MYSOGINISTIC barbs are something of a bygone era we’re told.
Yet, here I sit at 7.30pm each night inflicted with a reality television meat market which contradicts everything a modern world is supposed to stand for.
Yes, I’m angry. Angry that I carefully watch what I say and in front of whom, minding my manners because a modern gentleman has respect for those around him.
Then, we have farmers who cry on television because they don’t want to have to “choose” the woman who might be right for them, like they’re pieces of aired prosciutto waiting to be thinly sliced from a hook in the deli.
It’s sold as raw beauty, people finding true love thanks to the emotional manipulation of a television producer who’s drive for ratings clearly surpasses their respect for those whose strings they’re pulling on camera.
Because they’re not grabbing each other bits in a bikini while playing games on some enchanted island of pimped up promiscuity, it’s supposed to be romantic.
At least on this occasion there’s four men choosing from a trove of desperation. Another show hands out roses as a sign of elimination. No less humility, but just one man dishing out his dose of egotistical pride.
Agreed, the rose show has a version that turns the tables, allowing the woman to choose whose hearts to break. Whether that makes things better or not, I’ll let you be the judge.
“Don’t bow to the cruelty that panders to your inner-voyeur,” I hear you say.
It might be an easy option to turn the stuff off, but my small mind is thrust with ads during the serious stuff I’m supposed to be watching to expand my horizons, to understand the world around me.
I’ve tried watching the ABC and SBS news. But the commercial stuff is just there. It’s on. It’s convenient.
Amid the crime and the political rhetoric that messes with my emotions, there it is – a summary of tonight’s reality mix that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Like the comedy promos that in 30 seconds reveal all the humour of an upcoming show to the point it’s no longer worth watching, we’re inflicted with a dramatic synopsis which is meant to pique our curiosity.
Instead, it forces me from the couch to refill my cup of tea while I dodge the latest kiss, the slap-fest perpetrated by jealousy that has the producer jumping with glee like a 13-year-old at a Justin Bieber concert.
I’ve been gone two minutes. Another ad is showing. And as I sit down, there it is again. An exact repeat of the drivel I tried to escape not 120 seconds earlier.
So I turn the channel. Here, there’s a different brand of nonsense. People trying to outwit each other with lies and deception to win a million dollars.
Not much different to the love show, really, except these guys are blatant about their intentions. At least Squid Game was a psychological thriller, written to capture the mind.
This, in contrast, is a look at a pathetic course of desperation designed to have me believe they’re being given an opportunity to free themselves from their worlds of misery and aspiration by legally manipulating others.
When was it okay to tell us it’s okay to lie, cheat, steal and undermine those around them to get what they want.
If we’re to get angry, let’s get serious. That’s the type of thought that fuels domestic violence, theft and other such things that generally land people in front of a magistrate.
So I change channel yet again, and there’s a guy making balloons. Nice. Until we find that guy has been given an “advantage” to blow up his opponents balloons in order to help him win.
Win at all costs. Do what it takes. Reality TV takes away the rules which dictate fair sport.
Sure, it can be fun to watch. But where’s the responsibility of contributing to a very basic socially acceptable narrative of equality and respect.
Hey Wanda, I know I don’t have asthma, but can I borrow your puffer?
