In the span of a few weeks,
Jen Schefft morphed from ABC’s "Bachelorette" into a
much-reviled Bitchlorette, displacing "The Apprentice’s"
Omarosa as America’s most hated reality TV diva.
For once, ABC lived up to its promise of delivering the
“most shocking rose ceremony ever” but with a price. The gasps
heard around the world (or at least in TV land) were followed by the
clicking off of television sets as fans vowed never to be suckered
by the series again.
Can the "Bachelor"/"Bachelorette"
franchise be saved?
The prognosis is poor. Clips of the next installment,
debuting next Monday, March 28, and starring the unemployed younger
brother of C-list actor Jerry O’Connell, look more like lost footage
from "Girls Gone Wild" than a fairy-tale love story.
Producers seem to think they can boost sagging ratings
with more sex. (With Schefft, they seemed to be after the most
bang for her bust with prominent displays of cleavage around every
camera shot. This certainly made for an interesting subplot as fans
speculated about the dramatic increase in her cup size since she won—and
lost—bachelor Andrew Firestone’s heart).
What producers are missing in their attempts to doctor the
show is that sex doesn’t sell when it comes to this series. It’s
all about character.
Here’s what ABC can learn from some of the past nine
protagonists:
Bob Guiney ("Bachelor IV"):
He was the underdog in "Bachelorette I," the
overweight funny guy who made it past more rose rounds than anyone
expected. A few weight loss pounds later, Bob became the
"Bachelor" and began making out with the women as if they
were the Twinkies he had been depriving himself of.
The revelation was that Bob, underneath all the jolly
fat, was a bit of a sleaze. He ultimately dumped his final rose pick
and married a soap opera actress whom he met doing press junkets.
LESSON: Don’t
sell us on a guy’s big heart and personality and then show us that
he’s nothing but a big jerk. We can get that in real life without
having to tune in. Also, the only thing worse than a good-looking,
cold-hearted bachelor is a bad-looking, cold-hearted one.
Meredith Phillips ("Bachelorette
II"):
She skipped Grandma’s funeral to vie for Bob’s
heart, only to be dumped near the end. In retrospect, she said she
realized she had been too guarded and wanted the chance to open
herself up to love.
How could viewers not embrace a woman claiming to have
had a life-changing epiphany because of reality TV? Unfortunately,
watching her as the bachelorette was like watching a train-wreck in
progress.
Apparently blind to neon “commitmentphobe” signs
that blink across men’s foreheads, she picked Ian. She also broke
the other finalist’s heart, telling him she would be honored to be
his wife only to dump him in the final ceremony. (Ian reportedly
dumped Meredith recently, just short of a wedding, proving that
karma still exists in reality TV.)
LESSON: Make
sure your bachelors/bachelorettes resolve their issues (translation:
get therapy) before the show. We don’t need to watch someone
self-destruct (again, this can be accomplished in real life without
turning on the tube). We want a happy ending, not a demonstration of
a Dr. Phil talking point.
Jesse Palmer ("Bachelor
V"):
No proposal at the end, just the choice between one
mentally unstable blonde and one immature bubblehead. We never
believed your heart was in it, Jesse, and ours never was either.
LESSON: When
shallow is too deep a word to describe the bachelor and his
finalists, you know you’re swimming in the wrong end of television
programming.
Byron Velvick ("Bachelor
VI"):
Byron was looking for
love and appears to have found it. He’s being touted by ABC as the
first bachelor who will make his way to the chapel. So what’s not
to love? It’s in the hair.
LESSON:
Byron spent more time and energy on his hair than most of the women
he was wooing. Female viewers cannot relate to this. We would never
have believed in Cinderella and Prince Charming if we knew he had
more haircare products than she did in the bathroom cabinet.
Master Class from Jen Schefft ("Bachelorette
III"):
She should have quit while she was ahead. When she and
Firestone broke up, viewers assumed that simple, solid Midwestern
Jen must have had her heart broken by the rich party boy. She had
America’s sympathy.
We were even willing to ignore that awkward moment when
Andrew got down on his knee, and Jen clawed the big, fat Harry
Winston ring out of his hands before he could propose.
She should have left well enough alone, but Jen needed
more than her 15 minutes. Her turn as the bachelorette became a
self-indulgent narcissistic ride (“So tell me three reasons why
you like me.”).
In the end, she egged poor John-Paul on as he
proclaimed his undying love for her, lighting up like the fourth of
July with each of his compliments and beaming at his proposal (Me,
you want to marry me? I must have worth! See, Andrew, other men are
proposing to ME!).
After allowing him to gush on, she informed him that
they had no chemistry.
Then Jerry, the last man standing, walked in, and she
assured him she had no doubts whatsoever. Oddly enough, seconds
after he had fallen on bended knee and popped the magic words to
her, she suddenly discovered she did have doubts! She asked for more
time and waited until live television to let him know that they
would be better as friends.
In the real world, there are words for people who do
things like that, but none of them would make it past the FCC
censors.
LESSON:
There’s a reason that mean Nellie Olsen was never the star of
"Little House on the Prairie." No one likes a bitch.
Viewers want the fairy tale. Don’t cast the Wicked Queen in the
role of the beloved Princess.
While viewers may have
tuned in to the "Bachelor" franchise initially for the
same reasons people rubberneck at accidents—that is to make sure
they don’t miss out on anything—viewers kept watching because
they wanted a good love story. You can’t have that without a
decent cast of characters.
Most people know that anyone who thinks they’ll find true
love speed-dating on national television probably isn’t coming
from the most stable part of the see-saw. Still, we don’t want to
watch people with so much baggage that they would sink all chances
at true love.
Viewers want to believe in the fairy tale. If you give
them what they can find in their everyday lives (or an even
crazier/sleazier/shallower version), they are going to be angry at
you for wasting their time. Eventually, they will tune out.
After the Jen Schefft debacle,
the men she led on weren’t the only people feeling used. When
viewers feel that way, too, it’s more reality than anyone wants to
get from television.
|
