This year, I thought a lot about Gladiators. Or, more accurately, I’ve thought about the feeling I got when I caught a few moments of it while flicking through the channels on a gloomy winter evening.
A far cry from my normal preference for more reflective programming (nature documentaries, quiz shows, anything with Professor Alice Roberts), Gladiators is about as subtle as a punch in the face. Which is appropriate given the format, and the way it blazed onto our screens at the beginning of the year in a much-hyped relaunch of the nineties original.
If you missed it then, or now, the premise is simple. In each episode, two male and two female contestants undergo a range of athletic challenges, to win points and gain a time advantage in the final round. Thwarting their efforts are, of course, the Gladiators – indescribably hulking specimens of human muscle mass – who show no mercy when repeatedly body slamming, half-strangling, or rugby-tackling contestants to the ground. Although brilliant, the pull isn’t really in the individual challenges, it’s in the show as a whole.
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This year, I thought a lot about Gladiators. Or, more accurately, I’ve thought about the feeling I got when I caught a few moments of it while flicking through the channels on a gloomy winter evening.
A far cry from my normal preference for more reflective programming (nature documentaries, quiz shows, anything with Professor Alice Roberts), Gladiators is about as subtle as a punch in the face. Which is appropriate given the format, and the way it blazed onto our screens at the beginning of the year in a much-hyped relaunch of the nineties original.
If you missed it then, or now, the premise is simple. In each episode, two male and two female contestants undergo a range of athletic challenges, to win points and gain a time advantage in the final round. Thwarting their efforts are, of course, the Gladiators – indescribably hulking specimens of human muscle mass – who show no mercy when repeatedly body slamming, half-strangling, or rugby-tackling contestants to the ground. Although brilliant, the pull isn’t really in the individual challenges, it’s in the show as a whole.
I'd love to be able to hype myself up, then not care if I went on to fail spectacularly. To give it The Big Chat – even if it preceded a big flop – and to then be able to smile and move on. Who cares? My mum still thinks I'm great, and she's in the crowd, waving a foam finger and cheering.
The programme has all the ingredients for prime-time evening entertainment. It's emotive, it's feel-good: plucky contestants going against the odds in front of a hyped-up arena crowd. Who doesn’t feel pumped for the underdog? Some of the contestants are full of bravado. They stare down the camera and deploy out-of-the-tin phrases like: “Guys! You’ve got to be in it to win it”; “No matter how many times I get knocked down, I always get back up”, and “I’m feeling good, feeling pumped, ready to go”, while hopping on the spot.
I admired their ability to say those things, even if you could tell they didn't really mean them. Or if they didn't merit it – like Myles, the amateur DJ from Leeds who took just one hit to the head in the infamous duel with giant cotton buds before crumpling from his plinth into the crash mat below.
It's the kind of attention-seeking I've always been taught to scorn. Don't be too vain, too brash, too loud. I've always prided myself on my tendency to understate my talents, and the way I express myself with self-deprecation. But how much has that meant holding back, and diminishing myself in the process?
I'd love to be able to hype myself up, then not care if I went on to fail spectacularly. To give it The Big Chat – even if it preceded a big flop – and to then be able to smile and move on. Who cares? My mum still thinks I'm great, and she's in the crowd, waving a foam finger and cheering.
The confidence of the contestants is nothing, however, compared to the Gladiators. They enter the arena in a burst of music and flames, wearing tiny spandex outfits and performing highly choreographed signature poses. Some of these moves really are cringeworthy, and the whole display is a lesson in flamboyant ridiculousness. But part of me ached at the way they demanded the adulation of the crowd. Chin up, arms raised. Glorify me.
It's the kind of attention-seeking I've always been taught to scorn. Don't be too vain, too brash, too loud. Don't seek external validation, at least not publicly. I've always prided myself on my inner confidence, my tendency to understate my talents, and the way I express myself with self-deprecation. “I don't need to shove my personality down people's throats,” I say, “to prove myself.” But how much has that meant holding back, and diminishing myself in the process? I'd never oversell myself for fear of failing to deliver, but so often that means not selling myself enough at all.
Watching the Gladiators is an antidote to all that understatement. But as much as they commit to the pomp and posturing the programme depends upon, these people can back it up with real physical prowess. Amongst them are record-holding powerlifters, Team GB bobsledders, and England rugby players. And when the whistle blows they dispense cold, hard, unmetered physical aggression.
On that dreary January night at the beginning of the year, I was struck by their ability to take themselves seriously whilst clearly not taking themselves too seriously. To switch seamlessly between all the silliness, the very real physicality of the competition, and the smiles and jokes with the contestants at the end of the round. This is the ability to turn it off and on when you need to, to know which attitude to flex and when. What presence of self does this require?
In that moment, watching these people on screen, I knew I felt lost. A long way away from feeling confident, or being able to orchestrate all the different parts of myself into any kind of order I could present to the world.
For me, this year has been a year of change. After a long time of finding things quite tough, it was time for a reset, an opportunity to consider who I really want to be and where I really want to go. But in trying to find a new direction I've found myself reluctant to commit. It's a strange halfway house: a position of privilege which leaves you overwhelmed by all the possibilities. After all, in a world where you can be anything, what should you do?
More than anything, then, as the lights and the noise and the showmanship of the Gladiators leapt off the screen, what I envied was their ability to just unapologetically be something. To let go – no holds barred, no self-judgement. To revel in the power of knowing who you are, and to demand to be seen.
I felt it would be intoxicating to have that surety.
Even if it's just an illusion for a TV show.
This is the first one!
Published tomorrow!