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Property managers or the cops of the lease? Renters knows what side it’s on.
Property managers or the cops of the lease? Renters knows what side it’s on.

Pop CultureOctober 15, 2020

Is Renters the Cops of 2020?

Property managers or the cops of the lease? Renters knows what side it’s on.
Property managers or the cops of the lease? Renters knows what side it’s on.

Is there still a place for a show that portrays property managers as housing market heroes? TVNZ’s Renters thinks so, Sam Brooks thinks not.

Ten minutes into the first episode of season eight of Renters – that’s two more seasons than Outrageous Fortune got, folks – comes one of the most depressing things I’ve ever seen on reality TV. Andrea, from Click Property Management, is returning to a dilapidated, mistreated flat to evict a family who’ve moved back in after abandoning it. Even though WINZ is willing to pay the arrears, she still plans to evict them, at the owner’s behest. Renters shows Andrea kicking the family, including several children out, and threatening to come back with a bailiff. It’s awful, and the wildest thing here is that we’re meant to sympathise with Andrea, not the family. Later in the episode, the flat is professionally cleaned and the family is gone. We never find out what happens to them.

Despite the name, Renters is not actually about the people who rent houses. It’s about property managers dealing with unruly tenants. It’s a curious show, one that seems to wilfully elide the identity of renters in favour of the plight of property managers. The property managers here are depicted as beleaguered heroes, dealing with renters who don’t know how lucky they are to have an overpriced roof over their heads. We’re meant to sympathise with the managers, or at the very least chuckle at them dealing with those pesky renters, as though renters are masked Scooby-Doo villains and not literally paying their salaries. 

Andrea, in the middle of kicking a family out of a property she manages.

You know how they cancelled Cops (and then uncancelled it because 2020 is hell) because the idea of watching police officers arrest Black and brown people in 2020 isn’t entertainment but a bleak and corrupt reality? Perhaps it’s time for Renters to go down the Cops road, and never turn back.

We’re in a housing crisis right now. Median house prices in New Zealand have increased 16.4% over the past year. The number of houses constructed under KiwiBuild couldn’t house the audience for one night of the upcoming production of Mary Poppins. Some of our homes are so ridden with mould that the black-green fungus should technically be on the lease. While there are, of course, plenty of decent property managers, property managers in 2020 can seem like the housing equivalent of parking wardens: doling out punishment in service of a faceless, cruel master. (I do not own a car and have never received a ticket.)

The protagonist of Renters, or at least the person who gets the most screen time, is the flamboyant Pru Morrall, whose hair is a shade of red that doesn’t exist in the natural realm. As one half of property management group The Good Girls (a bitterly oxymoronic name in this context), Pru makes for great television. She’s quick with a gag and has an uncanny rapport with the offscreen narrator that suggests a witchy kind of omniscience. If a Dunedin cheese roll could talk, it’d sound like Pru.

Pru Morrall, the ostensible protagonist of Renters.

It’s a shame that all that charisma and passion is in the service of something as mundane as property management. The strangest thing about Renters is how little actually happens. Each episode, there are two to three separate “storylines”, all of which play out roughly the same: Property managers go to a house they know is in dire straits and they identify the problems while the voiceover drips out puns like a leaky tap. Offscreen, professional cleaners handle the mess and the tenants are dealt with. The property manager returns to the house, which is now clean. They live to manage another day. There’s no drama, barely any comedy, and little reason to hold your attention other than Pru’s hair catching the corner of your eye. Seriously, it’s so red it’s voted two ticks Labour.

Audiences love an anti-hero, but we need to understand why they do what they do. At least with Breaking Bad’s Walter White, you understood why he sold meth, and you might sympathise with him and his cancerous ways (both literal and metaphorical). With the exception of Pru, I don’t understand why the stars of Renters are doing the job they do. They don’t seem to enjoy it or get any satisfaction from it, and it’s such an oddly specific job that you can’t really fall into it. But hey, I guess even prison camps have admin staff.

As a show, Renters is full of more holes than an unmaintained flat. Why, in 2020, do we care about the plight of property managers? Why isn’t the show actually about renters? And my god, what product can get Pru’s hair that shade? 

You can watch Renters on TVNZ2 every Wednesday at 8

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Sale of the Century

Pop CultureOctober 12, 2020

Ranked: Steve Parr’s greatest ‘Steve Parr Slides’ on Sale of the Century

Sale of the Century

The nineties gameshow Sale of the Century may be all but forgotten, but host Steve Parr’s trademark stage-left entrance will live on forever.

Sale of the Century was the most glamorous game show ever made in New Zealand. It burst onto our screens back in 1989, when broadcaster and former What Now presenter Steve “Star of the Show” Parr and newcomer Jude Dobson beamed into our homes at seven o’clock every weeknight on TV1. SOTC moved to TV3 in 1994 (with Julie White replacing Dobson), but it remained a show where lives could change in the push of a buzzer. It was The Chase of its day, the prime time quiz show that everybody watched and everybody wanted to win.

SOTC was the only place you could buy a new $37,000 Mitsubishi Galant for $750, or an $800 microwave for nine bucks. Every night, three contestants earned money by correctly answering Parr’s trivia questions, while Dobson tempted them with outrageously discounted Gift Shop prizes. The player with the most money won, while the losers were sent home with a Michael Hill Jeweller solid gold money clip to hold all the cash they didn’t get.

WHO’D PAY $800 FOR A MICROWAVE? NOT JUDE AND STEVE.

The best round was the Fame Game Board, where players chose a prize from a panel of famous faces. Photos of celebrities like Judy Bailey, Anita McNaught or Alison Holst stared into our souls, as well as one lucky home viewer, usually a gap-toothed kid from an exotic town like Palmerston North or Blenheim. As a child, I would dream of the fame that being SOTC Home Viewer would bring. What if they turned your face over to reveal you were hiding the massive $25 bonus prize? Life would never be the same again.

In the show’s final minutes, Parr would shout “LET’S GO SHOPPING!” and lead the winner on a magical journey through a world of ridiculous prizes. Glamorous models zipped up leather luggage sets and arranged fancy dinner plates like the perfect humans they were, living the life we all deserved.  We didn’t want much in the 90s, just a flashy garden mulcher, an electric piano and a Swiss-made gold watch with a quality Quartz movement. SOTC was all our aspirational dreams come true.

JASON PRIESTLEY FOR THE WIN PLEASE JUDE.

But the start of SOTC is more important than the end, thanks to the Steve Parr Slide. For over five years, Parr began every episode with a snazzy slither into the stage, and the man gave us range. What would Parr do this time? An excited purse of the lips, a jazzy twist of a shoulder, or a sneaky run-skip-shuffle? The world was his slidey oyster. There’s even a band named after the Steve Parr Slide, which is more than Bradley Walsh ever got out of The Chase.

Steve Parr’s slides must never be forgotten, so we’ve captured them in a metaphorical gold money clip of immortality. In the words of Jude Dobson, “hokie kokie, let’s get going”.

10) Zero slide Steve

The grainy annals of time reveal the shocking truth: there was no Steve Parr Slide in SOTC’s inaugural episode. Parr saunters onto the set with a half-hearted jog, displaying a lack of urgency and heavy-footedness that suggests his soles were covered in velcro dots. I’m not angry, Steve, just disappointed.

9) I stumble but I do not fall

It’s 1990, and Parr begins with some bouncy skips and pumping arms, before shifting to sprint mode. It’s too much, too soon. This is a high energy, high risk situation, and it’s no surprise when Parr makes a near-fatal stumble.

Perhaps there’s something sticky on the floor, some fat from the Weber barbeque in the Gift Shop, or maybe Jude Dobson was so pissed off at playing second fiddle that she sprayed Coke all over the stage in the dead of night. We’ll never know the truth, but the damage was done. “You almost put me off!” a terrified Parr tells the screaming audience. Jude admits nothing.

8) Goodnight, but not goodbye

This was Steve’s final slide for TVNZ in 1993, and the emotion goes to his head and hips. “Last time I’ll do that for a while,” he says, post-slide. Think again, sweet prince.  

7)  The hips don’t lie

Come for the standard skip-and-run, stay for the podium body roll. 

6) Steve is A-OK

1995 was a stellar vintage of Steve Parr Slide. Here, Parr floats as if on air, displaying a pizzazz usually only seen while windsurfing or using the latest Canon automatic word processor. There’s also a wrist flick here that takes your breath away, as if Steve’s putting his forefinger and thumb together to make O for awesome.

5)  Hot Steve shuffle 

Poetry in motion.

4) Big slide energy

Parr begins his slide as soon as he reaches the Fame Game Board, which is approximately 300 metres away from the podium. It’s hectic as hell, but Steve doesn’t give a shit. He’s basking in the hot Tuesday night glow of the mid 90s, and this slide is his bitch. He’s got this like he’s a bed that looks like a motorbike but is actually just a bed, usually $508 but tonight only $6.

3) Smells like Steve spirit

Ranks highly thanks to the classic 90s “shooooom” noise Parr makes as he hits his mark. $hooooom of the Century, if you ask me. 

2) I just want to be part of your symphony, Steve Parr

This 1991 slide is peak Parr. It begins with a bouncy skip and jaunty side step, before Parr pounds it out to reach the podium in record time. The slide is elegant and controlled, his smile never wavers, and his suit matches both his hair and moustache. The whole movement is as smooth as a fine pair of Italian leather handbags, and as tasteful as $150 worth of Columbine hosiery. Bravo, Steve Parr. Bravo.

1) Goodbye my Steve Parr, goodbye my friend

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Who cares if this is real or not, because it’s nine seconds of perfect television that I will never stop watching. It’s the cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. I will hear Steve Parr yelling “wooooahhhh” in my sleep, I will see him hurtling towards oblivion every time I close my eyes, and it will never be enough.

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