TV just like us

With all the good entertainment around, there always seems to be people drawn to what I call good/bad, sometimes-ugly television. These are the romantic novels nestled on bookshelves next to Joyce, or the horror movies eliciting more laughter than shudders. Obvious plot twists, bad acting and clichés abound, but the consumer treasures these defects like an eye-patched pirate. In television, where very little seems good, a lot falls under the good/bad classification. 

A few equations to clarify my definition: Friends and Will and Grace equals bad. The Simpsons and Arrested Development equals good. Saved By the Bell equals good/bad. Good/bad is better than bad, but not as good as, well, good.

Dominating the last few seasons of good/bad television has been VH1’s “Celebreality,” particularly the beast I like referring to as “Flava Flavdom.”

A brief synopsis of the term and why it is so powerful sounding: A reality show called The Surreal Life was created with the concept of jamming a group of C-level, washed-up celebrities into one house. A large chunk of people in the United States (it is of the author’s opinion the show never caught on in Europe) watched as Mini-Me pissed on a wall and Vanilla Ice rapped “that song.”

In the third season of The Surreal Life, rapper Flava Flav, of the hip-hop group Public Enemy, joined the fray. And, thanks to his absurd relations with housemate Bridgette Nelson, Flav stole the show, and the pair soon starred in a reality show of their own, Strange Love, with Flav’s Viking helmet and oversized clock necklace in tow. “Flava Flavdom” was born. 

Strange Love chronicled the pair’s turbulent relationship and the season end saw them break up, to the surprise of Western society. Again, Flav earned himself another spin-off: his own dating show, The Flavor of Love. With a staple reality show format, this show played out normally, except here the girls were way trashier. The winner of the third season and Flav didn’t last—and again TV viewers reeled.  Flavor of Love Season 2 was born.

This is where it gets complicated. A girl named New York competed in the first and second seasons of Flavor of Love. Like Flav’s performance on The Surreal Life, she earned a dating show of her own called I Love New York. It was a spin-off of a spin-off of a spin-off of a spin-off of a spin-off: a Baudrillard wet dream—or nightmare—with Fellini on costume design. 

One can imagine a picture of a picture to get an idea of the grotesqueness of “Flava Flavdom.” And now casting has begun for Flavor of Love 3 and other related spin-offs, as the wet dream ever flows and good/bad TV remains at its finest—and worst.

Carrying on “Flavdom” without being a spin-off is Rock of Love. Starring another musical has-been, Bret Michaels of the ’80s band Poison, the show bears the same dating format as Flavor of Love. Instead of issuing oversized clock necklaces to those chosen to stay, Michaels gives out backstage passes. Other differences are that the girls on Rock of Love are the fashion rocker and L.A. coke-stripper variety instead of Flav’s mainstay of ghetto fabulous bitches. 

The first episode begins with five girls being eliminated by Bret’s bodyguard. The rest are invited inside.  One of the terminated is so persistent in knocking on the door that she is let back in the competition. Next, the girls gather for a get-to-know session with the bachelor. In standard reality show fashion, copious amounts of alcohol are served and the let-back-in-girl gets gravely doused. Offending everyone in the room while slurring words and making a general ass of herself, one would assume she would be eliminated. Instead, she prevails, obviously a producer’s decision with ratings, not love, in mind.

And that’s where the good/bad comes in. This obviously isn’t reality; everyone knows that. But these people imitate a reality defined by other reality shows. Everyone gets drunk, causing ridiculous drama, and TV viewers can’t help but watch the car wreck. This isn’t our reality, but a reality created by reality TV.
It’s easy to look down on these people when we can’t see the editing room floor full of moments where they might seem decent. “Flava Flavdom” and its logical protégé Rock of Love are the exact opposite. Producers of the show edit reality with scenes of gaffs, party fouls and inopportune bowel movements. All reality TV does this, but “Flavdom” takes it to another level. And maybe some like to watch these shows for the same reasons closeted Republicans bash out gays: to attack the very thing in themselves they hate.

Not many people keep pictures of bad times on their living room walls. And maybe that’s why these shows exist—so we can pretend we’re better than them while our realities are constructed by different material.  Our reality is all plastic-sheen Legos; theirs is dog-chewed Lincoln Logs.

Rock of Love, VH1, new episodes Sundays at 9 p.m., reruns non-stop.