Another month, another TV star’s face splashed across the front pages, accused of misconduct on set. This time, it’s the Italian chef Gino D’Acampo vowing to clear his name while his now-former employer, ITV, busily scrubs his shows from its schedule. At least he’s got company in broadcasting’s hall of shame: Gregg Wallace and Jermaine Jenas have also been thrown in there in recent months.
Having covered a stream of these stories, I don’t think we should pretend this is about a few bad apples in the entertainment industry: the whole orchard is rotting. Unless there is institutional change, allegations will keep emerging – same story, different cast.
Why is TV so prone to such scandals? A producer once described the industry to me as “fuelled by power and desperation”. The “star” is lionised on set because ratings and recommissioning rest on their popularity; they, in turn, know they are the golden goose, so think they can behave however they want. TV also self-selects for show-offs, who are rewarded for the same attention-seeking behaviour that may be their eventual undoing.
Meanwhile, production companies are desperate for business, and junior staff – often freelancers on short-term contracts – are desperate for work. It is in no one’s financial interest to speak out. I’m sure principled bosses can make a difference, but there is an egotism to many TV execs, who care above all about protecting their jobs. Sure, they’ll publicly say how “horrendous” and “saddening” the allegations are, but privately they will have tried to stop complainants speaking out.
Often these stories are “open secrets”. Isn’t it odd, then, that so many journalists will admit they’ve heard the rumours, but the bosses who hired the star – who could so easily have done some perfunctory due diligence by asking their staff about on-set conduct – still claim it’s a shock? My guess is the next scandal that breaks won’t come as much of a surprise, either. Right now there are at least two big names in TV who must be sweating profusely, fearing the spotlight is finally going to fall on them.
Already been done
I recently interviewed three mothers whose children were affected by the Corby toxic waste scandal. In the 1990s, a number of babies suffered birth defects linked to a shoddily run clean-up operation during the reclamation of the town’s steelworks. It was the worst case of child poisoning in the UK since thalidomide, yet remains shamefully little known.
On 27 February, Netflix will release Toxic Town, a drama starring Jodie Whittaker and Rory Kinnear about a trio of mothers’ fight for justice. I imagine its release will prompt the traditional chorus from critics of the mainstream media: “Why don’t you investigate injustices like this?” This happened last year with the Post Office scandal, which had – 15 years before ITV’s excellent series aired – been exposed by the magazine Computer Weekly and reported on extensively elsewhere. Similarly, child sexual exploitation in Rotherham was first investigated by the Times in 2011.
In the case of Corby, the Sunday Times reported on the poisonings in 1999. Eleven years later, the council agreed to pay compensation to victims. A story doesn’t always create immediate shockwaves, it just plants a seed. It is a great shame, though, that this one took so long to bear fruit for the families involved.
Two’s company
The opening of Mike Bartlett’s amusing new play, Unicorn, at London’s Garrick Theatre has sparked a plethora of articles trying to persuade us of the merits of polyamory. Every time I read one, I am reminded of all those panegyrics about wild swimming that were published pre-pandemic. Both activities seem to inspire a near-religious fervour from their proponents, while the unconverted among us just imagine we’d end up wading in raw sewage. How much fun can it really be, if you have to put so much effort into trying to persuade the rest of us to join your gang?
We seem to hear a lot about the death of monogamy, but it’s always struck me that committing to one and only remains remarkably popular. Social and religious pressures to wed have eased, yet we admire those who remain faithful over decades-long marriages and coo over the octogenarian couples still holding hands.
I’ve been married for five years and in a relationship now for ten, and monogamy has never felt to me like a terrible sacrifice. The alternative just sounds… exhausting. Polyamorous relationships involve far too much logistical planning; there’s nothing romantic about having to draw up a timetable to determine whose bed you’ll be sleeping in at night. And imagine having to go through the Valentine’s Day flowers-chocolates-champagne charade multiple times.
Rosamund Urwin is the media editor of the Sunday Times
[See also: The show must go on for the Oscars]
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This article appears in the 12 Feb 2025 issue of the New Statesman, The Reformation