When, oh when, will the reality shows go away? Not being much of a TV fan — outside The Simpsons, if it’s not on the Silver Screen I don’t want to see it — I wasn’t aware of the latest entry, Joe Millionaire, until someone asked me what I thought of it.
So, unwilling to appear ignorant, I read an article about it in the Sun. Seems this guy’s really some random construction worker who makes less than twenty grand a year… in LA? Come on, construction work pays more than that in Hagerstown. You can’t tell me that an LA construction worker makes less than twenty per. Anyway, he’s being passed off as a millionaire, so these twenty chicks can fawn over him and try to get the hunk and the cash. (For what it’s worth, as long as he remembers to bathe, he’s damned nice looking.)
The initial impulse is to criticize the culture of greed that spawned such a thing. These women are, essentially, prostituting themselves — thinking they’re getting a load of cash out of this admittedly-hot dude. But that’s human nature, isn’t it? It’s not just the U.S. in 2003. The same impulses of greed have driven people for centuries. The first rude hut was probably built so that one family could lord it over the families who still lived in those tacky old caves, and then it couldn’t have been long before one of the cave dwellers beat the hut-dweller over the head and took the hut.
The greater question here is why in the bloody hell people continue to watch this garbage. Given Joe Millionaire’s amazing viewer count, the reality show blather isn’t going to stop anytime soon. When Survivor first showed up, it was a novelty. Now it’s been worn threadbare with unimaginative variations and it’s been followed by unending silliness in the form of bachelorettes, big brothers, fantasex-islands, and impoverished construction doofs. The initial appeal of this type of show was understandable, but how many lame-brained Xerox versions can the viewing public take? (Don’t answer that, please.) How did these things get labeled “reality” shows, anyway? Eating worms and rats is not reality. Twenty babes chasing a rich cute guy is reality, but not with a script and camera.
The one vaguely-reality show I can tolerate is COPS. It makes me feel much better about supposedly crime-ridden Baltimore, because the show proves that all miscreants live in California, Texas, Florida and Atlanta. Also, everyone that watches COPS gets to feel better than someone. Your lot in life may not be great, but at least you’re not being hauled away from your trailer, dogs, gun rack and drunken paramour on camera.
Reality shows prove that the viewing public is still, emotionally, in the seventh grade. These things are exponential versions of sleepover conversation: “What would you do for a million dollars?” “What’s more gross, being in a giant’s shower drain or eating a cricket?” and of course, “What would you do if you had a million dollars?”
Maybe these things aren’t so bad. They’re a modern and tacky version of escapism. No Busby Berkeley spectaculars these, but at least we can forget the crappy economy and the threat of war and settle happily into mindless fun. Joe Millionaire is the mental version of a S’more. All we need are those little paper fortune-teller things that kids make…
If I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t change too much in my life really, but I’d have a very good time seeing how many people wanted to marry me for it… or put me on TV.
So, unwilling to appear ignorant, I read an article about it in the Sun. Seems this guy’s really some random construction worker who makes less than twenty grand a year… in LA? Come on, construction work pays more than that in Hagerstown. You can’t tell me that an LA construction worker makes less than twenty per. Anyway, he’s being passed off as a millionaire, so these twenty chicks can fawn over him and try to get the hunk and the cash. (For what it’s worth, as long as he remembers to bathe, he’s damned nice looking.)
The initial impulse is to criticize the culture of greed that spawned such a thing. These women are, essentially, prostituting themselves — thinking they’re getting a load of cash out of this admittedly-hot dude. But that’s human nature, isn’t it? It’s not just the U.S. in 2003. The same impulses of greed have driven people for centuries. The first rude hut was probably built so that one family could lord it over the families who still lived in those tacky old caves, and then it couldn’t have been long before one of the cave dwellers beat the hut-dweller over the head and took the hut.
The greater question here is why in the bloody hell people continue to watch this garbage. Given Joe Millionaire’s amazing viewer count, the reality show blather isn’t going to stop anytime soon. When Survivor first showed up, it was a novelty. Now it’s been worn threadbare with unimaginative variations and it’s been followed by unending silliness in the form of bachelorettes, big brothers, fantasex-islands, and impoverished construction doofs. The initial appeal of this type of show was understandable, but how many lame-brained Xerox versions can the viewing public take? (Don’t answer that, please.) How did these things get labeled “reality” shows, anyway? Eating worms and rats is not reality. Twenty babes chasing a rich cute guy is reality, but not with a script and camera.
The one vaguely-reality show I can tolerate is COPS. It makes me feel much better about supposedly crime-ridden Baltimore, because the show proves that all miscreants live in California, Texas, Florida and Atlanta. Also, everyone that watches COPS gets to feel better than someone. Your lot in life may not be great, but at least you’re not being hauled away from your trailer, dogs, gun rack and drunken paramour on camera.
Reality shows prove that the viewing public is still, emotionally, in the seventh grade. These things are exponential versions of sleepover conversation: “What would you do for a million dollars?” “What’s more gross, being in a giant’s shower drain or eating a cricket?” and of course, “What would you do if you had a million dollars?”
Maybe these things aren’t so bad. They’re a modern and tacky version of escapism. No Busby Berkeley spectaculars these, but at least we can forget the crappy economy and the threat of war and settle happily into mindless fun. Joe Millionaire is the mental version of a S’more. All we need are those little paper fortune-teller things that kids make…
If I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t change too much in my life really, but I’d have a very good time seeing how many people wanted to marry me for it… or put me on TV.
posted by Daniel | 2:05 PM
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