Netflix’s 10-part bin fire gets couples on the verge of marriage to ditch their partners and date someone new. This is reality TV so bad you will pray for the accelerated heat death of the universe
The last show presented by married couple Nick and Vanessa Lachey (fixtures at the reality TV firm for the past 10-15 years, for reasons we no longer need to worry about, or possibly ever) was Love Is Blind. It is (in fact continuing, at least until 2024, as the fourth and fifth seasons have just been commissioned) a show in which strangers communicate without being able to see each other from single "pods". until different couples profess themselves to be in love, get engaged, then meet and get to know each other for a month before actually marrying. I vividly remember the inaugural session. I described it as "absurd, rebellious, endearing, toxic and alternately wholesome — and addictive as whole hell...crack-meth". I also wondered whether it would be possible to take advantage of emotional vulnerabilities, profane people who are scared, make the private and precious public and useless, and turn it into voyeur ratings any more brutally or skillfully.
Well, bless my little rhetorical socks - now we have an answer! The answer is "yes, of course", and is given as an ultimatum: Mary or move on. In this 10-part bin fire, Lachey claims to have us six pairs, but by my immediately alarmed and feverish count, the number is at least 302, which is usually the fact that one from each pair. Wants the other to put the ring on it or put an end to their relationship. Shit or Get Off the Pot would have been a better title, but, alas, America is still clinging to the strange ways of its Puritan past, so getting married or moving presented a tempting option.
I can't be expected to remember 604 - or really 12 - competitor names in the time of my life, especially since they're all completely interchangeable, so, instead, I've called them 1-6A/B (male) ) and is labeled as Blurumps 1. -6A/B (Women. Homosexuality hasn't entered the Lacheon universe yet, though they've promised a second season with an LGBT cast). "A" denotes fairness, "B" denotes non-blondness and it literally encompasses everything that matters in the show.
To be fair, a few blonks stand out (Jake for being a nine parts puppy and apparently as good a guy as reality TV has ever figured out; Colby for being the only male ultimatum-giver and Garth for being the only male ultimatum-giver). Brooks vibes even before being (puts a Stetson in the final episode). One or two of the blurumps are also notable: Alexis is a flint-eyed, lantern-jawed blonde who wants a ring in exchange for the cooking, cleaning, and laundry she does for her live-in blanc ( "Marriage is a financial and emotional transaction"), and April 23 has a quick, witty, genuine charm that no 23-year-old should aspire to marry more than a sharp, witty, charming.
Otherwise too. Couples are split up and encouraged to lounge around a pool, have dinner, drink cocktails, and see if they "spark" someone else. They then choose a new partner to stay with for three weeks before returning to their beloved, and decide whether to fuck off or — I mean, get married or move in.
It all happens exactly as it should, which means just as badly as you'd expect. Soon, the contestants are sobbing, the audience screaming at the screen (Alexis has an all-out fury on her face when she walks out to Colby—during her second drink—that she'd marry herself out of her life with me. Hue doesn't see), and Lachey/Netflix accountants spilling champagne in their poisoned dens. The crack-meth mix is as potent as ever. Within 15 minutes, the lizard part of your brain becomes hopelessly invested and the higher functions can only pray for the accelerated heat death of the universe before the remaining nine and three-quarters of an hour.
It's absolutely terrible. Morally, obviously, there is no justification for intentionally putting temptation in the way of people (I believe it is actually one of the tenets of some world religions). Constructively, it's bankrupt. Educationally, intellectually it is not…. Every other word that comes out of every other mouth tells us we should build a pyre and put feminism on top of that, because the battle is definitely lost.
But, oh, entertainment. Oh, escapism. Oh, the glory of hating for this and that blanc, and the love for Blurump 2A, which looks as you march toward your rightful place on the arm of the uncontrollable new blanc 6B flow through you, washing away the mental stigma of the day and Leaves you clean, empty and ready for the next day's worries and woes. It's bullshit - but you can't move on.