Thirty young women assessing one man's assets. It's all a mating game.
ONCE UPON A TIME finding a mate was easy. It was a childhood sweetheart, someone from church or if you were ugly, the other ugly person. Hello to Aunty Thel' and Uncle Alan. People weren't fussy. Men wanted someone to cook and clean for them and have sex with once a year. Women wanted someone to fix the guttering, change the fuses and complain about to their girlfriends.
Then basically it went like this for the next 50 years. Women would be all: "Everything would be fine if the bathroom got tiled, we bought a new car, you spent less time with your mates, you read books, you were nice to my family, you talked to your kids, you bought some new clothes, we went overseas and you stopped flirting with my sister." Men would be: "Everything would be fine if you'd just shut up." Until someone died. Note to Aunty Thel', not long now. Book the cruise and perm your hair. I give him three months now he's off dialysis.
These days it's all RSVP.com, dirty texting and cyber sex. People don't even leave their couch in search of Ms Right, or Mr He Looks Like He Won't Kill Me. The singles of today sit in front of their computers telling total strangers they're wearing suspenders and stilettos when what they're really wearing is reheated curry and no pants. Sure it's cheaper but where's the magic, the romance, the panel vans?
The link between modern coupling and the world of yesteryear is the television dating show. The bizarre phenomenon where people are either so vain, or so stupid they sign up to be humiliated on national television for our viewing pleasure.
Remember Perfect Match? Greg Evans with the 3XY voice, Debbie Newsome with the big hair and Dexter the robot made from aluminium foil, pipe cleaners and pure evil? Remember the lonely single on one side of the screen who'd ask three equally desperate and dateless on the other side of the screen questions such as, "If you were a condiment what would you be?" "Africa? Maybe that's not a condiment; maybe it's a country. Tassie then."
Taken Out is the Perfect Match of the noughties. We're talking one bloke (either up himself or tragic) and 30 women with names such as Fleur, Lacey and Biannca (who love themselves stupid). The ladies are given bits of information about him and turn off their lights as they lose interest. In the end he whittles the last ladies standing down to Ms I'd So Bang You with questions such as, "Can you change a tyre?" "What parts of your body do you shave?" or "Who do you barrack for?"
There's talk about man riggs, hot bods and sexy nerds. Women turn off their lights if they don't like the look of him, his job or if they hear he does have sex with fat chicks but throws them out before his flatmates cop an eyeful.
Let me save you some time. The upside? It's Australian content. The downside? It's crap. But host James Kerley is a bit of all right.
Taken Out, Network Ten, every weeknight 6pm.