When you picture Thailand, visions of turquoise water, neon-lit bar streets and smiling tuk‑tuk drivers probably spring to mind. Zara McDermott’s new BBC film, Thailand: The Dark Side of Paradise, flips that postcard on its head — sometimes within hours of the crew setting foot in Bangkok.
From reality TV to real‑world danger
At 28, the former Love Island contestant-turned-presenter has made a name for herself beyond reality TV: probing difficult subjects with a mixture of curiosity and compassion. But even seasoned on‑screen investigators have bad days — like the one Zara and her South Shore Productions team nearly spent behind bars.
Speaking at a packed London screening at the Charlotte Street Hotel — where she posed for photos and joined a Q&A hosted by BBC Radio 1’s Natalie O’Leary — Zara described the moment Bangkok police threatened to arrest her crew. The twist? They had permission to be filming in the bars they’d chosen. “We nearly got arrested because of the filming that we were doing,” she told the audience, “but we’d got all the permissions in advance.”
Tension behind the neon
That bureaucratic absurdity is the kind of friction the documentary thrives on: the clash between tourists’ expectations and the messy, often dangerous realities that lie behind the nightlife. Tensions ratcheted up further when bar owners tried to force the crew off the premises, and at least one scene caught an ashtray flying through the air toward a crew member — a small, terrifying reminder that the stakes were real. Zara said the fear wasn’t only about being detained; it was about losing the footage that would tell these stories.
“It was really scary, not just the threat of arrest, but the possibility of losing the footage we were there to capture.”
That footage, it turns out, is central to the film’s mission. Produced by South Shore Productions, Thailand: The Dark Side of Paradise moves fast from the megacity pulse of Bangkok to the famous party islands and backpacker haunts. Along the way it introduces viewers to vibrant characters, nuanced local perspectives and, crucially, women working in Thailand’s sex industry whose lives often get reduced to stereotypes.
Giving voice to difficult stories
Zara’s interest in these conversations isn’t casual. Her previous work on violence against women has given her a foothold into tough discussions, and in Thailand she used that platform to try to create space for sex workers to be heard on their own terms. “My work in the violence against women space allowed me to have difficult conversations with sex workers,” she said. “I want these women to feel seen and heard, and I believe sharing our stories gives women power. Many are pressured to work in an unpredictable and unsafe industry, and empathy is key.”
The film doesn’t shy away from the more sensational elements of Thailand’s tourism economy — the party scenes, the late‑night bars and the seedy corners of certain islands — but it also lingers on the quieter, human moments: the reasons people come, the economic pressures that keep them there, and the complex ways locals and visitors intersect.
Why the documentary matters
There’s an inevitability to the subject. Thousands of young Brits flock to Thailand every year, chasing an image of freedom that often obscures risk. Zara’s film sits somewhere between a travelogue and a warning sign: beautiful shots of beaches and markets alternate with testimonies about exploitation and insecurity. That juxtaposition — paradise and peril shot through the same frame — is what gives the series its moral weight.
For viewers who expect a glossy travel special, this is a correction. For those who want to understand the undercurrents behind postcards, it’s a rare, humane window into a complicated scene.
Premiere and reception
The series premiered on BBC iPlayer on Monday, September 8, and the London screening drew a crowd curious to hear Zara unpack the filming experience. Alongside Natalie O’Leary’s Q&A, the event underscored how contemporary travel stories are less about ticking boxes and more about responsibility: to people, to truth, and to the consequences of what gets filmed and how.
Whether you’re planning a trip to Thailand or simply intrigued by the country’s magnetic pull on youth culture, Thailand: The Dark Side of Paradise promises more than pretty sunsets. It’s a reminder that paradise can have edges — and that sometimes, asking uncomfortable questions is the best way to stop someone else getting hurt.
As Zara said at the screening: “I wanted to show why this place captivates people but also to shine a light on the parts we usually look away from.” The footage they clawed back from the brink of being lost does just that — and for many viewers, it will change the way they look at the next Instagram‑perfect horizon.
I made the film because I wanted to show both the beauty and the harm side by side. We risked a lot to capture honest testimonies, and losing that footage would have been devastating. I hope it sparks better conversations about responsibility when travelling.
You went from Love Island to policing other people’s lives, that’s a jump. Who gave you the authority to speak for sex workers? This feels a bit like virtue signalling to me.
I don’t claim authority, just a platform to share stories less heard. My background opened doors but I leaned on local voices and experts to avoid simplification. If viewers leave with more nuance, that’s the point.
Thank you for listening to sex workers. But were they protected after filming? I worry about retaliation from owners or police. Filming can expose people in dangerous ways.
Good question. Ethical filming needs ongoing consent and safety plans, not just a camera crew and permissions. Producers should have exit strategies and local legal support in place.
We had translators, legal advice and local contacts who helped anonymise some contributors. Not perfect, but safety was central in our planning and debriefs.
Sounds like another BBC morality tour. People go to party, they know the risks. End of story.
The documentary raises structural issues about labour, migration and gendered economies. It’s not just about bad tourists or bad bars; it’s policy, poverty and enforcement all mixed together. We need systemic answers, not just exposés.
I agree, but policy solutions require political will and international cooperation. Films help awareness but rarely translate into the legislative change sex workers need.
Awareness can shift consumer behaviour though. If fewer tourists treat sex work like entertainment, that changes demand which can improve conditions.
This feels like scaremongering to me. Thailand’s a holiday destination, not a morality lecture. People should be free to travel and have fun without being guilted.
Tourism isn’t guilt-tripping, it’s about knowing the impact of our choices. You can enjoy travel while respecting local people and laws. Accountability isn’t the same as moralising.
As someone who travelled there last year I disagree with the film’s tone. It overemphasised danger and made a whole country look predatory. That’s unfair to locals.
I appreciated how the film amplified sex workers’ voices instead of speaking over them. Too often media reduces people to stereotypes, and this tried to complicate those stories. Still, complexity doesn’t excuse exploitation.
Exactly. Some workers are agents making choices under constraints, and some are exploited victims. Conflating the two harms both groups and stalls good policy.
But we mustn’t fetishise ‘choice’ when economic desperation is the driver. Talking about agency without accounting for poverty is misleading.
I didn’t mean to imply full agency, just that we need to hold both nuance and compassion. Laws should protect people’s rights while addressing coercion.
After reading this I’ll skip Thailand. Too many red flags for my taste.
I’m worried about young Brits seeing this as permission to judge other cultures. Travel education should be compulsory before gap years. We can’t trust 18-year-olds with that kind of naivety.
As a 20-year-old, I don’t want school telling me what to think. Teach respect and consent, yes, but don’t infantilise travellers.
Respect and consent are exactly what I want taught. It’s not nannying to prepare kids for real-world ethical dilemmas.
Does the film risk sensationalising violence to get viewers? The ashtray moment is dramatic, but is it representative or staged for TV shock value? I’m skeptical.
I saw the screening and the crew looked genuinely shaken. It didn’t feel staged; it felt like real pushback from people who profit from silence. Sensational moments can be honest if they actually happened.
Fair point. I just hate when editors turn trauma into spectacle for clicks. Context matters and I hope the film avoided that pitfall.
Filming vulnerable communities carries huge ethical weight. Did the production offer follow-up support to participants? Consent should be ongoing, not a one-time form.
Documentaries always claim to help, but rarely provide long-term aid. It’s a pattern across the industry and it needs calling out.
Exactly. Responsible storytelling includes aftercare and reinvestment in communities that trusted you with their stories.
This documentary will scare tourists and harm small businesses that rely on honest visitors. Media has a responsibility to avoid economic collateral damage.
Local businesses that exploit or endanger people deserve scrutiny. Economic concern can’t justify turning a blind eye to abuse.
In Thailand the legal status of sex work is messy and enforcement inconsistent. Documentaries like this spotlight gaps in law that need attention. But please don’t conflate illegality with cultural acceptance.
Exactly, legal ambiguity exacerbates vulnerability. Clarity in regulation combined with labour rights protections could reduce exploitation significantly.
People always moralise other countries after one journalist’s trip. If you want paradise, go and don’t poke the hornet’s nest. Simple.
I think the film is less moralising and more corrective. Postcards sell an easy fantasy; this shows the cost behind that fantasy. It’s uncomfortable but necessary.
Corrective for whom? Tourists still pay, locals still profit, and TV gets views. Who actually changes?
Change starts with awareness. Not immediate, but public pressure can shift policies and tourist behaviour over time.
British tourists must remember they’re guests. If the film convinces people to be more respectful, it’s doing good. But it should also push the UK to offer better pre-travel guidance.
Media can act as a catalyst, but without sustained advocacy and policy follow-through the momentum fades. Academics and activists should partner with filmmakers more often.
Partnerships are great, but they must be equitable. Too often researchers parachute in and take credit without benefiting local organisers or subjects.
Representation matters. If voices are edited to fit a sensational narrative, the documentary harms the people it claims to help. Transparency about editorial choices would build trust.
We made the editorial process transparent to contributors and allowed some to review segments. I agree more transparency should be standard across the industry.
I admired the courage of the crew but worry about the law enforcement drama. Why did police threaten arrest despite permissions? That suggests deeper corruption or confusion.
Right, and that moment could have been exploited to dramatise the film. I want clear evidence that permissions were legitimate and not just a production line of excuses.
There were documents and local contacts shown at the Q&A. But transparency can always be higher to satisfy skeptics.
One more thought: could this film push governments to improve protections for migrants who end up in the sex industry? Awareness is a start but action is needed.
I feel for the women featured, but the documentary sometimes felt like a Western saviour narrative. Did locals participate in shaping the film? That matters.
Local journalists, translators and NGOs were integral to the production. We tried to avoid a saviour stance and centred local expertise wherever possible.
It would be good to see follow-up reporting on what happens after a documentary airs. Do contributors get better options, or does exposure make them more vulnerable?
Films like this can reduce tourism which some might see as positive for overtouristed islands. Maybe fewer parties mean more sustainable local life.
We shouldn’t pit local livelihoods against human rights. Sustainable tourism must include dignity and safety for workers, not just fewer tourists.
Young travellers, listen: educate yourselves before you go. The internet glamorises everything, and real life is messy. Learn, don’t exploit.
If the documentary sparks policy discussion and better tourist guidance, I’ll consider it useful. If not, it’s just another dramatic TV piece.
One practical takeaway: producers should budget for participant aftercare and legal support. It’s not optional ethically, and audiences should demand it.
Let’s hope researchers use the film as data and collaborate with local NGOs to push for tangible reforms. Awareness without action is a half-measure.
So many rules and opinions. Maybe people should just travel less and treat other cultures with more basic respect. That seems simple enough.
Respect is simple to state but hard to practise without guidance. Documentaries that prompt that guidance are valuable even if imperfect.