An installation at the Channel 4 building in London. Photo: Oli Scarff, Getty Images
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The Secret Life of Students: a Channel 4 documentary or an episode of Jeremy Kyle?

Channel 4's new documentary series The Secret Life of Students once again fits into their trend of perpetuating stereotypes and vilifying social groups. 

One of the first shots of The Secret Life of Students, Channel 4's latest documentary series which follows the first weeks of a group of students at Leicester University, is a scroll through one fresher’s Facebook profile. In between a picture of a drunken student sat in a trolley and a pixellated clip of a fresher streaking, a patronising voice-over chirps “you can tell Josie is popular from a quick peek at her Facebook page, she’s got over 1,200 friends!”. Later, they ask another subject why he actively seeks more followers on Twitter and his awkward stammering response “Just- I don’t know why- it’s weird... Probably competition” perfectly and hypocritically captures Channel 4’s own thirst for viewing figures. The pervasive theme of fame-hungry students, each of which have given Channel 4 access to their Facebook messages, texts and tweets throughout freshers’ week, reflects Channel 4’s own greed for shocked reactions from audiences.

The documentary teams are uninterested in accurately representing social groups – epitomised by My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and Benefits Street – when they have selected outrageous subjects who will give audience the response they crave to incite. This response is shock and Channel 4 has perfected their formula for it:

1. Include a provocative title such as Gypsy Blood and My Social Network Stalker which could easily be confused with a headline from Pick Me Up! Magazine.

2.  In the style of Big Brother contestants, choose subjects who can perform in front of the cameras and play up the stereotype they have been carefully selected for.

3. Inspire viewers to tweet about their despair for humanity to create further publicity.

This agenda is the result of Channel 4’s systematic search for documentaries which cause controversy instead of seeking to portray social groups in an accurate and considered way. The current trend of “scripted reality” seen in Channel 4’s export Made in Chelsea, which follows the elite 1 per cent, has shaken up what the channel think their audiences want. Do viewers desire aspirational television or depictions of the reality of lives under crippling government cuts?  The ‘Cutting Edge’ segment of their documentary strand defies the gloss of Made in Chelsea (although just out of shot of the skinny lattes are council estates, but that would ruin the soft focus glow of the product placement) yet the effect is a jeering condemnation of groups in society which are already demonised.

Earlier this week Ofcom decided against an investigation into Channel 4’s documentary Benefits Street despite recieving nearly 900 complaints about the “negative and offensive” portrayal of the lives of those on benefits. The programme raised concerns over the welfare of the children who appeared in the programme and questions of whether the detailed portrayal of criminal activity would inspire viewers to use the subject’s shoplifting techniques. Although Ofcom let Channel 4 off the hook, this perfectly encapsulates the way viewing figures are sought to the detriment of quality. These series have the potential to be hard-hitting reports from the front line of society where people are struggling to make ends meet. In Benefits Street there are juxtapositions such as one inhabitant of James Turner Street in Birmingham declaring the importance of family, with the optimistic sentiment “you could have the whole world and still nothing compares to what we’ve got around here” cruelly followed by a man staggering past the street sign, swearing at the camera and clutching a can of lager.

These are not cutting-edge documentaries. These are production teams hunting down stereotypes and filming them in their natural habitat, cutting them together so as to reinforce as many stereotypes as possible. In one scene in The Secret Life of Students one fresher finds out they have chlamydia and texts her friends saying “LOOOL”. In another a group of students play the drinking game Ring of Fire, with a Nazi twist and when one history student whose idol is Anne Frank, complains at the students using their fingers as moustaches to mimic Hitler, she is ignored. Scene after scene includes more shock value. There is no ground-breaking or even relatable footage about the struggles of leaving home for the first time and the awkward stage of meeting new housemates and instead Channel 4’s aim is to gain viewing figures by provoking outrage, an angle similar to BBC3 ‘s exports Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents.  A far cry from the Louis Theroux's unassuming interviewing technique of asking insightful questions at a distance, these programmes are part of the Jeremy Kyle school of thought, depicting predictable narratives which vilify groups which are already looked down upon by most of society . With The Secret Life of Student’s omniscient but off screen interviewer, the audience sat at home on their sofa assumes the role of Kyle sneering down from his moral high horse.

The Channel 4 website outlines what they want from prospective film makers, stating that “If you have ideas that are agenda setting, risky, controversial, and could never have been made before, we want to hear about them”, adding “our strongest commissions are often ones that, at the outset, feel the most dangerous”. Their rallying cry for producers to deliver them “the most daring and controversial ideas” inevitably leads to programmes equally as hyperbolic.   When Aiden, the fresher who lists his interests on Facebook as the Kardashians, Nek Nominate and Right Wing Conservative views is questioned about his “banter” he answers “I just love pushing the boundaries”. A line which, ironically, could easily appear in the Channel 4 documentary manifesto.                                                  

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Listening to recordings from the Antarctic, I felt I could hear the earth groan

The Science Hour on the BBC World Service.

A weekend of listening to the radio news ­revealed nothing but sounds of the sucker-punched going through their pockets in a panic and repeating, “I thought you had the keys.” So, never was talk of “a perfectly flat area of just whiteness” more alluring. The oldest Antarctic ice yet recorded was recently found. “For millions of years,” the presenter Roland Pease assured listeners  (25 June, 9am), “snow has been falling, snow on snow, all the while trapping bubbles of air and other chemical traces of climate . . . insights into the ice ages and warm periods of the past.” How was this ice located? “The finding part is pretty easy – you just go there and start shovelling, and ice comes up,” the lead geologist, Jaakko Putkonen, said.

There it was, buried under a layer of dirt “in barren wastelands” high in the middle of Antarctica. An “incredibly mountainous and remote and . . . quite hideous region, really”, Pease said, though it was sounding pretty good to me. The world dissolved into a single, depthless tone. Then Pease mentioned the surprising fizzing of this ancient ice – trapped air bubbles whooshing as they melt. Which is perhaps the thing you least expect about ice regions and ice caps and glaciers: the cacophony. Thuds and moans. Air that folds and refolds like the waving of gigantic flags. Iced water sleeping-dragonishly slurping and turning.

On Friday Greenpeace posted a video of the pianist Ludovico Einaudi giving a haunting performance on a floating platform to mark an imminent meeting of the OSPAR Commission, as it decided on a proposal to safeguard 10 per cent of the Arctic Ocean. Einaudi looked occasionally stunned by the groaning around him. A passing glacier popped and boomed like the armies of Mordor, ice calving from its side, causing mini-tsunamis. When last year I spent some time at the remote Eqi Glacier in Greenland, close to the ice cap, local people certainly spoke of the ice as if it were living: “It’s quiet today,” delivered as though gazing at the fractious contents of a Moses basket.

“This huge cake of ice, basically flat”, Putkonen said, perhaps longing for a moment of deep-space silence, for peaceful detachment. He wasn’t the only one being forced to reappraise a landscape very differently.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies