Hmm. I've just watched Panorama, mostly because I'm trapped at work on my own with only the BBC's generous array of programming for company. Well, it was either Panorama on Scientology or BBC3's offering,"Help! My Dog's A Big Fucking Racist". Simple choice really. Anyway, it could have been a truly wonderful documentary if the reporter wasn't such a big ole' almost-firey-head! Man, I have seen no-one do snipey, sarcastic, repressed English anger as well as this guy. Until he blew his freakin' top, that is, which was worth it in itself.
So, it was a whole thing about Scientology being crazy control freaks whose religion is based on an "inter-galactic warlord" (which apparently Scientologists are now saying is bullpie...meh, makes approximately equal sense to me as that story about a garden with a naughty little snake.) There wasn't as much Scientology trashing as I was expecting, really. Vague mumblings about certain members completely ignoring their dying parents here, slight harumphing about the amount of money people have to throw at it to get anywhere there. Mostly, though, it was this reporter being followed about by mysterious cars and having to execute handbrake turns in the middle of LA highways (oh please! Just how much must he have loved that? One minute, you're a mild-mannered BBC reporter, the next, you're Jason muthafuckin' Bourne) because THE SCIENTOLOGISTS KNEW ALL AND WERE STALKING HIM.
But hell, that was the best thing about it. This completely freaky, glossy, besuited and sunglassed Scientologist automaton magically appeared every time the reporter talked to anyone at all. The reporter would just be hanging out, interviewing his peeps, shooting the shit, and bing! There was Scientology Guy, arriving from nowhere in a blacked out SUV from 24. I swear to God, he didn't walk around, he glided, like an old time vampire. No! Actually, like the baddies in that episode of Buffy where none of them could talk, which I am now painfully aware makes me sound like the squarest of the square, Squarey McSquareason, Mayor of Squaretown, Mississisquare, etc, etc, etc, cliche, cliche, christ I've just laughed so much my spleen has come out of my ear.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. Scientology Guy would arrive and shout at Mr Reporter's face in a very confident and American way, and Mr Reporter would be snipey and sarcastic and English back and lose every argument just on force of opinion. At one point, Scientology Guy started "hey, dude, it's my constitutional right to call this a religion"-ing in response to the whisper of "cult". Please, I screeched, please, here's your chance! Say it's your constitutional right to freedom of speech, and you will call his group of nutjobs whatever you damn well please, and incidentally, what's all this about Scientology going to any major disaster to lay on healing hands, I mean, great, but surely the victims of Virginia Tech would want the bullets removing first?
But no, Mr Reporter quacked a bit and waddled around until steam came out of his ears. Come on, BBC, where's the Paxmans of the world when you need 'em to rip these people to teeny tiny shreds?
Yes. Remind me never to post anything like this ever again. Thanks.