Whose Reality?

            Having worked in the hospitality business recently meant working many evening hours often not getting home until 11:30 p.m. My dear wife almost always waits up for me, no matter what time her schedule demands she rise in the morning. I would often arrive home to find our TV tuned to one of the reality shows we have all been captivated by at one time or anther. My wife and I tend to stay away from the competition shows; The Voice, Idol and any dancing stage shows don’t stand a chance in our living room. Rather I’ll watch Discovery Channel or HGTV and any program on BRAVO or E! is game for my wife.

            First let’s remember where this all started. Season 1 of Survivor. No, that’s not right, MTV had that show before that. “7 people picked to live in a house and have their lives taped.” Yes, I clearly remember the words “good riddance” being whispered around the halls of Central Middle Schools from girls with tears in their eyes. The phrase referring to Puck’s, the abrasive, shoot-from the hip, 90’s rocker type (think Sid Viscous), farewell to Pedro, a homosexual man who had succumbed to the AIDS virus near the end of the show. I had not watched the episodes first-run, so I had no idea that “I can’t believe Puck died” was referring to someone my classmates had never met. This was my first dose of someone else’s reality holding conversations in my life.

            This is not a historical column so I will not research the timeline but I will credit COPS, as I believe it aired before the Real World. I have heard the the Wheel of Fortune argument but I believe game shows are a totally different genre. I do believe that sports are TV’s original reality shows, but again, different genre.

            Back to late night, arriving home, wife and dog snuggled in blankets on the couch. The Real Housewives of _____ is on; I do not know and I do not care where from, none of them are invited to rent space in my life. There are shows I do not care to watch and then there is the fighting, yelling and backstabbing of grown women acting like the most petulant of children. This show can take “you didn’t attend my charity event” and make it an episode, then make it post-episode talk show and a reunion show. Again, say what you will about Kim Kardashian, she’s stupid, talentless, vain and spoiled, I agree with all of it. Her show does not involve hours and hours of women yelling at each other, so in my married existence of sharing TV-time, Kim Kardashian is tolerable.

            My last observation is about a show I have grown to like. Duck Dynasty is about The Robertson family, whom has made a fortune producing duck calls. For those that do not know how to hunt duck: hunters will hide in a “blind” (a grown-man’s fort, in the woods), cover themselves in paint and cameo and impersonate the sound that ducks make in hopes that real ducks will want to meet the imaginary ducks and land near the blind. Once the real ducks are close enough the people dressed up like trees and trying to sound like ducks will shoot them with guns. This family has made millions selling the fake duck noise devise, or call. What is very strange about this show is how un-reality it is. We’ve all known for years that reality shows have writers, that’s not a surprise. This show has camera angles and lighting equal to studio shows. There is no shaky camera work as the film crew tries to keep up with the action. No self-correcting as our subjects stumble over words, similar to what is heard in everyday speech. The production on this show is like none I have ever seen and I do not think we can call this reality TV.

            In one episode the day is so hot the brothers decide to build a Redneck Waterpark. How impromptu was it to have a backhoe delivered to watering hole prior to your arrival? What about this guy called Mountain Man? There is not a soul out there that can convince me he is from Louisiana. This guys was raised outside of Jersey, moved to Hollywood when he was twenty-one, bounced between commercials and bartending for twenty years before landing his first full-time gig on Duck Dynasty. He only got the job because the beard was already in place and the show's casting director thought that showed real commitment. Lastly, my real proof that Duck Dynasty is as contrived as Chris Angel’s “magic” is in the children. They simply cannot act. The adults on the show do a pretty good job of staying in character, but the little girls are always smiling when they should be upset. The, “grandpa what are you doing” and screaming is not said with the genuine emotion of seven year old whose play-house is being chain-sawed by a sixty year old man. It is said by a little girl trying not to laugh, most likely on the sixth or seventh take of that scene.

            So where is reality TV going? Do the producers think that we believe they simply showed up in the swamps of Louisiana and began rolling? Or do they realize that we just don’t care. As long as Jase and Willie are at odds and settle their score with an expensive display of machismo. As long as Grandpa Phil and Uncle Si make questionable adult decisions so we can later forgive them as unassuming old southern men. And as long as the women, who do not yell or scream at each other over petty matters, get as little screen time as possible, we will land near the blind of Duck Dynasty ready to make friends with the Robertsons.