With true stars thin on the ground, RTÉ's new reality series is trawling the bottom of the trough, writes Shane Hegarty
By now you will know what constitutes the celebrity in Celebrity Farm. Does it really include Conrad Gallagher, Gavin Lambe-Murphy, that always-breathless children's presenter and someone from Fair City? The advance rumours suggested we'd need to examine the fine print on both the RTÉ Guide's listings pages and the trade descriptions act.
Much could be gauged by the star quality of those who turned it down. David Norris said no, as did Brendan O'Carroll. Louis Walsh also turned them away, implying that some very bad things would have to happen to his career before he would say yes. That Brush Sheils was asked seems a little short-sighted, given that he already lives on a farm and has even written a song about his favourite Massey Ferguson.
There has been much ridicule in advance of Celebrity Farm, but when RTÉ turned towards celebrities rather than eager members of the public to fill the berths it was always going to be accompanied by the sound of a barrel bottom being scraped.
The notion of celebrity has always been at its most elastic in reality television. In the UK, where the format has been most successful, typical participants have been those whose appearances on Celebrity Big Brother or I'm A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! are often admissions that their careers aren't what they used to be. They take a desperate gamble on the public remembering what they liked about them in the first place.
ITV's recent Reborn In The USA was the first to come out and admit it when it gave has-been pop stars the chance to resurrect their careers. That it failed to do so for any of the wannabe-agains can only have compounded the original indignity.
In Ireland "celebrity" has never been a particularly lofty height from which to fall. In a small country you are truly famous only if you make it big somewhere else, but then you are too big for Irish reality TV.
RTÉ is not the only one to trade on wobbly notions of celebrity. Both VIP magazine and the RTÉ Guide made their money on realising that the Irish will accept home-grown "stars" even when they shine with a very low wattage. In the UK, some newsreaders or weather girls can become celebrities. Here they all do, because there are a lot of pages to fill and a small population to pick from.
But if fame burns dimmer it also burns longer. Even the briefest foray into the Irish public's conscience means you will never quite be forgotten. It is also never that difficult to get back on television.
When The Lyrics Board returned it promised the "hottest, the coolest and the most successful singers in Ireland today", yet its need to supply four fresh guests every week meant it immediately had to stop being so fussy.
So it mined the seam of showband favourites, Eurovision entrants, talent-show losers and pop starlets who have found themselves emerging from the wrong side of Louis Walsh's revolving door. With all that, it did extremely well in the ratings.
The Lyrics Board's only proviso is that the guest has a voice, even if it is not a singing one. The Restaurant, in which "celebrity chefs" cook for critics, handicapped itself by needing guests who were handy in the kitchen. But it worked well because the central premise was distracting and its guests not the desperate type.
Celebrity Farm will not be the first Irish programme in which notional celebrities rough it. TG4 recently showed Seachtain Ón Spotsolas, which translates as A Week out of the Spotlight, although its insistence on Irish speakers meant that alongside the Ros Na Rún actor and a continuity announcer was someone who worked in the TG4 office.
At least it had spark. Sent on a survival course for a week, the eight found the experience so miserable that they turned on the presenter, proving that even the smallest of celebrities could throw the most star-spangled of tantrums.
Celebrity Farm would revel in that if it happened this week, but it may never see a second series, not because of lack of success but because of the lack of celebrities to fill the quota. It has already gone through the phone book.
As with its British counterparts, though, the likes of You're A Star and Cabin Fever have set out to replenish the stocks by making celebrities of civilians. Soon we could see the original winners of reality shows attempting to resurrect their careers by appearing on the celebrity versions.
When that happens, don't be surprised if your television packs up in protest.
Celebrity Farm is on RTÉ1 at 9.35 p.m. tonight