DUNCAN Bannatyne is angry. This much we already knew. But the object of his ire last night wasn't a hapless inventor begging him to invest in solar-powered top hats. Instead, the glowering millionaire set his sights on the giant British American Toba
cco Plc, which he angrily described as "the most unacceptable face of British industry" (I thought that was Peter Jones?).
In Duncan Bannatyne Takes On Big Tobacco, he presented a righteous exposé of BAT's shameful marketing strategies in Africa, where young people and even children are actively encouraged to take up smoking. Internal documents proved that BAT was contravening its own edicts regarding advertising, and increased its virtual monopoly of the market by doing so. BAT even gives plastic pots to local shopkeepers in which to sell single cigarettes for the equivalent of 7p each, a practice that is banned in the UK. Cheap access to cigarettes means that more and more African kids are taking up smoking: in Mauritius, an appalled Bannatyne counted 21 smokers in a single class of children aged between 11 and 14.
Although advertising tobacco products is banned in Africa, BAT went ahead and did so anyway, using methods so brazen they were almost funny. Painting shops so that they resemble an enormous packet of cigarettes is one thing, organising a youth- orientated music festival at which all the artists are instructed to wear cigarette brand promotional outfits is quite another.
It was odd seeing Bannatyne altering his familiar guise of withering sourpuss on Dragon's Den to solemn ambassador for moral rectitude. But he relished the role, whether arguing with security staff outside BAT's Nigerian HQ, or aggressively door-stepping company executives gathering for the annual general meeting. This scene was the film's highlight, although not for the reasons Bannatyne intended. While repeatedly bellowing "are you proud of the way you market your product in Africa?" at flustered men in grey (including Sir Kenneth Clarke), he came across more like a hectoring nutter than a fearless polemicist, richly enjoying his chance to shout at other rich white men.
Otherwise, this was a worthwhile, seemingly heartfelt film, that successfully managed to portray BAT as an amoral, exploitative monster. Just like most multinational companies, then. Featuring shoehorned references to his (admittedly commendable) charitable work in Malawi, the film also attempted to depict Bannatyne as a crusading philanthropist. Perhaps. He'd certainly be useful as an anti-smoking lobbyist. At one point he barked "you'll die!" at a young Nigerian smoker. If they slapped that message, plus Bannatyne's scowling face, on every cigarette packet in the UK, everyone would stop tomorrow.
Despite its good intentions, Britain's Missing Top Model – in which eight disabled women compete to win a place on the catwalk – is just another formulaic reality show. All the tired tropes were employed with minimum effort: uplifting music on the soundtrack when something "nice" happened; plangent piano music during the "sad" bits; bland hopefuls talking in clichés about how this is the most important thing in their world; and an expert panel of judges wrestling over "tough decisions" and indulging in tepid spats which, predictably enough, the programme trailed as window-shattering blow-outs.
There was even a sequence in which photographs of the girls were screened in Piccadilly Circus à la How To Look Good Naked. A shamelessly unoriginal piece of old toot.
The full article contains 578 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
