Kathy Sheridan: Why Operation Transformation should ditch the Lycra

Reality shows are among those sorrowful mysteries to which the only sane reaction is total bafflement. Why would anyone risk a public unravelling in prime time high definition combined with the kind of media scrutiny that throws up your entire sex history and a swarm of disgusting relatives you hoped were dead?

Why would anyone want to judge the subjects of such humiliation? Is it a visceral instinct to exercise a kind of twisted power over other struggling creatures? I once reported on an X Factor show in Wembley, which included a chance to watch Mariah Carey in rehearsal. The diva was that night's very special exemplar for the groundlings of where pop stardom could lead. But superstardom had rendered her so fragile apparently that she could only shuffle towards the stage, supported by an assistant like a Fabergé egg. At least that was funny. So is the fact that the show unearthed One Direction (hats off to Mullingar man Niall Horan). It would be interesting though to see a study of what became of all the "rejects" pushed off the fame cliff after their 15 minutes.

So, all things considered, it is excellent news that the show's ratings have fallen to a 10-year low. When even Heat magazine says that parts of it feel "overblown and cruel", it must be time for a reality check. In the US, reports suggest that the reality genre is struggling and that viewers are turning instead to honest, scripted dramas like Homeland and True Detective. That might be a tad optimistic but there is hope.

Serious objective

Operation Transformation

is not the

X Factor

or

Big Brother

. It is well regarded by many healthcare professionals and has a deadly serious objective. Kathryn Thomas is an emotionally intelligent presenter who can be relied on not to sound an exploitative or insensitive note. But however you cut it, it’s a reality show. So I did not tune in. Then, a few weeks ago, after a particularly positive thumbs-up by a hospital consultant, I succumbed.

It happened to be the “Seven Years and Counting” lookback, and I seem to recall that some of the back stories were genuinely moving. “Seem” because my entire memory of it was obliterated by a recurring image. This was the part where the leaders made their first, ceremonial entry into the studio – alone, barefoot, “dressed” in minimal, skintight clothing, all our nightmares made flesh as their vast rolls of naked flesh lay exposed under the glare of incandescent TV lights for the perusal of over half a million viewers.

Humiliating? You can sing it. For one thing, these are not the kind of people who take pride (false or otherwise) in their “curves”; if they were, they would not be in that studio, often with tears in their eyes. For a second thing, every other person in that studio is not only fully clothed, but lithe and lovely; none moreso than Kathryn Thomas, beside whom each near-naked leader is obliged to stand, often dwarfed by Kathryn’s elegant heels.

That sinking feeling may be familiar only to those who insist on lockable changing-rooms in shops and want to stab any sales assistant who threatens to look.

No doubt there are compelling reasons why the show’s “stars” have to be exposed in this way. In Dr Jacky Jones’s opinion piece in our Health & Family supplement last week, she described it as a “cringe-inducing programme . . . portrayed by RTÉ as being about the nation’s health when it is just another reality TV show designed to entertain”.

Such “advice-giving programmes . . . have been shown not to work”, since the World Health Organisation published the Ottawa Charter in 1986, she wrote, “least of all [for] low-income families who, because of poverty, are more likely to be obese and unfit than anybody else”.

RTÉ batted back with a well-argued response but never explained why the show's leaders had to be poured into what Jones called "the most unflattering clothes possible for overweight and unfit people". Or why, as my consultant friend conceded, a well-made T-shirt and shorts wouldn't do just as well. After all, we're not looking at people who plan to hit the catwalk. The pound of flesh that might be camouflaged by the T-shirt is hardly crucial if an excess six or seven stone is the problem. And surely the objective of the show is health and fitness, not to wear sample sizes?

So what’s that about ?

The show takes itself very seriously as a piece of public service broadcasting and so it should. Research predicts that we will be the fattest and most unfit people in Europe by 2020 if we carry on as we are. Operation Transformation may have its shortcomings, but there is no doubting its educational and motivational value. And it's commendably honest. Viewers are left under no illusion; reinventing your life and changing your lifestyle is not easy. So when one or other of the team ends up in trouble with viewers for making someone cry or lecturing another for drinking, well, that's not a reality show with a cruel streak. That's a reality show with a purpose. A reality show with a serious message.

Just ditch the Lycra.

*Full disclosure: my daughter was a mentor on Bressie's Teenage Kicks, an RTÉ2 reality show with a conscience.