In the Rev. Al Sharpton, Spike found the perfect host for its
new reality show “I Hate My Job,” premiering tonight at 9 p.m. on the
testosterone network.
Sharpton has built a fairly lucrative and long career on simply being Al
Sharpton. So far as anyone can tell, that career consists of barnstorming across the
country on random human rights crusades, running for president, and increasingly appearing
as a gimmicky guest-star, playing himself, of course, on shows like “Boston
Legal” and “Girlfriends.”
So who better to advise a pack of eight average guys looking to escape dreary
careers, ranging from pool table set-up technician to preschool teacher to attorney, and
land dream jobs in acting or stand-up comedy? Indeed, who better if not gad-about Al?
The show promises that one of these eight will get a shot at their dream job.
But to do it they’ll have to make it through some serious (and not so serious) tests
from the Rev and his life-coach assistant. In episode one that means finding the proper
attire for the job, such as hockey jersey and knee pads for the wannabe coach, in downtown
Los Angeles without money or credit card.
Another task is to put on a performance, such as a Shakespearean monologue
or, for the aspiring model, a strut down a runway. In an unusually harsh reality show
move, half the eight initial contestants are cut in this first episode, with the wannabe
actor who forgets his lines the first to go.
To its credit, Spike seems to understand that a little bit of Al goes a long
way. He’s by no means the focus of the show. Unfortunately, few of the contestants
can match Sharpton when it comes to being interesting or engaging in stimulating dialogue.
That makes for a somewhat uneven hour. Though the show's concept is certainly
original, the guys are not. The wannabe motorcycle builder, stuntman and comic book artist
might as well be labeled Interchangeable White Guy 1, 2 and 3.
The show would probably work much better at a half-hour. That would mean a
half-hour less of dull reality-show-men-under-35-speak, or a dozen fewer “dudes”
and an equally smaller number of “we were, like” snippets. And of course
there would be fewer references to knob-waxing, a major preoccupation of anyone applying
to appear on a reality show. Quality of show (on a scale
of 10): 6.5
The show lacks the bite of such past Spike farces as “Joe Schmoe”
and “MXC.” In fact, this probably will be as close as Spike will ever get to
sweet and earnest.
The mostly blue-collar contestants are harmless enough, and they all seem to
get along. But that makes the show boring. You have trouble remembering who’s who and
caring who gets kicked off.
When four of the eight are cut in the first 60 minutes, we are left with two
obvious Sharpton favorites.
One is the potty-mouthed preschool teacher, Josh, who seems to have stepped
directly from the frat house to tot-teaching. Josh describes his
charges thusly: “They crap, they piss, they suck.”
The other is Frank, a cow manure plant employee who complains that his
current job “deals with something coming out of a cow’s butt.” He wants to
become the next big male supermodel out of Compton. Or make that the first big male
supermodel out of Compton.
Between Frank's charm and lunkhead Josh’s idiocy, they could make for
amusing TV.
Positioning (on a scale of 10): 8
On Spike this is almost as good as it gets, leading out of back-to-back reruns of
“CSI,” one of the network’s highest-rated shows. The only thing that would
be better is a “WWE” lead-in/out.
Cachet, or the “Arrested Development” factor (on a
scale of 10): 5
It’s hard to rate cachet on cable, much less a cable reality show’s
cachet, but even for all his ubiquitousness, Sharpton’s still a big name.
Overall (on a scale of 30): 19.5
It won’t be appointment TV, but if there’s nothing else on Tuesday
at 9, “CSI” viewers will stick around. Unless they remember that
“Scrubs” is on NBC at the same time.
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