Davies.’”
At the time of writing, this 14-second clip has been viewed nearly half a million times and the responses have been nothing short of indignant. One prominent tweet branded Osman an “imbecile”. Others expressed incredulity that anyone could look at the state of television – a medium that is, let’s face it, sated with so much Greg Davies that it could burst – and demand more Greg Davies.
To be fair to Osman, his remarks were taken slightly out of context: elsewhere in the episode (titled “Is It Time to Yell ‘Cut’ on the Oscars?”), the House of Games host praises Madison, and the film she’s in, Anora – also commending other Best Picture nominees. He nonetheless brands the majority of these films “niche” and “arthouse”, with both him and Hyde questioning the relevance of the Oscars to modern (British) audiences. Here’s the thing: he’s not entirely wrong.
I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would baulk at the idea of watching actors such as Madison and Brody – the latter admittedly a man with a pretty rebarbative vibe, as his interminable speech reminded everyone – on British TV. And there are plenty of people, too, who must be clamouring for more of British TV’s genial ubiquitists – the Pascoes and Davieses; the James Acasters; the Rob Becketts. There’s a reason they are so sought-after: people do tune in to watch them. But even though Osman’s premise is accurate, his conclusions surely aren’t justified. The criticism ought not be directed at the far-flung, anti-populist Oscars, but at our own lack of national discernment.
The fact is, there’s something profoundly insular and incurious about the British approach to celebrity culture. We have created our fair share of great and deservedly famous celebrities, of course. (Though some of the biggest filmmakers, such as Christopher Nolan, had to find success abroad after being given the cold shoulder in the UK, and many of the best directors who remained – Mike Leigh, or Shane Meadows for instance – have never truly been embraced by the mainstream.)
To become a mainstay on British TV, exceptional talent is never a requirement: you need only be affable, vaguely amusing, and politically inoffensive. You can be talented, too – Pascoe and Davies are skilled at what they do, and this is not to disparage them creatively – but often, all that’s demanded is a sort of baseline, familiar competence.
Incidentally, it is exactly this sensibility that propelled Osman from his position as Alexander Armstrong’s desk-jockey sidekick on Pointless to a national treasure-in-waiting. In the spheres of TV (and podcast) presenting and the writing of pulpy genre novels, Osman has proved himself unflaggingly capable – but was he ever brilliant at anything? Brilliant in a way that would explain his rise to the upper echelons of the British media sphere? He has become a household name, a fixture of the broadcasting world, through the force of his sheer competence.
Osman’s remarks might be fair. They might be accurate. But our country’s Brit-centric attitude to celebrity culture only serves to limit our horizons. It shouldn’t be catered to, but resisted. And, ultimately, the work itself will endure: 50 years from now, there will still be people watching The Brutalist. But Richard Osman’s House of Games? I’m not so sure. And if that sounds like comparing apples and oranges to you – well, yes. That’s rather the point.
