Alan Carr’s Killer Year: Fame, Feuds, and The Traitors’ Dark Games

Max Sterling, 12/14/2025Explore Alan Carr's transformative year as he evolves from a familiar face to a cultural sensation through "The Celebrity Traitors." Discover the surreal behind-the-scenes antics, humorous feuds, and Carr’s playful reinvention as he navigates fame, comedy, and unexpected intrigue in the spotlight.

Funny thing, fame. It tends to sneak up when least expected, often in the guise of a prime time “game” that could double as an Agatha Christie fever dream. For Carr, the past year has resembled a reverse lottery win—a sort of notoriety he’s never courted, let alone won. Recently crowned as “the nation’s Man of the Moment”—and reportedly once considered perfect gnome material, for those keeping tabs—he’s still, by his own admission, reeling. That sudden cultural whiplash is tough to fake, even for a seasoned comic.

It’s the peculiar alchemy of “The Celebrity Traitors” that did it. A programme equally happy to dress up as a whodunnit and a playground game of wink murder, with a heady dose of camp thrown in for good measure. Audiences watched agog as Carr, a man hardly known for his ruthlessness, “murdered” Paloma Faith on national television—her exit scene replayed so often it could qualify for folklore status. Strange how a friendly jab in the back on air now earns him playground cheers and the occasional “Who’re you killing this week, Alan?” from across the park. Bemusement lingers, as does the affection—assuming that’s what it is, since British affection is often indistinguishable from mock outrage.

The “feud” with Paloma was deftly performed, a high-camp spat that could’ve outdone anything on The Real Housewives and possibly left Oscar Wilde himself slightly confused. She accused him (on live TV, no less) of betrayal so thorough her own child banished him from the house. Alan, more bemused than offended, wound up smoothing things over with a phone call and a WhatsApp or two. Crisis averted, legendary status maintained.

Yet, off-screen tales arguably out-strip the show. Contestants shipped off to a Scottish castle, their personal effects scrutinised as if the customs officer suspected their suitcases might conceal a small revolution. Blue gloves, bag searches, confiscated tech—if Kafka had written reality TV, it might’ve resembled scenes like these, minus the insect transformation.

For Carr, this was never just a cheeky one-off. In between plotting hypothetical murders, he chipped away at sitcom ideas and his podcast (“Life’s A Beach”—because ennui deserves a punchline). He’s played comic grotesques and rocked pantomime, but insists there’s been method, and plenty of mileage, in his madness. “Been around twenty-five years—did you notice?” There’s a tinge of amused indignation, disguised only by a punchline delivered at his own expense. Sometimes it’s tough to tell if success belongs to cunning, luck, or just a particularly memorable pair of glasses.

And now, as 2025 winks over the horizon and a fresh set of hopefuls prepare for another season of The Traitors, the curtain rises once again. The BBC, never averse to showmanship, teases with a new promo: Alan, this time swathed in emerald, stalking castle corridors with a lantern and a warning for the next cast of would-be conspirators. Claudia Winkleman lords over the scene with gothic relish, like a headmistress plotting end-of-term pranks. Expect more murder (the pretend kind), more intrigue, and probably a few breakfasts ruined by nerves.

The spectacle isn’t confined to the screen. Offers hover—American networks, animation projects, even those inevitable questions about hair transplants. The quirks that once made him the outsider are now part of the brand—teeth, voice, an artfully limp wrist—and Carr’s in no hurry to swap them for ballroom glitter. (“Strictly Come Dancing? Little bit too feather-clipped, thanks.”) There’s a sense, though, that Traitors has reignited a restlessness—he describes himself as “flustery,” still coming to terms with the oddities of breakfast after a pretend murder spree.

Even family Christmas in Northampton—cheekily rebranded as the “Alan Carr-dashians”—is less about fame than about laughter and mockery over wooden nose-holders and shin pads. As for New Year’s, Amanda Holden’s duffle bag of activities seems unlikely to leave much time for navel-gazing. Parties, games, Aperol spritz: a celebratory cocktail only a proper traitor would refuse.

After all the masquerades, the roleplay, and the accidental reinventions, maybe there’s something worth stealing here—not just a prize fund or a fleeting headline, but a kind of comic self-acceptance. Under the glitz, the ruses, and the intermittent guilt of ‘murdering’ a celebrity friend on television, Alan Carr remains true to his roots. The wisdom for the next crop of Traitors? Don’t ask for tricks—just bring a genuine love of the game.

Caution (or curiosity) to all who enter: apply if you dare.

Alan Carr used to be the sort of celebrity who popped up at the odd award show, making self-deprecating jokes about his teeth or his latest attempt at mastering the Charleston, and that was about as scandalous as things got. No peacock-blue velvet suits now, though, and the signature specs are nowhere in sight—the man blending into the crowd in a hoodie almost pulls it off. Almost. It’s as if Clark Kent swapped his glasses for a social media filter and hoped nobody would shout his name in Tesco.Funny thing, fame. It tends to sneak up when least expected, often in the guise of a prime time “game” that could double as an Agatha Christie fever dream. For Carr, the past year has resembled a reverse lottery win—a sort of notoriety he’s never courted, let alone won. Recently crowned as “the nation’s Man of the Moment”—and reportedly once considered perfect gnome material, for those keeping tabs—he’s still, by his own admission, reeling. That sudden cultural whiplash is tough to fake, even for a seasoned comic.It’s the peculiar alchemy of “The Celebrity Traitors” that did it. A programme equally happy to dress up as a whodunnit and a playground game of wink murder, with a heady dose of camp thrown in for good measure. Audiences watched agog as Carr, a man hardly known for his ruthlessness, “murdered” Paloma Faith on national television—her exit scene replayed so often it could qualify for folklore status. Strange how a friendly jab in the back on air now earns him playground cheers and the occasional “Who’re you killing this week, Alan?” from across the park. Bemusement lingers, as does the affection—assuming that’s what it is, since British affection is often indistinguishable from mock outrage.The “feud” with Paloma was deftly performed, a high-camp spat that could’ve outdone anything on The Real Housewives and possibly left Oscar Wilde himself slightly confused. She accused him (on live TV, no less) of betrayal so thorough her own child banished him from the house. Alan, more bemused than offended, wound up smoothing things over with a phone call and a WhatsApp or two. Crisis averted, legendary status maintained.Yet, off-screen tales arguably out-strip the show. Contestants shipped off to a Scottish castle, their personal effects scrutinised as if the customs officer suspected their suitcases might conceal a small revolution. Blue gloves, bag searches, confiscated tech—if Kafka had written reality TV, it might’ve resembled scenes like these, minus the insect transformation.For Carr, this was never just a cheeky one-off. In between plotting hypothetical murders, he chipped away at sitcom ideas and his podcast (“Life’s A Beach”—because ennui deserves a punchline). He’s played comic grotesques and rocked pantomime, but insists there’s been method, and plenty of mileage, in his madness. “Been around twenty-five years—did you notice?” There’s a tinge of amused indignation, disguised only by a punchline delivered at his own expense. Sometimes it’s tough to tell if success belongs to cunning, luck, or just a particularly memorable pair of glasses.And now, as 2025 winks over the horizon and a fresh set of hopefuls prepare for another season of The Traitors, the curtain rises once again. The BBC, never averse to showmanship, teases with a new promo: Alan, this time swathed in emerald, stalking castle corridors with a lantern and a warning for the next cast of would-be conspirators. Claudia Winkleman lords over the scene with gothic relish, like a headmistress plotting end-of-term pranks. Expect more murder (the pretend kind), more intrigue, and probably a few breakfasts ruined by nerves.The spectacle isn’t confined to the screen. Offers hover—American networks, animation projects, even those inevitable questions about hair transplants. The quirks that once made him the outsider are now part of the brand—teeth, voice, an artfully limp wrist—and Carr’s in no hurry to swap them for ballroom glitter. (“Strictly Come Dancing? Little bit too feather-clipped, thanks.”) There’s a sense, though, that Traitors has reignited a restlessness—he describes himself as “flustery,” still coming to terms with the oddities of breakfast after a pretend murder spree.Even family Christmas in Northampton—cheekily rebranded as the “Alan Carr-dashians”—is less about fame than about laughter and mockery over wooden nose-holders and shin pads. As for New Year’s, Amanda Holden’s duffle bag of activities seems unlikely to leave much time for navel-gazing. Parties, games, Aperol spritz: a celebratory cocktail only a proper traitor would refuse.After all the masquerades, the roleplay, and the accidental reinventions, maybe there’s something worth stealing here—not just a prize fund or a fleeting headline, but a kind of comic self-acceptance. Under the glitz, the ruses, and the intermittent guilt of ‘murdering’ a celebrity friend on television, Alan Carr remains true to his roots. The wisdom for the next crop of Traitors? Don’t ask for tricks—just bring a genuine love of the game.Caution (or curiosity) to all who enter: apply if you dare.