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A polished presenter, combined with a sick-in-your-mouth segment marked the end of the anarchic banger of a show
The early 90s: a time when a generation spent Friday nights trudging through a field trying to find a rave, gave up, and ended up slumped on the sofa in front of the telly. As they sponged the mud off their flares and dreamed of a more exciting life, a baby-faced Terry Christian brought a glimpse of it with The Word. This anarchic banger of a show wasn’t just a post-pub TV fix; The Word was a place where you could discover a world outside your Hitman and Her-shaped small town. A magical universe where you first saw Liam Gallagher honking out Supersonic, where Tim Burgess’s floppy fringe cast its spell and where L7’s Donita Sparks whacked down her trousers for a defiant muff-to-camera moon.
If you hadn’t mustered the correct fake ID, The Word was your pub. Oliver Reed was treated like a boozy foie gras until he was refreshed enough to belt out Wild Thing with Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Katie Puckrik was tucked up in bed in between a naked Jeff Koons and La Cicciolina and Christian was quizzing Whitney Houston about some new film about a bodyguard she was thinking of doing with Kevin Costner. In the early series, this glossy TV chaos, with its 808 State theme and risque opening credits, was at the top of its game and anyone who mattered to the “yoof” was invited to the party. The tabloids were delightedly morally panicked: the show was like the Meghan Markle of the time, inviting outrage with its every move. Continue reading...