(no subject)
Real World
My relationship with MTV's "The Real World" began in 1992. Being 10 years old, I wasn't allowed to watch MTV, and looking back on it, I don't really blame my parents. Tuning into "The Grind" was like watching an X-rated workout video - just a tangled mess of arms, legs covered in jean shorts, Marky Mark, his Funky Bunch and too many good vibrations for one half hour to handle.
Sure, "The Real World" and I had our ups and downs - Miami, London and Montana being the low points - but every time I thought we were through, someone like Puck would stick his booger-covered finger in someone like Pedro's peanut butter and I'd be sucked back in. But time passes. People grow up. Reality television shows change. Though I hoped it would never come to this, "The Real World" and I are just in different places now, and as a result, I've stopped watching.
For starters, the new cast is miserable. When the phenomenon began, you actually felt like you had a shot at getting picked to live in a house to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real. These were normal people with normal goals and normal flaws. Granted, the most common flaw was ugliness (Pam from season two would have to go on "The Swan" three consecutive times before the Miz would date her), but even Six from "Blossom" seemed cute in the early '90s, so everything's relative. Nowadays, with the exception of the "weird one" (whose sole purpose is to tie up the house phone by complaining to her Goth boyfriend), everyone looks like they were plucked right out of a Hollister dressing room.
Being one myself, I have no problem with really, really good-looking people. Not only that, but Real Worlders usually have cool names to match. Genesis, for instance, was named after an '80s band fronted by Phil Collins. But beyond the names and the six-packs, there's no substance, no personality, no reason to progress past the, "What kind of cheap beer is this?" question in the keg line. Let's face it, I could throw 100 water balloons into a strip club and 99 of them would hit girls with better personalities than the one possessed by Robin from "Real World: San Diego."
For reasons unbeknownst to me, the casting directors at Bunim-Murray Productions lost their touch. Instead of looking for individuals who bring something to the table, they began seeking out individuals who will get hammered and dance on tables. At this point, they could pick six good-looking kids out of the Antonio's line after the bars let out on a Friday night, add a homeless dude to play the part of the weird one, and end up with a virtually identical set of seven strangers.
On top of this, the entire scope has changed. The original cast members didn't move to New York with hopes of being recognized in bar bathrooms across the country. They didn't forfeit their privacy for the chance of one day hooking up with a 31-year-old Veronica on "The Inferno 9." And they sure as hell didn't put their lives on hold for the opportunity to give Brad an atomic wedgie in a moving van.
They ventured to New York for the same reasons that you or I would - to test-drive a city for six months with no pressure to buy, to be able to go out to dinner without being waited on by a member of their high school class, to pursue careers that wouldn't have been possible in their boring, backwoods hometowns, and to do all of this without expectation - and more importantly, without rent.
In the first few seasons, we watched Heather B scrape together cash to record hip hop classics like "Da Heartbreaka" and "All Glocks Down." We looked on as Judd struggled to find work as a cartoonist and as Eric Nies competed against other pretty boys - and against his receding hairline - to fulfill his dream of becoming a model. These people weren't necessarily successful, but at least they tried. And we continued to watch, in part because we knew that some day we'd have to go through the same thing.
Not anymore. Instead of being given the freedom to explore the city for the purpose of finding out what it has in store for them, jobs are now shoved down their throats by the second week. Their futures are now more predictable than Harry Potter 7 (he'll kill Voldemort, save the world, then lose his virginity), and it's fairly certain that their newfound pseudo-celebrity lives will bear no resemblance to our own. Will we ever be able to sip Coronas by a pool as the spin-off offers roll in, knowing full well that at any time, we could win $50,000 and a brand new Saturn Ion for eating horse testicles off Tanya's bikini-covered butt in under 60 seconds? I hardly think so.
Nowadays, the previews tell the story. This week on "Real World: Austin," Johanna gets drunk and assaults a homeless person, Wes calls 15 "groupies" and still comes home alone, a teary-eyed Mel talks about her "deep connection" with Danny in her underwear. Do they have the money to post bail? Will they get to work on time? Does anyone care? Tune in Tuesday night to find out.
The "Real World" is irreconcilably different now, and joining the cast has merely become an excuse to take a rain check on joining the cast of the real world. Will I continue to watch? Not a chance. Will I drop everything if the casting directors finally choose me? Pass the horse balls, please.
-Matt Brochu, UMASS writer