A Golden Skunk for the Masters of Broadcast – Smells Like a Scuffle for Commercials and a Fist Fight for Rating
“Dear friends” is the condescendingly cordial phrase used to address the audience of MoB every evening. Here, we shall not touch on the subject of what is the proper way to treat one’s dear friends.
The ambitious youngster from the town of Veliko Turnovo goofed up big-time with the simulated battery in front of a spoiled foods warehouse, whose owners’ wrongdoings he was supposed to expose.
Since a lie has no legs, Dimitur got what he deserved – not just through the uproar against him on social media and internet forums, but also as he was fired from the popular show and, to add insult to injury, his colleagues awarded him the Golden Skunk prize of shame, on air.
It’s quite clear that Dimitur Vurbanov is done. What matters now is what will happen with the very concept of the Masters of Broadcast show? Will the balloon of their disproportionate confidence as a pillar of civil society, upholders of truth, champions of worthy causes and defenders of the downtrodden finally burst?
If they still haven’t realized that they cannot live up to their aspirations, the Halvadjiyan brothers should finally admit that comedy sketches and predictable jokes exchanged by Rachkov and Maria are not the stuff of serious journalism. And that a trendy suit and hat do not turn an ordinary correspondent into an investigative reporter.
Blame for the shattering scandal which rocked public space does not lie with Dimitur Vurbanov alone. He was conveniently turned into a scapegoat by his producers. The latter stand behind the cameras and sift the current events for all things ‘unique, scandalous and sensational’ and wrap them in an entertaining package, to be consumed by viewers.
Producers have the last word – they OK videos and let them on air. In the disgraceful gaffe with simulated assault against a journalist, the Masters of Broadcast ought to nominate themselves for the Golden Skunk.
Because the Halvadjiyanfief gives off a fishy smell. It smells of brawls for commercials, smells like sweaty fist fights for ratings and underhanded agreements with the top bosses at Nova TV. The credit of trust is depleted. From this point on, it’s all up to the ‘dear friends’ sat before their TV screens…