Those of us who make fictional TV have sensed from its inception that there was something malignant about Reality television.
Initially we felt we might be taking it a little too personally. The thing kind of flew in the face of all those years of training and apprenticeship that usually went into being able to call yourself a professional artist.
On Reality shows, actors were replaced by people who were tired of going through Life as neighborhood douchebags.
Writers were less those who could craft confrontation or suspense than replicate it on about the level of a high school production of “Twelve Angry Men”.
The ranks of producers and directors mostly seemed to be stacked with misogynists who had a sadistic streak.
In a recent interview, Joan Rivers former manager describes a conversation with Donald Trump, wherein the celebrity industrialist bemoans NBC failing to see the merit of his perfect “Celebrity Apprentice” contestant –- O.J. Simpson.
There are also some juicy bits on how all that money raised for “charity” is really handled.
By now, we’re used to stories of reality stars behaving badly, ending up in jail, doing porn or simply spinning off the rails into a drug or alcohol induced haze.
More than a few have killed themselves either during or after their 15 minutes of Reality fame.
And let’s be honest, if you or I came to the realization that after years of being a showrunner, rock star or revered athlete our only career option was a cheese ball reality show, we might go looking for a sturdy length of hemp ourselves.
But it now seems the argument can be made that the muddy ripples of the Reality TV swamp have begrimed more than just those who work in it or see it replacing the fare their own Dream Factory once produced.
I guarantee what follows will leave you helpless with laughter. But it also reveals an ugly truth you know in your heart can’t be denied.
Enjoy Your Sunday.