by Troy Devolld
Aside from the legions of justifiably peeved comedy and drama writers displaced by Reality content’s encroachment onto their turf, many critics deride Reality TV as mind-numbing junk. In many cases, I agree with them — but I also believe that it’s wrong to assume that it’s all garbage.
What I personally find so amusing about the critics who compulsively tilt at Reality TV like Don Quixote to a windmill is the dual standard by which they judge Reality against other genres.
Some of them complain about Reality’s almost uniformly beautiful cast-members while simultaneously giving a pass to the gorgeous casts of shows like Friends or Gossip Girl. Others moan about the genre’s unbelievable situations and setups… you know, because a bunch of celebrities hosting a backyard talent show on The Surreal Life is so much more far-fetched than that Star Trek episode where The U.S.S. Enterprise finds itself awash in self-replicating, faceless, purring throw-pillows called “tribbles.”