Tuesday, April 29, 2014
To say that watching the Real Housewives franchise is a guilty pleasure is not true. I feel no guilt about it at all. If these women want to expose their lives in this way, leaving themselves at the mercy of ruthless editors and the braying masses, so be it. And there is something weirdly compelling about the US Bravo franchise. Camille Paglia is a fan: "I love the frank display of emotion, the intricate interrelationships, and the sharp-elbows jockeying for power and visibility." I'm with Camille. Is reality TV really all that different from your average episode of Australia Story, albeit with a hokier soundtrack and more downmarket demographic? We're all voyeurs and we all love the insight into other people's private lives, especially if they're rich and vain and fame-hungry and utterly, utterly shameless.
But the local critics are right - Real Housewives of Melbourne is a horrible misfire. The women's behaviour is dreadful and the feminist cause dies a tiny death with every lame insult hurled. Can you really hang a whole series on a dispute over heels on a Peninsula tennis court? Please. Enough. Let's leave reality TV to the Americans and get back to doing what we do best - watching celebrities on a slip'n'slide.
See also: Real Housewives of Melbourne? Frankly, we deserve better (SMH)
The Real Housewives of Melbourne is awful, and I don't want to write about it any more (Mama Mia)