Some of the meedja hubbub around this new series was attempting to characterise Lucy as 'the new Lizzie', presumably on the grounds that she was sweary, had bad hair and might have a detrimental effect on neighbourhood property prices. I thought this a fatuous comparison: it was much more a straightforward Mrs Id versus Mrs Superego, more akin to the nightmarish KitchenRabbitGate WifeSwap of yesteryear, featuring the evil Jude and her autistically regimental husband.
Lucy was sweet, but irritating. Bouncy castles are fine, but as a child's affection-winning gambit, they're somewhat limited. You cannot, after all, have a kid bounce on your inflatable every day (even if you live in Neverland). The cake-baking was nice, though.
The Superegos weren't that bad (Pat appearing sli-i-ightly more sympathetic than her Honey, I Scourged The Kids publicity still) but, as Haus has already highlighted, the bedtime God-bothering was absolutely fucking out of order. For me, that crossed a line that no other WifeSwap has crossed, in attempting to warp another family's kids into fearing one's own Ultimate Superego. For that, Pat deserved a good slapping with Wolverine gloves - and if Feckless Id-Husband had had a little more feck, he might've stood up to such blatant head-fucking of his children. At that point, Mrs Superego had lost me completely.
And yeah, if Mr Superego (the aptly-named Spike (Up My Arse)) has met only the one murderer who said 'cunt', then he's led a pathetically-sheltered life for a prison warder. This struck a chord with me, because it reminded me of a closer-to-home instance of religious fundamentalists comparing stuff they happen to dislike to murder. Silly, crap-moustached arseviolin (Mr Superego, not my aunt...). |