Reality TV: The Next Generation
by Kate Zimmerman for the North Shore News
THERE’S a brand new kind of horror show going on, perfectly suited to both the chronically immature (Baby Boomers), and the terminally self-involved (Gen X-ers). Perhaps you’ve seen it — it’s called Hand Over Control TV.
These shows dominate HGTV, the Food Network, Bravo and other channels. They have titles like Food 911, Debbie Travis’ Facelift, and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
The essence of each episode of each show is this: a self-appointed expert (or five) parachutes into your home, kitchen or closet and decides what’s wrong with how you have always done things.
In the olden days, this function was easily filled by your in-laws. Nowadays, with families so tragically far-flung, telling you how you should live your life requires a TV-friendly team of do-it-themself-ers and a big fat budget.
Why the budget? Because after deciding what’s wrong with your world, these strangers fix it all up, usually while you are out.
By the way, they don’t need, or want, your input. They decide what your style or goal should be on the basis of, er, well, what their style or goal is, just like an archetypal in-law.
On Food 911, a cocky New York chef saunters into your kitchen and shows you how not to bugger up a soufflé like you usually do. On renovation shows like Debbie Travis’ Facelift, the borderline-harpy paint enthusiast takes on the remodelling of a room in somebody’s house as a “surprise” for them.
This past week, Travis decided to remake some American woman’s dingy den with the blessing of her husband and two best friends while she was out of town for four days.
Operating only with the knowledge that Sigal, the woman in question, was fond of white, Travis and her band transformed the wood-panelled den with its fake brick fireplace into an icy grotto. Finally, all the neighbours gathered round for the return of Sigal, who seemed to be looked upon as the saint of the neighbourhood for reasons never explained.
We viewers got our adrenalin rush from the drama of anticipating that she would be appalled by the remake, as, for instance, I would have been. Instead, her reaction was as over-the-top as the room’s styling. As a viewer, one expected a call for an ambulance any minute as the woman burst into astonished tears, embraced her husband, got hysterical at the sight of both her sister and the cunning ceiling mouldings, and so on.
The reaction scene is the payoff in shows like these. First we get to watch other people’s lives turned topsy turvey without any of the bloodshed we would get on a news report. Then we see them find out about it and go crazy. But these folks are crying over new wall sconces, not suicide bombings. Frankly, it’s a nice departure.
On Queer Eye, the gimmick is that five opinionated gay guys do a makeover on a heterosexual who has let himself go to seed. (I thought this was the norm for heterosexuals.)
The one episode I have seen of Queer Eye featured a postman called Jeff with long, graying hair and a beard getting shaved and having his locks updated into a floppy, David Bowie-style blonde “do.” His uninspired wardrobe took on an “Indiana Jones does Park Royal mall” effect, with layers of corduroy and jeans and a jaunty broad-brimmed hat. The main floor of Jeff’s house was also given a rustic remake, although nobody thought to provide him with a horse on which he could gallop from room to room searching for the remote.
The result of this makeover was that Jeff’s wife appeared thrilled with his transition from ZZ Top to the Thin White Duke. In fact, she informed him, in front of their children, the gay gays, the TV crew and several million strangers, that he was likely to “get lucky” that night, information that I think all of us could have done without. (Maybe she thought she was on The Bachelor.)
Strangely, though, after a full day of busywork by the Queer Eye gang, Jeff’s middlebrow impulses weren’t entirely wiped out. When 30 of his closest friends came over to see his new incarnation, their drinks were served in plastic beer cups. The fabulous five, who watched the party together on TV, were horrified — they had pictured him wrapping the glasses in complementary corduroy, no doubt. They didn’t much like Jeff’s buddies, either, especially the one who showed up in a loud shirt, carrying a matching bag. It was clear that the Queer Eye fellows wouldn’t mind a spin-off called Trading Faces, where a team of sophisticates like themselves could choose a person more telegenic, tasteful and talented friends.
Why not? Certainly this kind of reality television trend is becoming more and more popular. It also seems to hold worldwide appeal, although each country that makes this genre of series skews it in its own way.
In Germany, for instance, one show depicts a couple of predictably efficient cleaning ladies going into the homes of slobs and cleaning them up, no doubt tsk-tsking all the while. Apparently one episode uncovered a dead mouse under a couch as well as a visibly used pair of underpants, which were described in detail for the home viewer by the self-righteous hausfrau-for-hire.
Personally, I think these shows only touch the surface of what people would like to see in terms of at-home uproar. My husband Stanley and I have a few ideas for new reality TV series, if only we had the dough to see them to completion.
Stanley likes the idea of a show called Mr. Bone Goes Home, in which a Lothario (Stanley will audition for the role) goes into a different man’s house every week and shows the man’s wife what real love-making is all about. Stanley believes that the dazed expression on the woman’s face at the end would say it all.
I like the concept of Goodbye, Family & Friends, in which a stranger (Dr. Phil, perhaps) drops into your life, unbeknownst to you, and conducts a few quick interviews with your neighbours. On the basis of those, he decides which friends and family members —the querulous dad with his tedious stories about World War II, for instance — aren’t doing you any good. He then lambastes these pals and relatives so severely they melt into a pulpy mass of self-loathing, thereby ensuring that you never see them again.
Goodbye, Family & Friends will improve upon Survivor, swiftly upping the reality ante. You have to admit that for drama, it certainly beats drastically organizing somebody’s closet and lighting a dozen scented candles while they’re out for an innocent jog.
Writing > Humour
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