The Summit Review: A Descent Into Televised Incompetence and Viewer Self-Loathing
Can a television programme contain too much concentrated disdain within its hate-watch framework? This pressing question emerges forcefully from the opening moments of ITV's new reality competition series, The Summit, which assembles a collection of spectacularly ill-suited individuals for a mountain-climbing challenge in the New Zealand Alps.
A Premise Built on Inadequacy
The show's foundational concept follows a familiar but particularly egregious reality television formula: fourteen complete strangers – a number that feels exponentially larger given their collective incompetence – are brought together to attempt a feat for which they possess absolutely no relevant experience or aptitude. Their mission involves scaling one of New Zealand's formidable Alpine peaks, despite overwhelming evidence suggesting none have previously encountered mountainous terrain, with some possibly never having undertaken significant physical exertion of any kind.
Thomas, identified as a tour guide, immediately reveals a crippling fear of heights. Tyra approaches the expedition with the casual confidence of someone who has completed Duke of Edinburgh awards, apparently believing bronze and silver qualifications translate directly to Alpine mountaineering. The most memorable participant might be Afton, a pageant and fitness coach whose aristocratic accent echoes fictional royalty, who proudly declares her outdoor experience limited to glamping with chef service. Her reaction to encountering mud while wearing pink Lycra becomes an early highlight of televised distress.
A Cast of Questionable Characters
The ensemble's composition adds layers of absurdity to the proceedings. Afton's lineage provides a particularly satisfying connection to reality television history, being the daughter of Gillian McKeith, the controversial television personality who famously promoted pseudoscientific health advice and demonstrated spectacular uselessness on I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here! in 2010.
Other notable personalities include Dockers, who aggressively proclaims himself an "alpha male" – a declaration that typically signals the opposite – and Sean, who anoints himself the group's "most valuable player." Warren offers nostalgic appeal as Ace from the 1990s iteration of Gladiators, though he now serves as an Anglican minister, creating fascinating cognitive dissonance. The group dynamic quickly deteriorates into mutual animosity, mirroring the likely response of most viewers.
Ben Shephard's Perfunctory Presence
Ben Shephard makes minimal appearances as the programme's presenter, offering brief explanations of the convoluted rules. Contestants carry portions of a £200,000 prize fund in their backpacks – a puzzling requirement given modern banking systems – with the threat of collective financial penalty should any fail to reach the summit. This monetary structure seems designed to foster cooperation among people who visibly despise one another from the outset.
Early leadership falls to publican Miranda, who demonstrates reasonable map-reading skills but complete inability to maintain positional authority within the group. Her eventual surrender of navigational duties carries palpable resentment, seemingly hoping her teammates will fail their initial objective of reaching base camp within the allotted timeframe.
Challenges and Character Revelations
The first significant obstacle involves crossing a rope bridge suspended above a chasm, with Dockers volunteering to demonstrate technique. His performance inspires descriptors far removed from his self-proclaimed alpha status. The group eventually staggers into base camp, where Shephard reappears briefly to deliver discouraging news before abandoning them to sleep on bare ground in tents.
Thomas emerges as the expedition's sole reasonable participant within this uncrowded field, earning viewer sympathy. The following day brings Dockers' meltdown over a slightly singed glove, triggering accusations of sabotage and particular resentment toward Thomas for insufficient support. The programme introduces a menacing black helicopter dubbed the Mountain Keeper, which circles ominously before delivering mid-challenge instructions so infuriating they might provoke physical reactions against viewing equipment.
The Summit represents reality television operating at its most transparently manipulative and contemptuous level, assembling deliberately incompatible personalities for impossible physical challenges while fostering viewer engagement through sheer disbelief at the spectacle unfolding. The experience leaves audiences questioning not just the participants' motivations, but their own for continuing to watch.
