(Not) Reality TV

September 2003

There's been a stir about Spike TV's new "reality" series Joe Schmo. Nine people in a luxurious home are competing for a $100,000 prize. One of them is the "schmo," who doesn't know he's the only "real" contestant. The others are actors doing parodies of typical reality-show personalities, who compete in challenges absurd enough to be just-barely believable. Though compared to the mensa rejects and the stunts on Fear Factor, Joe Schmo's "Hands on a High-Priced Hooker" challenge sounds pretty tame. Unless, say, the hooker was on fire and covered in snakes.

Joe Schmo's hook is that it's an unreal reality show. The problem is that all reality shows are completely unreal. I know, you're saying, "Dan, you forgot your meds again, haven't you?" But take a look at some of this year's newest shows and see what I mean. These reviews are based on extensive research of at least ten minutes of viewing time, or until the brain cells started leaking from my skull, whichever came first.

Ambush Makeover
Viewers nominate friends they want to give a new image. The host then "ambushes" the contestant and whisks him/her off for hours of cosmetics, hair coloring, and wardrobe. The new look is then presented to the friends who confirm the subject is no longer the walking eyesore she once was. Personally, if they approached me, the show would proceed a little more like this:

HOST: "Hi, Dan! All your friends got together, decided they were sick of your appearance, and are giving you an Ambush Makeover!"
ME: "Why, you...!" (sound of fists, unconscious cameraman falling to the ground)

Extreme Makeover
If this show was on PBS, they'd call it This Old Human. People looking to become other people volunteer to have their cosmetic surgery videotaped in all its gory glory. Maybe they could combine Ambush and Extreme into "Extreme Ambush Makeover," where wandering plastic surgeons sneak up behind people on the street, gas them, and lipo their thighs. "Wake up, Dan! We noticed those couple extra pounds you were carrying, so we secretly Hoovered your love handles. We think it's a great improvement, considering what little we had to work with."

Are You Hot?
Three judges appraise the sexiness of a parade of men and women sheathed in the tiniest amount of Lycra permitted by the censors and the laws of physics. Among the judges is master thespian Lorenzo "Renegade" Lamas, who analyzes female fannies with more scrutiny than the government used analyzing the Zapruder film. Unfortunately, most of the contestants look more science projects than people: some of the men can fill steroid prescriptions by wringing out their biceps, and many of the women sport enough silicon to be classified as artificial life forms.

Chains of Love
Three people of mixed gender are chained together and placed in a romantic setting, where they get to know each other, couple up, and find love -- which, oddly enough, would make them each other's "ball and chain." Most people don't start relationships in a 300 pound-test love triangle. Usually when three attractive loveseekers are bound together, they're doing things I CAN'T see on TV. At least without paying extra for those "special" premium cable channels. Er, not that I'd do that, of course. Really. Don't look at me like that.

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
This show is based on two old male myths: Gay men are the experts of all things fashion and style, while we poor heteros need instructions for bar soap and can barely dress ourselves. Now, we all know this just isn't true. I finally have the soap instructions memorized, and put my pants on one ear at a time just like everyone else.

Performing As
Sort of an extreme karaoke show with costumes, contestants are rated by how much they can pretend to be somebody else. Performers attempt to impersonate every detail of a famous singing celebrity, minus the wealth, fame, ego tantrums, and trips to the Betty Ford Clinic. Not to be confused with American Idol, where aspiring bland pop singers merely try to sound like other, more sucessful bland pop singers.

Want to make a truly real reality show? Let's put hidden cameras in the TV networks' corporate offices and watch them discuss their programming. "Jenkins, the writers have come up with zilch once again. Yeah, yeah, big surprise. We're gonna need a new reality show to fill the fall schedule. Maybe something with hookers in it. And see if you get her in a shark tank, or something like that. Our audience'll watch anything with a little sex and death in it. We can even get Sea World to co-sponsor the shark tank."

LEGAL STUFF: All content copyright © 1996-2006 Daniel O'Leary. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication, publication, or distribution.

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He has previously written online editorials to NJ-shout.com (RIP), Great Society.org, and Songsource.com, among others. He has also been featured in ShoreGuide and AbsoluteWrite.com.

Dan is a current member of the NetWits humorist's collective.

Since his early twenties, Dan's writings have also been prominently featured on the refrigerator in his parents' home. "Sure, they make no sense," Mrs. O'Leary comments, "but we're proud of him -- no matter what everyone else says."