Breathtakingly weird, hilarious, offensive, disgracefully manipulative, a serious case of reality TV crossing the line... The Baron is all of these things. And so much more.
Explosive scenes as legendary Sex Pistols Svengali Malcolm McClaren marched through the deeply religious Scottish village of Gardenstown, telling the devout locals all about his plan to set up "a sinners' tent" - an unheavenly haven where they could enjoy extramarital sex, swear like troopers and take tons of illegal narcotics.
It was an unconventional tactic in his campaign to be elected the Baron of Troup over his celebrity rivals Mike Reid (RIP) and the politically astute Suzanne Shaw.
And it led to frighteningly violent chaos. All in the name of light entertainment.
After seizing a golden opportunity to rip the p*ss out of amusing provincial people who, unbelievably, believe in God, ITV's string-pulling clever-dicks came dangerously close to causing a full riot.
"This is the worst place I have ever been to in my entire life, " boomed McLaren in a speech that literally drove the crowd into a furious frenzy.
The tent of evil (Marquee de Sade?) would be a place "where everybody can sin all day and all night, make sex, drink themselves stupid and blaspheme as much as they want."
Sounds good! But not to the Bible-bashers of this remote Aberdeenshire outpost. They were enraged. Especially when Malcolm provocatively added: "We could build a Wicker Man on the beach and sit around taking lots of drugs. I suggest you give your village over to cannabis growers."
Naturally, the camera crew lapped it up as a community leader called Michael lunged at the Godfather of Punk and tried to wrestle him from the podium.
None too keen on McLaren's assertion that "Jesus Christ was a sausage" and his suggestion that all the churches should be turned into centres of sexual deviancy, mad Mike screamed: "National television or not... just get OOT of here!"
It was spinning out of control. With the angry throng surging toward him, Malcolm beat a hasty retreat and nervously told the sophisticated producers: "We've got to go - there's a lynch-mob coming."
He was right. He'd gone too far. But the TV puppet-masters who had deliberately whipped up this real-life melodrama showed no sense of responsibility.
"We're so sorry," spluttered a contrite director as the good folk of Gardenstown demanded to know why they were being insulted by an old trouble-maker preaching anarchy.
I'm not denying that I wasn't transfixed. In fact, I was doubled up in hysterics. Diabolically funny! But surely it was wrong to make one big joke out of Christian faith and beliefs. "Oh Lord help us to eat and drink to your glory," declared the Rev Donald before dining with godless Malcolm.
"Amen." "Okey dokey," replied Malcolm.
Lacking McClaren's charisma and intelligence, East-Enders' Mike and ice maiden Suzanne were like a couple of dullards relegated to the status of bit-part players in a tawdry tale of trumped-up turmoil.
Meanwhile here's my advice to everyone in Gardenstown: Next time a bunch of TV tosspots come knocking at your door, tell them to f*** off!
It methodically ticks all the cliche boxes - but anyone can see The Invisibles is destined for ratings greatness. Cute coastal village full of loveable eccentrics (check), likeable rogues with a sense of decency (check), action-packed criminal capers that don't do much harm (check), techno wizardry allowing for laughably implausible storylines (check).
But, with a passable script, uplifting music and fine performances from natural charmers Anthony Head and Warren Clarke, the Beeb's new comedy drama about a couple of Costa del Crime crooks who return to Britain and come out of retirement looks like a winner.
"I am the best safe-cracker this country ever produced," said Head's character Maurice as he dusted down his dubious skills. "I am William Shakespeare, Bobby Moore and the Beatles - and once blood ran through my veins." Stirring stuff. Mo's oddly posh wife Barbara (Jenny Agutter) wants him to go straight (check).
But he's attractively incorrigible. And he loyally agrees to help his old mate Syd (Clarke) raise money to save his loser son from debt-collecting thugs (check).
Lastly there's wannabe villain Hedley (Dean Lennox Kelly) who, after being convicted of the theft of 78 wheelchairs, is desperate to commit more glamorous offences.
New Tricks for law-breakers, The Invisibles has the hallmarks of a runaway hit.
Breathtakingly weird, hilarious, offensive, disgracefully manipulative, a serious case of reality TV crossing the line... The Baron is all of these things. And so much more.
Explosive scenes as legendary Sex Pistols Svengali Malcolm McClaren marched through the deeply religious Scottish village of Gardenstown, telling the devout locals all about his plan to set up "a sinners' tent" - an unheavenly haven where they could enjoy extramarital sex, swear like troopers and take tons of illegal narcotics.
It was an unconventional tactic in his campaign to be elected the Baron of Troup over his celebrity rivals Mike Reid (RIP) and the politically astute Suzanne Shaw.
And it led to frighteningly violent chaos. All in the name of light entertainment.
After seizing a golden opportunity to rip the p*ss out of amusing provincial people who, unbelievably, believe in God, ITV's string-pulling clever-dicks came dangerously close to causing a full riot.
"This is the worst place I have ever been to in my entire life, " boomed McLaren in a speech that literally drove the crowd into a furious frenzy.
The tent of evil (Marquee de Sade?) would be a place "where everybody can sin all day and all night, make sex, drink themselves stupid and blaspheme as much as they want."
Sounds good! But not to the Bible-bashers of this remote Aberdeenshire outpost. They were enraged. Especially when Malcolm provocatively added: "We could build a Wicker Man on the beach and sit around taking lots of drugs. I suggest you give your village over to cannabis growers."
Naturally, the camera crew lapped it up as a community leader called Michael lunged at the Godfather of Punk and tried to wrestle him from the podium.
None too keen on McLaren's assertion that "Jesus Christ was a sausage" and his suggestion that all the churches should be turned into centres of sexual deviancy, mad Mike screamed: "National television or not... just get OOT of here!"
It was spinning out of control. With the angry throng surging toward him, Malcolm beat a hasty retreat and nervously told the sophisticated producers: "We've got to go - there's a lynch-mob coming."
He was right. He'd gone too far. But the TV puppet-masters who had deliberately whipped up this real-life melodrama showed no sense of responsibility.
"We're so sorry," spluttered a contrite director as the good folk of Gardenstown demanded to know why they were being insulted by an old trouble-maker preaching anarchy.
I'm not denying that I wasn't transfixed. In fact, I was doubled up in hysterics. Diabolically funny! But surely it was wrong to make one big joke out of Christian faith and beliefs. "Oh Lord help us to eat and drink to your glory," declared the Rev Donald before dining with godless Malcolm.
"Amen." "Okey dokey," replied Malcolm.
Lacking McClaren's charisma and intelligence, East-Enders' Mike and ice maiden Suzanne were like a couple of dullards relegated to the status of bit-part players in a tawdry tale of trumped-up turmoil.
Meanwhile here's my advice to everyone in Gardenstown: Next time a bunch of TV tosspots come knocking at your door, tell them to f*** off!
"Get the towels and hot water," said the MTV announcer. "It's Kerry Katona: Crazy in Love." Yep, our maternal heroine finally delivered - in full view of the intrusive cameras.
"Look at your little willy," sobbed Kerry while cradling baby Max. "It's bigger than your daddy's!" Now she's no longer pregnant, Kerry has vowed to cut down on boozing and smoking. "I'll be back for updates," threatened Ms Katona as the series ended. Don't bother.
"That was absolutely exhilarating," gushed witless Vernon "my friend" Kay after Darren Gough and a fireman sat in cars boringly spinning the tyres until they burst. "How good was that?"
Not very good at all, since you ask, Vern. At a mind-numbing 75 minutes, isn't ITV's hopelessly dull Beat The Star just a little too long? By about 74 minutes.
A change of tack from Andrew Lloyd Weirdo who, amazingly, didn't say: "This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make." After the public voted the wrong girls into I 'd Do Anything's Sunday night sing-off, his livid Lordship stormed off. As ratings dwindle, who cares who could be Nancy?
Graham Norton's brilliant BBC2 chat show reunited Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers and featured a studio audience representing Hart to Hart's global fan base. "What's Hart to Hart called in the Philippines?" Norton asked one long-distance enthusiast. "Hart to Hart," she replied.
On ITV2's incomparable Katie and Peter: The Next Chapter disgusting Andre is simulating an orgasm in front of bemused manager Claire Powell. "I'm really sorry viewers that you have to watch this," sighs big Claire. So are we.
Learning from their mistakes, ITV are to screen a spoof soap penned by Harry Hill. Let's hope it's as startlingly successful as ITV's last spoof soap - Echo Beach, which they've just axed because no one watched it.
Who's this guy Jacques Peretti who thinks rehashing well-worn stories makes him a TV investigator? C4's Michael Barrymore: What Really Happened. Nothing new, if Jacques's unpenetrating probe was anything to go by.
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