The bogan likes to laugh. It also likes to be comfortable in the fact that jokes about farts and dicks and mothers will remain funny for all of eternity. For there is nothing more revolting for the bogan than to be challenged in some cerebral way when it comes humour. Here’s where Rove McManus, the paragon of the “this is bound to make your mum laugh” quip, neatly satisfies satisfied all of the bogan’s comedic needs.
Not only is was Rove armed to the teeth with painfully uninspired jokes, he is was also self-deprecating, had romantic dalliances with starlets from Home and Away and Blue Heelers, and boasts boasted a cousin who played AFL football – all being decisive bogan prerequisites for winning their coveted affection. Realising this sacred (and lucrative) connection to his audience, he never misses missed an opportunity to use his show to shamelessly plug the movies, artists, albums, books and agendas of celebrities he desperately needs needed to come back for another anodyne, often awkward interview. Particularly galling were international guests, who constantly appeared befuddled that this guy managed to get his own TV show. Meanwhile, he remains remained the televisual equivalent of comfort food, which was sad, after his edgy, Channel 31 beginnings. After all, heaven forbid, he alienates his audience, forcing Pink to settle for 20 concerts nationwide instead of 54. Not on Rove’s watch.
Flanked by the affably stout Peter Helliar and a team of mildly entertaining, inoffensive larrikins such as Dave Hughes, Rove Live is was the ideal Sunday night televisual escape for the bogan. With a wonderfully generous interviewing style (read: poorly researched and overtly fawning), Rove never dares dared challenge his guest with anything remotely controversial, but safely steers steered his questions to the thunderous applause of his faithful. Drenched in immaturity, the show annoyingly veers veered between bad timing and awkward delivery while Rove constantly laughs laughed at his own jokes with gay abandon.
Validated by three Gold Logies, the bogan it seems simply can could not get enough of Rove’s unique brand of (un)funniness. Until now. The decision to end the show has, unsurprisingly, caused outrage among bogans. No longer can it while away another Sunday night perched in front of the telly snug in the knowledge that the next hour will be safe and familiar, like ordering lemon chicken from the local Chinese take-away. No more riding dirt bikes with Pink or another episode of Kevin Rudd, P.M. or a giant bowl of smarties. No more silly attempts at “really getting to know the celebrity” with edgy titles such as “Public Probe”. No more relying on Hamish and Andy for ratings. No more Rove. Phew.