The problem with Derek Acorah is that I don’t know who I hate most: the charlatan himself, or the gullible/moronic masses whose continuing patronage keeps the bugger on TV. Without getting into the ‘is there an Afterlife?’ debate, or even discussing whether or not there are people who can communicate with Princess Di, it is blindingly obvious that this guy is making it all up. He can barely converse with those in the same room let alone another dimension. I won’t deny he is in the presence of spirits, just that the spirits in question seem to be Vodka and Gin.
Acorah’s stagecraft is hilarious – the closed eyes, the pained expression and the voices. Oh yes, the voices. Whether he’s pretending to be a murdered child, a highwayman or even Michael Jackson, it’s the same Scouse accent with the pitch changed slightly, like he attended the world’s worst drama school. The visuals aren’t much better, either. The majority is filmed in ‘scary’ green night-vision, mainly because the pale skin and glowing eyes of the presenters are the only remotely ghost-like things the camera will pick up, but also because normal light would make most of the venues as foreboding as your local Odeon.
Then there’s Yvette Fielding, bouncing from wall to wall and screaming at the slightest noise. She is a cross between the Blair Witch girl and that Catherine Tate character who squeals at the opening of a crisp packet. Given that she was caught on film in-between takes admitting that her co-presenter was full of shit, I’m guessing this is more to do with a fear of the dark than reaction to Acorah summoning the forces of darkness.
Following the now infamous Michael Jackson séance (and if anyone still thinks it’s all a bit of harmless fun, go on You Tube and watch the stalker/look-a-like’s reaction when he thinks the King of Pop is talking directly to him), Acorah was asked what he would say to the sceptics. His answer? “They can be sceptical.”
Oh, really, Derek? Well, thank you so very much for that, you talentless, deceitful, false-hope-giving fraudster. I would express the desire that you rot in hell, but then you know it doesn’t actually exist, don’t you?
As an aside, Acorah was born Derek Johnson; the same surname as London Mayor, Boris the Buffoon, and American slang for ‘throbbing cock’. Spooky coincidence, or have I misjudged the man?