Gah. After last week’s deliberate levelling-the-playing-field twist, the fact that there was going to be yet another twist this week was fairly underwhelming. And I don’t think anyone was particularly convinced by the “this week, there will be no new arrivals” announcement, either.
As things stood at the beginning of the episode, there was one week to go, and only a one-person difference between the populations of both islands, meaning that everyone who chose to move to Shark Island thinking it was an easy ride to victory has been made a fool of. Especially because Shark Island is rubbish.
Then: shock, horror! New arrivals! Two of them! And there’s something special about them!
Er, except there wasn’t. The last ace up the producers’ sleeve turned out to be a completely different card; probably a Happy Families one. Despite not having watched last year’s show, I managed to guess ahead of time that the two new arrivals were from that last series. And the whole game now rested on their shoulders: one original Tiger and one original Shark, the two new arrivals would, again, make a joint decision, meaning that whichever island they picked would win the whole game.
And didn’t they just know it.
As the game draws ever nearer to its conclusion, the decisions of the new arrivals seem to become more and more important. Unfortunately, this type of power – knowing there were about 30 people spread over two islands desperate to win them over – seems to go straight to some people’s heads, and for the last two weeks, the new arrivals have been insufferably smug. Having played the game before last year didn’t help, either; Whatshisname and Whatshername (I refuse to look them up because they’re rubbish) swanned around doling out sage advice to the current islanders as if they somehow knew better.
Which… they don’t. All these people have had exactly the same experience of living on an island in the South Pacific for months. All. Exactly. The. Same. I can quite understand why some of the Shipwreckers are getting arsey about it, complaining that they’re sick of entertaining new arrivals; these people really think they’re of huge importance.
Newsflash: even if you’re on the winning team in Shipwrecked, you’ll walk away with less than five grand. Which, for sixteen weeks of your life, isn’t really all that spectacular. And no-one’s going to remember your smug face in a couple of weeks anyway, because That Other Reality Show We Don’t Talk About Here starts up again tomorrow.
So, just as I’d worked up a healthy amount of indignation… the credits rolled. Seems I’ll have to wait until next weekend to find out which island wins (Tigers! Tigers! Please!). I’m not best pleased.