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Skins – Season One

E4 has just started screening a new ‘drama’ called Skins. The title is entirely appropriate, because it’s not the most cerebral show around. In fact, it may as well be called ‘How Teenage Life Appears Through a Lens To A Bunch of Twenty-Something’s’. Or something.

I found some reviews from my little brother and thought I’d reprint them. They’re very funny, although they’re not about Doctor Who.

E4 has just started screening a new ‘drama’ called Skins. The title is entirely appropriate, because it’s not the most cerebral show around. In fact, it may as well be called ‘How Teenage Life Appears Through a Lens To A Bunch of Twenty-Something’s’. Or something.

It’s like some kind of bizarre parallel world in which all adults are crazed, self-absorbed cranks (well, they are represented in part by Neil bloody Morrissey) and the teenagers are the sole repository of intelligence and sense – when they aren’t shagging and having wild parties.

There’s a hilarious scene at the beginning of the second episode showing the after-effects of a supposedly wild party. We know it must’ve been wild, because every character, without exception, wakes up with sick smothered all over their faces whilst some smart-arse has stuck amusing post-it notes to their sleeping faces. Doesn’t it all come flooding right back, eh?

In fact, Skins has already acquired a well-deserved reputation for being a hilariously bad show. I’m tempted to say that it’s so bad it’s good. But that’s not the case. About half-way through the episode, Tony, the main character, gets a glass of water spilt over him and everyone starts laughing – it looks like he’s pissed himself (it doesn’t, but get in the spirit).

Several wise-guys start making cracks, and Tony walks over to the biggest of them and starts knocking the crap out of him. Sounds about right.

It’s not all bad. There’s an amusing drug-dealer character that’s after Sid, one of the main figures, after Sid didn’t pay for some drugs. The dealer manages to insinuate himself into Sid’s college as a supposed supply-teacher and introduces himself as ‘Mr Twatter – PhD’. It amused me.

But maybe it would be better to impose a rather different set of scripts upon these actors. Instead of playing out a tiresome, skewed picture of what it is to be young, annoyingly cocky and resolutely middle-class, why not have them walking around with stupid haircuts and clothes? Or better still: have them carry out disturbingly random acts of defilement upon each other? Instead of Sid spilling his drink on Tony, how about he urinates on him instead?

And instead of Harry Enfield playing a comically inept old fool, how about he quickly cottons on to the fact that his step-son (Tony) is continually taking the piss, and gives him the strap, with appropriate gusto? (All in the name of fiction, of course; I categorically disapprove of such behaviour in reality.) Why do these things? Cause it’d be funny. Well, funnier than what we’ve got, anyway. Slightly pathetic, really.

Noel Brown