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It looks like I owe “Survivor” an apology. Television
apparently can get worse.
Actually, a lot worse. A few months before the mother
of all reality shows hit the air, I wrote a column on CBS’s hype for
the series. The premise seemingly amounted to placing 16 mostly
attractive specimens in a tropical cage to see how long it took them
to pair off. With greed as the engine and sex for fuel, it looked
like “must miss” TV.
As it turned out, the average cologne commercial is more
provocative. Thirty-nine days without a bath and a starvation diet
aren’t as conducive to romance as the producers might have thought,
and the turn-on-a-dime group politics are at least as interesting as
the average primetime plot. So yes, I do tune in on occasion.
Not so with the odd gumbo of gross-outs and titillation
that make up much of the rest of reality programming, particularly
the hot genre of Peeping Tom shows pioneered by “The Osbournes.”
I have not seen “The Osbournes,” MTV’s chronicle of the
train wreck that is heavy metal burnout Ozzy Osbourne’s family
life. It isn’t necessary. The hapless Ozzy is everywhere:
television, magazines, Buckingham Palace for the Queen’s Jubilee,
even dinner at the White House.
When the Wall Street Journal feels compelled to come up
with a pretext to put Osbourne on its front page, you might as well
surrender. There is no escaping Oz.
Still, consider this: Of all that has been said and
written of the show, what is there to make one believe it’s worth
investing an hour? Unless the reporting is completely off, “The
Osbournes” is a profanity-laden spectacle featuring a drug-addled
1980s rock star, his quarrelsome wife, and their smart-mouthed
kids. If I had that kind of spare time I’d rather fill it with
recreational dental work.
I should note that during the summer hiatus, Osbourne’s
wife Sharon was diagnosed with colon cancer and has promised to
showcase her treatment on the show. This could prove encouraging to
the thousands diagnosed with the disease each year. If so, more
power to her.
But excess breeds success, which in turn spawns
imitators. E! Entertainment Television will launch “The
Anna Nicole Show” this August, featuring Anna Nicole Smith. VH1
is readying a
Liza Minnelli peepshow,
while MTV is busily wiring the home of rapper P. Diddy. Cybill
Shepard, Gene Simmons of the band “Kiss,” and Kato Kaelin are also
said to be interested in the voyeur format.
With the possible exception of P. Diddy, all are well
past their peak of fame. Smith, the ex-Playboy model best known for
a messy legal fight over the estate of her 90-year-old husband, and
O.J. Simpson freeloader Kaelin, are really more infamous than
famous. Most have had well-publicized troubles ranging from arrest
records to drug and alcohol addiction.
In short, train wrecks. There’s no money in fading away
with dignity, so I can almost understand why any number of former
celebrities might be willing to put their lives on display. What
baffles me is that anyone would watch.
I’m not suggesting “Home With Billy Graham” would be a
ratings blockbuster, but what is the lure of Ozzy’s sad clan? Is
there something inspirational in the dysfunctional vulgarity, as Dan
Quayle has suggested? Is it a fascination with celebrities, no
matter how faded and jaded? Or are “The Osbournes” and their
imitators simply the present day equivalent of a carnival freak
show, drawing attention by sheer grotesqueness?
It is too easy to start to resemble the things with
which we fill our heads, or at least to become tolerant of them. Am
I suggesting censorship? You bet. The kind that starts with your
remote control.
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