As the TV writers’ strike grinds down into what we hope are its final days, viewers of (U.S.) TV are still faced with a winter prime time slate of shortened seasons of scripted dramas and comedies, more game shows, and, of course, more reality TV.
In a time when such classics of the television age like Married by America, Joe Millionaire, and Skanks and Douchebags Island live only in a half remembered fever dream of our collective consciousness, today only one show carries the torch of pure, unmitigated trash: Big Brother. Thanks to a dearth of scripts calling for grown-ups to put on doctors and police officers costumes, a hastily assembled “winter edition” of the thrice weekly tortuous psychodrama is being made ready for our consumption Tuesday next.
This year, the cross-section of young, telegenic, aspiring entertainment personalities, will be subjected to a new twist. Each has filled out a match.com style profile and they are then matched with their “soul mate.” The newly paired up couples will have to do all aspects of the game together, including be Head of Household. I’m not sure how the rest of that is supposed to work, or which players have been possibly predetermined by the producers to win. There is a former Penthouse model, as well as a Christian girl with giant boobs who serves drinks in her bikini, Sideshow Bob (early favourite of mine, actually), um, this chick, and this douche. And there are the usual internet rumours of a tranny in the house.
It seems, though, that the couples twist is lifted from two similar Quebec reality shows: Occupation Double, and Loft Story. Both shows take the Big Brother concept and get generic looking young people to hook up.
I hate them all already.