It took more than nine months but I finally pissed somebody off. Marcellas from Big Brother 3 evidently didn’t like my suggestion to the producers of Big Brother that they could select more diverse housemates. I had said that the kind of homosexual they had selected so far was, first, male, and second, of the nice, noble, and sacrificial variety. They were all nice. They were all noble. And they were all sacrificed. I stand by what I said. If I slighted Marcellas, I humbly apologize. Of course, I didn’t call him archaic, ignorant, disgruntled, and a wanna be [sic]. No: I called him nice. I called him noble. Nevertheless, I might still apologize.

Meanwhile kathryn recently asked me to enlighten her about the popularity of reality TV. She says: “every single blogger I read says they are sick of reality tv, yet over 100 new reality tv shows are in the works according to cnn.com entertainment. How is this possible? It is a contradiction. Obviously there is a lie somewhere.”

Yes, kathryn, there is an audience. TV, perhaps more than anything, is subject to supply and demand so there must be an audience. Perhaps, kathryn, the sort of person who keeps a blog is not the sort of person who watches reality TV; or perhaps, more likely, they are not the sort of person who will confess it.

So let me stand up and confess. I watch reality TV. I’m rather a fan of Survivor, or at least I have been. And I continue to enjoy Amazing Race.

But how does that explain 100 new Reality TV shows? Well, clearly the audience is large. Of course a lot of that is competition. My guess is that a drama or a comedy or something fully scripted is less marketable than another rip-off reality show, or, sweet Jesus, yet another installment of American Idol (shudder). But, yes, even a competitive marketplace wouldn’t be there without the demand. Which comes back to: Why is Reality TV so popular?

Reality TV is another morality play, reformatted. Television has created and reciprocated its own sort of shorthand. There’s the group of conspirators. There are the lovers. The jester. The villain. And morality plays have always had their own shorthand. Italy’s Commedia Dell’arte had its shorthand that everybody understood immediately. So there was no mistake, the characters – the types – wore the same mask. Shakespeare, to some degree, shorthanded his types. So does mythology. Reality TV has its own shorthand. And shorthand saves time. It’s an economy of time; and an economy of entertainment. And really, I think that’s its primary appeal. We’re busy. We want to invest very little in our entertainment. And Reality TV is the entertainment of the banal. Our mass opium has at last been pureed.

Yes, like practiced domestic abuse, it leaves no lasting marks. I am never enlightened, inspired, motivated. I am never touched. But that’s its appeal. Reality TV requires very little commitment. And its format allows it to be prepackaged in tiny little bits. It’s just too bad that TV dinners – compartmentalized courses thawed for your culinary pleasure and convenience – weren’t timed right with Reality TV. It’s all the same stuff.

Sure we have given up authentic stories, we have given up authentic heroes. But, for very little outlay, we are entertained. Of course it might be that it’s suffering from its own success. I mean this: perhaps the audience was tired of the formula of drama and comedy and soap operas. We seem awfully sensitive to formula. 24, at least when it was popular, was a new formula (or rather an old one - it was Aristotle who insisted that theater should be real time). Arrested Development and Desperate Housewives are good primarily because they subvert, and, yes, satirize common formulas. But now that Reality TV has been overproduced, its own formula has become hackneyed. Yes, it’s a dilemma. We like the shorthand, we like the predictability. That is, until we don’t. I’m surprised that hasn’t happened already to American Idol. I’d rather stick toothpicks under my fingernails than watch another episode of American Idol. Ditto: the Apprentice.

Reality TV also appears to be accessible. The people could be me. These people are, or at least were, Everyday People. It’s not altogether true, of course. These people are not quite every day. They love exposure. They hate, more than anything else, anonymity. Why else would they sacrifice their privacy? It’s simulated and consensual voyeurism. We pretend we are invading; they pretend they are invaded. Or at the very least they have forfeited their rights to not be invaded. It’s the same principle as getting hit in the head at a hockey game by a wayward puck.

For as long as we want our fifteen minutes, for as long as some of us want to be exposed, for as long as we will eat worms for $50,000 dollars, for as long as we need to resolve ourselves to an adventure, for as long as we want mindless entertainment, there will be an audience, kathryn.

Of course that might just be me being disgruntled.

SS