Family Feud?22 September 2017
Think for a second. What’s your favourite type of screen entertainment? What’s that? Panel shows? Specifically panel shows hosted by hateable talentless quasi-celebrity B-listers? Well, have we ever got the film for you!
What we’re proposing is a continuous game of Family Feud with Grant Denyer; one that only ends when Grant Denyer’s sanity does…
A little extreme? Perhaps. Confusingly tasteless and unfunny? Certainly. But what we’re trying to capture here goes further than a touch of light comedy. Yes, what we’re going for is an unflinching gaze into the descent of humanity, to uncover the haggard soul of TV’s greatest martyr. And the only format we can see having the moral depravity and shamelessness to allow this cinematic tragi-stunt is that of the panel show.
And don’t worry about the legality of it all – we already figured that one out with Channel Ten. In Denyer’s contract for this year, they threw in a secret clause that requires him to fulfil that year worth of shows over the course of seven consecutive days. We’re pretty excited!
INT. FAMILY FEUD SET – TIME IRRELEVANT
GRANT DENYER is coated in sweat, his suit torn, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot. Contestants stand at their podiums, apparently unfazed.
Why are you doing this to me? We’ve been playing for one hundred and thirty hours! I need to sleep!
Please, Grant, we wanna play Family Feud.
Shut the fuck up, Russell! You arseholes can eat shit!
Whoa, Grant! That’s not cool!
You want a question? You want a question? If a man were to murder eight strangers with his bare hands on live television, who should he start with?
The contestants pause to consider this. One buzzes in.
The contestants all look to one small goth child, Derek.
Yes, nobody likes Derek! Take him!
Don’t you see you people are animals? Encouraging me to murder your child on air?
LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE
Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!
How did it come to this?
Grant approaches Derek, crying and shaking.
GRANT DENYER (CONT’D)
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Grant rolls up his sleeves to pummel the small child.
Beat the dweeb, already!
Grant punches Derek in the face. Derek cries and falls to the ground. Grant continues, sobbing loudly. Blood spatters onto his suit.
I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
Grant looks at his bruised and bloodied hands. He looks back down to Derek. All that is left is a red paste. Grant collapses into the paste.
GRANT DENYER (CONT’D)
Oh, Grant, how low hast thou sunk!
Now kill Sally!
Grant looks up, his face covered in the Derek paste.
Will nothing sate you? How simultaneously entertaining and irredeemable can one flimsy television format be?
The floor starts to rumble and the ceiling gives way, crushing all the contestants. Grant is the only one left alive. A shadowy figure blocks out
the sun, ten times the size of Grant. It is ANDREW O’KEEFE.
Andrew O’Keefe? You truly are a god to a second-rate host like myself! Why hast thou brought down thy temple, Almighty Overseer?
Almighty Overseer? God? What? No, no – I just drank a potion that enlarged me tenfold. You must help me – it’s all part of Australia’s new media stunts directed at panel show hosts!
What are you talking about?
They’re filming me as we speak! No panel show host is safe! Quick – come with me!
Grant Denyer jumps into Andrew O’Keefe’s hand and looks out onto a burning Melbourne.
Where are we going? There are no roads for us to follow!
Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.
Andrew O’Keefe starts to hover before flying into the distance, à la Zardoz.