A lot of tv documentaries pretend to be insightful, retrospective shows designed to enlighten us on human existence but actually turn out to be gawp-fests a few elephants short of a freak show. However, Channel Four have come up with some reality programmes which undermine our desire to poke and prod the freak under the microscope. This time, the finger is turned on us.
Meet the Natives was aired a while ago, but thanks to 4od I was able to watch the whole series in one big hit. The four part documentary begins in Tanna, an island in the South Pacific and we are introduced to five members of the community who adopt the role as ‘ambassadors’ on a journey in and around England. Although the Channel Four film crew are clearly present taking backdrop shots and capturing the odd native dance in a village hall, the ambassadors are given their own hand held cameras, allowing them to observe and narrate the entire documentary themselves, which leads to interesting results.
In episode one, the men enjoy a short stay at a pig farm in Norfolk. This description makes it sound like a hovel of mud, but surprisingly the ambassadors find themselves in a rather luxurious farm house littered with scatter cushions, mood lighting and numerous bedrooms. The men are told that this is the ‘middle class’ way of living. Yes, middle class in that sort of cuddly 1950s ‘oh goodness, we are in the splendid countryside!’ kind of way. I’ve known plenty of farmers and they sure as hell don’t ramble in water logged fields by day and rest their feet on velvet cushions under glowing chandeliers by night.
Of all the families that the men stay at, the pig farm proves to be the most socially awkward. One of my highlights was upon the arrival at the house, the Tannese glance about and comment on the number of ornaments and decor. ‘This house is filled with crap,’ they say, or at least they would say if their language wasn’t so beautifully poetic. And quite rightly too. It made me observe my own bedroom, a lair of unwanted gifts, ornaments and trinkets that just fill up the place with a sense of disgust.
The ambassadors warm up to the man of the house, mister pig farmer himself and the groundskeeper for his traditional, bunny bludgeoning ways, although the farmer’s wife is a different story. At the initial dinner, the chief gives a heartfelt speech of how thankful the men are for being so well looked after, and his belief that the white and black people shall merge like ‘ink on white paper’. An awkward silence prevails, and is broken by the wife asking in her plummy accent whether anyone would like a drink. In fact, she pretty much interrupts all the pivotal moments by questioning a need for beverages, but it’s a behaviourism all us British are guilty of. When times get tough and we feel uncomfortable or unable to deal with intimate conversation, we inquire about tea.
Next on the agenda for the Tannese was a trip to Birmingham to live with a working class bi-racial family on a jolly looking estate. The men are thrilled to be staying in all the same room which resembles sleeping habits back in Tanna, and the family greet them with ease in their humble surroundings. There’s a lovely moment when the husband, a taxi driver is showing the men how to clean his mini cab using a jet spray, but manages to cover himself with blobs of foam. The men burst into infectious laughter with the Brummie, slapping thighs and holding their sides in pure ecstasy. You forget that these are islanders from the other side of the world who have never set foot in the Western world before, just a bunch of blokes sharing a joke. In fact, there isn’t a moment where the men are not smiling, laughing or enjoying the little quirks and oddities of British life. They describe themselves as ‘the happiest people in the world’, and it’s probably true.
The ambassadors are treated to KFC, after meal ciggies (apparently in Birmingham they are shared about like After Eight mints) and a trip into the city centre. They are shocked at the great number of homeless people shacking up in cardboard boxes or selling the Big Issue. When they question this, the husband merely states that although we are a rich country, some people are still very very poor and can’t afford to live in houses. It seems the family and the crew seem cautious not to tell the islanders the real reasons of homelessness: drug addiction, broken homes, domestic abuse. It’s all glossed over, perhaps in a bid to prevent over exertion on the Tannese’s part. Regardless, the men presume that our society has no interest in the welfare of its poor, and it is a sight which they never forget and tell to their people back at home, the shortcomings of the English.
On their final journey they head to Northumberland to stay with Sir Something-or-rather in Chillingham Castle. Because, you know those crazy aristocrats! They all live in dirty great castles in the middle of nowhere with only their vintage musket collection for company. The islanders follow Sir Bobby-Pin or whatever his name was around the stone mansion in horrified silence. Mounted animal heads, weapons and torture devices adorn the walls like a personal homage to Marquis Du Sade.
Sir Snuffle-Nose teaches the ambassadors the all important rules of fine dining and etiquette, and they stare in bafflement as they are instructed to use the stabby and pokey eating tools ‘from the outside in.’ These displays are indeed ludicrous, but the men listen and respect the rules because they are long standing tradition, something the Tannese deeply honour within their culture. Later they witness fox hunting, or should that be in sarcastic inverted quotes ‘fox hunting’ which involves chasing a quad bike instead of small ginger animal. The islanders are curious to know why this tradition in carried on in such an odd manner, a waste of time to some.
Before their departure, the ambassadors perform the native dance as they showed the previous communities they visited, except this time it’s part of an upper class black tie dinner. You think to yourself, oh, this is going to be awkward, if the middle-classers stood around nervously chewing their mouths, the poshos will be much worse. Rather refreshingly, the chanting commenced and the aristocrats were up and dancing along to the beat, and enjoying it too. Their host gave a heartfelt speech this time. No patronising, no humouring the islanders; but a sincere thanking of the people who travelled so far to come and dance in their stone halls.
After a special visit in England, the ambassadors return home greeted by a wave of grass skirts, singing and dancing. As inventive and insightful as the documentary had been, I couldn’t help thinking Tanna was represented like a colour book of what native people should be like. Happy, plump brown skinned people in straw houses and beautiful tropical landscapes. The Tannese are never homeless, they care for each other, look after their animals and there is never any crime. Perhaps the Tannese choose to skim over the unfavourable details, maybe they see their world without flaws. Perhaps they really are the happiest people in the world.
