Netflix is too in awe of Gwyneth’s gobbledy-Goop – and it’s lost all my respect
THE trouble with Netflix is people only tell you about the good stuff.
They never tell you about all the repeats or the pseudo-scientific brain rot you watch once and never want to see again.
Stuff like The Goop Lab, with Gwyneth Paltrow, a Netflix spin-off from her infamous fanny candle business, which comes with a helpful disclaimer at the start.
“This series is designed to entertain and inform, not provide medical evidence.
“You should always consult your doctor when it comes to your personal health before you start any treatment.”
Straight away then, you know everything else is b******s. Credulous, fawning, Hollywood b******s.
It’s the sheer relentlessness of it that blows your mind, though, on The Goop Lab.
There are six 30-minute episodes of the show and all follow the same pattern.
A very obvious snake oil salesman turns up at the company headquarters, in Santa Monica, with a miracle cure for almost everything and Gwyneth fairly quickly decides to despatch her army of toadying staff who, it should be pointed out, have absolutely nothing wrong with them other than the usual 21st century array of “anxieties” and other attention-seeking self-indulgences.
They’re some of the healthiest, luckiest morons on the planet, in fact.
Non-existent problems, however, require non-existent solutions, with the first of the series involving a Jamaican magic mushroom healing clinic which doesn’t seem to ring any alarm bells in Gwyneth’s head.
Quite the opposite, in fact. So no sooner has staff member Renee admitted, she “wants to feel more authentic and like her creative self”, than she’s off her nut in the Caribbean with three other Goopers, crawling around on all fours and screaming: “Is the sky crazy?”
No, but you are.
They come back to LA cured of the thing they never had in the first place, of course.
So the whole gullible process continues for an entire series, with Gwyneth and the team trying everything from “cold shock therapy” (does what it says on the tin) to “vulva watching”, which isn’t half as much fun as it sounds, I promise you.
With every one of these treatments, obviously, the only actual change to the patient is a complete loss of dignity.
All the episodes, however, tend to share some very definite characteristics.
There’s normally some cross-legged, floor-sitting “guru” with an extravagant necklace and dodgy ponytail or beard floating around the joint.
The sycophancy levels are always off the scale, particularly from Gwyneth’s right-hand woman Elise Loehnen: “You’re beautiful, you’re wealthy, you’re famous.”
And absolutely everyone is talking easily refutable balls, from start to finish.
“Consciousness exists out of bodily death.” It doesn’t.
“The body doesn’t end at the skin.” It does.
“There are aura fields around us.” There aren’t.
And that’s why I sincerely hate The Goop Lab, with Gwyneth Paltrow, and now have lost a degree of respect for Netflix.
Because, say what you like about the BBC, ITV and even Channel 4, none of them would ever be craven enough to air something as dumb and dangerous as The Goop Lab, a show which tested my own endurance levels for bad TV beyond breaking point, for the first time ever.
There are six episodes, but I gave up on the final psychic mediums instalment (Are You Intuit?) when it began with yet another dingbat announcing: “Once you’ve realised you are energy and everything about you is energy you can start to do exercises that open you up energetically.”
I just didn’t have the energy.
Great Sporting Insights
PAUL Merson: “Football management is a 26-hours-a-day job.”
Steve Bruce: “Our fans have come a million miles from Newcastle to Oxford tonight.”
Robbie Savage: “The manager rolled the dice and came up trumps.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray).
LOVE Island, Ched on his first impressions of Jess: “D’you know what, like, you know when you first, like, you, like, you know, ooh she’s, like, d’you know, like, a blonde girl, like, d’you know what I mean, like, oh, no no no no. Like, d’you know what I mean?”
No.
Greedy Ed's so shirty
DESPITE December’s election result, Ed Balls’ Labour Party is still led by a left-wing crackpot who attended a 2014 wreath-laying ceremony for Black September gang members who castrated and murdered Israeli Olympic athletes.
So, naturally, BBC2 has sent him off to Europe to investigate the rise of right-wing extremism in Travels In Euroland.
Gun nuts in Poland, anti-immigration politicians in Germany, some bloke who likes blacking up, from Holland.
Ed doesn’t care who he meets. So long as they give him dinner or a barbecue he’ll break bread with anyone.
All that freeloading, though, takes its toll and he was about the size of the Vatican City by the time he barrelled into Milan to meet a model called Valeria Marini.
Quite what the hell her connection was to “the populist revolution sweeping Europe”, I’m still not sure.
Nor do I have a clue why she’d bought Ed a ten-sizes-too-small shirt, for the inevitable dinner date. But she must have wanted to shove it in his gob after he spent the night wanging on about EU debt relief, taxation, the leader of Italy’s far-right, Matteo Salvini, and blah blah blah.
What happened next, though, was even more disturbing. Valeria took Ed to a beauty salon, for a laser treatment, where they both stripped down to black thongs. A move you and I might have taken as a cue for a bit of light flirtation and banter.
But not oddball Ed Balls, who took it as a cue to pin her down over EU debt relief, taxation and the leader of Italy’s far-right Matteo Salvini again.
At which point the poor, tortured old bat fell fast asleep.
Politicians. They’re not like the rest of us.
Unexpected morons in the bagging area
- THE Chase, Bradley Walsh: “In the military, fast roping allows soldiers to quickly escape what aircraft?”
Sally: “A boat.” - Bradley Walsh: “The cartoon cat Thomas is better known by what short name?”
Sheena: “Pass.” - Tipping Point, Ben Shephard: “ODI is a form of cricket that stands for One Day what?”
Wayne: “Blues.” - Bradley Walsh: “July 2016, Philip May moved into what street in London SW1?”
Rob: “EastEnders.” - (All contributions gratefully received).
THURSDAY’S This Morning began with Phillip Schofield re-coiling from Pete the gobbing alpaca while Holly Willoughby exclaimed: “He properly eyed you up and spat in your face. What did it feel like?”
Like presenting with Amanda Holden, I’d imagine.
Lookalikes
Random TV irritations
- FORMER Scots Tory leader Ruth Davidson demonstrating a greater appetite for fame than public duty, on The Chase: Celebrity Special.
- Anyone who thinks Eating With My Ex belongs on BBC1. ITV cretins axing Alien Fun Capsule, the network’s only funny show.
- Mayo-brained Love Islander Demi asking Dutch-born Biggs: “Can you speak a bit in Hollandaise?”
- And David Baddiel rather dramatically claiming his new show, about Holocaust deniers, could get him killed. ’Cos if you can survive Baddiel’s Syndrome, the viewers will probably let anything go.
Dares a happy ending
AFTER five weeks running up and down mountains, in the rain, SAS: Who Dares Wins introduced a terrifying new weapon into the final episode’s interrogation phase.
A monstrous-looking slaphead, in a trench coat, who had no name but a very convincing way of shouting: “I will swing you round this room like a wet b*****d tracksuit.”
He also had no bones about locking two of the surviving women, Nicola and Kim, inside small cages, and then literally rattling them. Which meant that, by the time the interrogation finally ended, there were only four quivering wrecks left in the contest.
Ant Middleton and the regular SAS staff quickly had two more handing over their armbands during a final sickener.
And so the very deserving winners were declared to be Chris, the Geordie probation officer, and deadpan James who gave up his life in a Bradford gangster family to become an estate agent.
Though you’d hope there’s still time for him to turn his life around after winning television’s most savagely entertaining show.
Compelling piece of TV
LIKE a lot of you, I’ve always just assumed Phillip Schofield was gay and thought it made no difference to his professional ability.
Schofield is, when he stops giggling at private jokes with Holly and snapping at This Morning’s production gallery, an exceptional presenter.
Let’s not pretend, though, for the sake of looking right-on, that Friday morning’s impeccably timed “coming out” wasn’t a compelling piece of television.
MOST READ IN OPINION
It was also an occasion when it was hard not to feel a degree of compassion for Schofield, who was clearly in some turmoil about the announcement, even if it was hardly going to damage his career.
The night before it happened, however, I’d had the honour of meeting D-Day veterans and members of Britain’s Armed Forces at our very own Military Awards.
So if it’s all the same to you, leave me out of the “heroic Phil” chorus, please.
- GOT a story? RING The Sun on 0207 782 4104 or WHATSAPP on 07423720250 or EMAIL exclusive@the-sun.co.uk
