Love Island (Virgin Media Two, 9pm) has weathered a stormy few years amid questions about the pressures placed on contestants and whether the producers were doing enough to look after participants’ emotional wellbeing following their exit from the show’s Mallorca villa. But such controversies have now receded, and the series has a business-as-usual quality as it returns for a new season featuring – as has long been the tradition – a smattering of token Irish hopefuls.
They are Megan, a 24-year-old energy broker from Dublin who is “sick of doing the apps” and prefers partners who are “kind of dead… Tim Burton style”. She is joined by Conor, a 25-year-old Ireland rugby sevens player from Limerick. He confesses to being a bit cocky and suggests that he goes for ladies with a similar personality to that of his mother.
Megan is paired with Tommy, a landscape gardener from Hertfordshire, while Conor is matched with Helena, a flight attendant from Devon, who hates “rugby boys” but “loves an Irish accent”. So, all good then – at least until the show tries to work out what to do next.
Cheesy, slightly crass, brimming with tans, pecs and glow-in-the-dark teeth, Love Island is often cited as evidence of society’s imminent downfall. However, its not-so-hidden secret is that it’s supremely boring. After initial introductions and following the departure of host Maya Jama (who seems to enjoy the frothiness more than her predecessor, Laura Whitmore), there’s not much to do beyond sit around the pool and banter.
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Yes, some fun is to be had getting up to speed with Love Island’s unique lingo – “the ick” and so forth. But – and maybe this comes back to the duty of care aspect – this year’s line-up is a likable and pretty unspectacular bunch. Nobody has “look at me” reality TV energy, and they don’t say anything particularly silly or meme-able. While that is obviously good for them, it does make for plodding viewing. It says a lot about a ho-hum first episode that one of the big talking points is that the villa contains both a Megan and a Meg – imagine the potential confusion etc.
As ever, there is a degree of fun to be had from comedian Iain Stirling’s droll voiceover – though he sounds ready for a break from Love Island (having presumably noted how well his wife, the aforementioned Laura Whitmore, is doing since moving on).
There is a twist at the end when Toni from Las Vegas parachutes in (not literally, just walks through the villa doors). Love Island expects us to be astonished by the presence of an American – an American! – in Mallorca. The gimmick is that she pries away taxi driver Ben from children’s entertainer Shakira (they weren’t getting on anyway) – leaving Shakira 24 hours to find a new partner.
The tension is... not really there. Love Island has endured a lot across the past decade – but you do wonder if it has reached that unfortunate stage in a relationship when a couple are on the verge of boring each other witless. Not even the aching blue of the Mediterranean in summer can paper over the grisly, grey pall that hangs over a series surely fast approaching its sell-by date. As a long-time viewer, I’m ready to pack my bags and head home.
