5 hours ago
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Antoni Porowski is waving to us from the top of the Shard. “If sightseeing is your thing, London doesn’t mess around,” he shouts as the camera swoops past his custard-yellow cagoule. “Go beyond the postcards and this city goes deep!”
What could this mean, we wonder, as we watch our hexagon-jawed host whoop cautiously behind a safety barrier. We wait for Porowski to elaborate. He does not. The former model merely waves again, and the soundbite drifts off, bewilderingly, into the clouds. But then, Best of the World With Antoni Porowski is no place for elucidation. Clarity would only muddy the four-part travel show’s vibe; the vibe, or “message”, essentially being “stop asking questions and just enjoy this decontextualised shot of Antoni Porowski embracing a yorkshire terrier in a gilet”.
Still, if aimless encounters with small dogs and snappy but effectively meaningless idioms delivered from a string of unconnected tourist destinations are your bag, this National Geographic-produced series has, in our enthusiastic host’s words, “got you covered!”
The premise: Porowski – who was once Queer Eye’s food and wine expert – journeys to four of the world’s zingiest cities in search of … well. There’s a question. In lieu of a coherent answer, here’s Porowski with some more soundbites: “I’m on a quest to find the best” is one. “But what makes something the best?” he asks, before failing to answer and instead just machine-gunning a succession of words and question marks over a breakneck montage of coming attractions: the Eiffel Tower (“sights?”), a nightclub (“sounds?”), an old woman spray-painting a wall (“people?), soup (“a meal so good it makes you wanna cry?”).
While later episodes take in Paris, Mexico City and New York, the bewilderment begins in London, where Porowski, 42, promises “six experiences across the city that showcase its complex mix of influences!” This encompasses flying visits to Kew Gardens, the Shard, a family-run bagel shop in Brick Lane, an open-water swimming club in Canary Wharf, Big Ben, a Dalston drag club and a gastropub that serves Indian-influenced Sunday roasts. The more mathematically alert among you may notice that this is, in fact, seven experiences. But what’s numerical accuracy when you’re up to your nostrils in a salt beef bagel? “Mmmph,” gurgles Porowski amid gobfuls of dangling beef shreds. “’S’good.”
We’re given an interesting potted history of the bagel shop’s 50-year history but the clock is ticking and, consequently, the editing is as brutal as the beef is floppy.
A shot of the owner’s laughing face dissolves into a split-screen montage of taxis, yorkshire puddings and Henry VIII, through which Porowski strides in his jeans, like Moses parting the Red Sea in distressed Levi’s.
Then it’s off to Big Ben and thence to The Shard, where a hauntingly large caption informs us that “AFTERNOON TEA FOR TWO COSTS $200”.
There is a distinct air of “destination marketing” to it all, the lavish drone shots and closeups of cakes recalling those promotional videos they show on planes, in which ageing local models guide us stiffly around the more expensive parts of our destination while we chomp through our fourth packet of complimentary trail mix.
All of which would be perfectly unbearable were it not for Porowski, whose unaffected interactions with contributors are everything the vacuous voiceover is not. He’s in his element when gossiping with the cheery Kew gardener who once dreamed of becoming a singer, or the explosively moustached clock mechanic at the Elizabeth Tower who confesses that, yes, he has taken his girlfriend on dates to Big Ben. On a visit to the Shard’s preposterous hotel suite (a snip at £14,000 a night), he’s more interested in the manager’s yorkshire terrier, an imperious beast in a satin body warmer who responds to Porowski’s coos by ignoring him and peering pointedly out of the window. We can only assume she’d read his script.
Who all this is aimed at is a mystery. Moneybags looking for a curated guide to a dream holiday destination? Too arbitrary. Locals keen for a “deeper dive” into their home city? Too fleeting. For all but the most dedicated Porowski fan, the pointlessness goes deep.
