The Bachelor Franchise Takes Voyeurism to New Level this Season

Few, if any, regular viewers of reality television are under any mistaken belief that what we receive when we tune into our favorite show is in any way “reality.”  But still, even after over a decade of popularity, the genre thrives because, despite knowledge of how such shows operate, season after season, reality television successfully sells the promise of delivering viewers a fleeting glimpse at “the real” hidden beneath the expertly edited, perfectly packaged dramatic narrative.  We watch because these shows allow us to play the role of the “Peeping Tom” without (much) guilt, witnessing the bad behavior of celebrities, the behind-the-scenes action of up-and-coming stars trying to make it in the world, or the most personal moment of everyday individuals on the quest for love:  awkward first dates, poorly timed first kisses, emotional breakups, and more.  One of the most successful reality television franchises, ABC’s The Bachelor/Bachelorette, provides all of the latter against exotic backdrops, allowing viewers to live vicariously through the (often staged) onscreen romantic moments of the contestants as they have dates that include helicopter rides over volcanoes, make out sessions beneath waterfalls, picnics over the Hollywood sign, playful mountain top snowball fights, candlelight dinners in ancient castles, and private firework displays.  It’s a successful formula:  wish fulfillment + voyeurism = viewer appeal.  This year, however, The Bachelorette took its personal brand of voyeurism to a new level and I imagine I was not alone in finding myself uncomfortable at many points throughout this season as the show capitalized on events ranging from personal tragedy and racial conflict to private medical procedures and family celebration. 

The opening episode of this past season included a somber dedication to a contestant, Eric Hill, who had died just weeks after exiting the show.  Ever ready to dangle even the most inappropriate carrot to get viewers to tune in, the program was careful to not reveal how or when the contestant died so that viewers were forced to watch all scenes with this young man – some of his last moments alive – awaiting the episode when he would be voted off and his death would be more fully explained.   Eric, a contestant depicted as an adventurous world explorer, was a potential frontrunner in the early episodes.  His last moments on the show unfortunately played into the program’s ability to further sensationalize his death.  The bachelorette, Andi Dorfman, kicked Eric off the show (before a rose ceremony) after a conversation where he accused her of putting up emotional walls and a façade; he suggested that she was acting instead of being real.  In an overreaction – he obviously touched a nerve (the lady doth protest too much methinks) – Andi asked Eric to leave and his time on the program was over.  The episode ended abruptly, omitting the rose ceremony where other contestants were voted off, in order to include a talkback session between Andi and the host, Chris Harrison, where they discussed learning about Eric’s death and how it impacted the show.  Both stressed how this incident made them realize how “real” the program really is in that it deals with real people who could face tragedy at any point.  And maybe as those of us watching at home agreed. Maybe we had finally gotten that glimpse into the real that we hunger for in reality television shows, no matter how sad that fleeting moment of real was.  But the show didn’t end with this tête-à-tête. 

The show more flagrantly capitalized on Eric’s death episodes later during Home Town Week when Harrison – on air – announced to Andi and the remaining four contestants that Eric had died in a paragliding accident.   Per usual, with cameras rolling, the producers captured the tear streaked faces of the cast and their whispered exchanges – this time of mourning.  And while I’m sure there was some reality captured in this sad scene – particularly as Andi cried in regret over the last angry words she said to Eric – the show undid this sense of reality and its ability to claim it wasn’t trying to sensationalize this young man’s death in the last few minutes of the episode.  In these moments the camera crew, producers, and other staff came onto the set and were seen embracing the cast and one another.  In and of itself this is a perfectly fine gesture.  It’s probably what should have been done.  But quite obviously the cameras were left rolling for an exploitive purpose so that these emotional exchanges could be played out in front of viewers weeks later.  Reality undone.  Tragedy exploited.

The Bachelorette hyped up another horrific moment that occurred in the season:  a racial slur that was (allegedly) made by a contestant.  While racial conflict is not unheard of on reality television and the show would not be the first to sensationalize it (as viewers of MTV’s Real World would remember), the inclusion was surprising for a franchise often criticized for its lack of racial diversity and cultural sensitivity.  The incident came to the forefront when fan favorite, Marquel Martin, learned from a housemate that a contestant had allegedly referred to him and another African American contestant, Ron Worrell, as “blackies” during the season opener.  The situation was further heightened because the contestant in question, Andrew Poole, had already been portrayed as one of the season’s villains due to other accusations (e.g. that he had obtained and bragged about getting a woman’s phone number while the season was underway). 

For a show that has historically (and problematically) ignored race, it did a decent job of addressing this issue on some levels.  Although, to be clear, most of the credit should go to Martin who, in all situations (reflecting about the incident in personal interviews, discussing it with housemates, and confronting Poole on the show both during the competition and during the “Men Tell All” episode months later), calmly (but passionately) spoke out against ignorance and racism.  However, the show quite obviously was trying to revive and heighten this conflict during last Monday’s “Men Tell All” episode.  After the men discussed this event again – reaffirming accusations and denials – Harrison announced that they had footage of the moment where Poole had supposedly made the remark during the first rose ceremony and after a prolonged pause and some precursory shots of the wide-eyed audience, the clip was shown.  Although the audio was unavailable, the video footage did clearly show Poole making an unidentifiable comment during the scene.   Regardless of the exploitive nature of the show, many were actually hoping that this incident, or more accurately the popularity of Martin, would lead to the franchise’s first bachelor of color.   (The franchise tried to position itself as slightly more diverse after having selected Juan Pablo, American-born Venezuelan former soccer star, as the last bachelor).  But, alas, that did not happen.  The “Men Tell All” episode revealed that Martin instead was placed on the most recent formulation of the franchise’s more raunchy spinoff, The Bachelor Pad – The Bachelor in Paradise.   And moments later the hopes that even more diversity among white leading men might be possible was shattered when another fan favorite, Chris Soules, a farmer from Iowa, was also announced to have been placed on the spin-off.  For as much as the television show is grounded in voyeurism, it looks like we won’t be seeing anything new in terms of casting choices for a while.

The final voyeuristic moment The Bachelorette gave viewers this season involved bringing back a former bachelorette couple, Ashley Herbert and JP Rosenbaum.  Within seconds of the couple walking to the stage it was evident that they were expecting a child.  After chatting with the couple for a few moments, Harrison promised “a Bachelor first” and announced that Ashley would be having a live ultrasound to determine the sex of the baby.  And, indeed, this occurred as an awed crowd, full of smiles and tears, watched on as the two discovered they were having a boy. 

For some reason this staged event unsettled me.  As a feminist media scholar who is all for normalizing female experiences that are considered taboo, I would normally applaud a reality television show that unabashedly discussed gynecological issues or, say, showcased a woman openly breastfeeding.  But in a decade which has increasingly seen the dissolution of rights concerning women’s bodies, privacy, and reproductive rights, this projection of Ashley and JP’s fetus seemed invasive.  As Bachelor wedding events – the public broadcasting of the nuptials of those contestants who actually make it to the alter – have become increasingly prevalent, I’ve often joked to fellow fans that the stars of the program must sign blood oaths that all parts of their lives are fair game forevermore and that it seems like the equivalent of signing over the rights to a first born child.  Now that joke seems to hit too close to home.  As a woman who has had the joyous experience of discovering my firstborn’s sex through a private ultrasound, I find it hard to imagine that learning that news alongside of millions of viewers (and a live studio audience) is as intimate.  But, then again, gender reveal parties are all the rage right now so maybe I’m alone in my desire to have such moments be a family affair. 

Maybe this moment on the show disturbed me because, like the show in general, it seemed so normative.  JP and Ashley seemed like gender caricatures of expecting parents with JP complaining that Ashley was buying too many baby clothes and trumping his name selections.   Just as the program clearly endorses heteronormativity, it also seems to endorse parenthood, suggesting that having a baby should be the natural outcome for all married couples.  I suppose maybe I just had higher hopes for this season.  After all, this was the season of the bachelorette who left The Bachelor on her own terms after a disastrous fantasy suite date.  The season focused on the woman who gained fame for calling the bachelor a chauvinistic, narcissistic jerk – providing one of the first open critiques of a bachelor in the show’s history.  But, then again, this was also the season that starred a successful prosecutor who left her job as an attorney to find love on a reality show because her life wasn’t complete without it.  It was the season that found the star happily calling her suitors real men every time the aggressively pulled her aside and planted rough kisses on her.  So, am I really surprised? 

This season of The Bachelorette definitely allowed viewers to see things they had never before:  the death of a contestant, real conversations about race, and a live medical procedure, but all of this voyeurism left me feeling dirty. (And that’s saying a lot since I don’t necessarily often end a season of the show feeling morally clean!)  If this is the price I have to pay for getting a glimpse at some “real” in the midst of all  the spectacle, I think I may pass next time around.

Does Television Still Need Jack Bauer?: Thoughts on Fox’s 24: Live Another Day

Fox’s 24 (2001-2010), along with other hit series like ABC’s Lost (2004-2010), changed viewers’ expectations for network dramas.   In the case of 24, the series provided viewers with a different viewing experience with its filmic, action-packed sequencing and “real time” format.  The narrative for each single season follows a single day in the life of its protagonist, Jack Bauer (Keifer Sutherland), as he struggles to save the world.  This show was the first of its kind to attempt real time delivery – breaking each episode into one hour in the adventures of him and his colleagues at CTU (Los Angeles’ Counter Terrorist Unit). Having one “day” as the center of a season’s focus allows for various time manipulations and a different viewing experience.  The one-day-a-season format allows for plot compression – action, events, and conflict must unfold at rates beyond that of a normal day and viewers are asked not only to suspend their disbelief but to take this day as an exception that could happen somewhere behind the backdrops of the real government in existence to protect them.  But while compressing plot development – speeding up action or packing thrills into a more concise segment – the show actually stretches out a fictional time (one day in this case) in ways that viewers are not used to – while the action is sped up, the time itself is retarded to fit in all of the events.

The design of the show assists in making this venture successful.  Every angle foregrounds this focus on time, and the fear of running out of it.  The show’s logo is the ominous glowing digits of the number 24, each episode begins with the tagline:  “the events in this episode take place between…” (showcasing fictional start and end times for the specific episode), and all important scene breaks find themselves ending against the background sound of the foreboding tick-tock – the show’s marker and thematic sound effect. 

Of course in all actuality the program does not show its viewers a complete day in the life of Bauer or any other character for that matter.  The narrative threads change frequently, usually focusing on a minimum of four different storylines.  So while the audience can tag along on Bauer’s adventures usually for half of the time, the other half is divided between his enemies, the plotting terrorist organizations, sneak peeks behind the scenes of the White House administration, the intelligence gathering work of his colleagues at the command center or in the field, and, depending on the season, the perils of his own family members or friends.  The quick cuts between various intersecting plots allow viewers to be privy to some information before the show’s heroes, to try and unscramble the sinister plans before CTU does, and it allows the audience to be in an interestingly voyeuristic position – seeing things that should not be seen from many different perspectives.  Each episode ends in a way that highlights this multiple storyline focus and the fact that we never really know which plot point is going to develop into the most important one.  A few minutes before an episode’s end the screen is split and filled with four different shots of action unfolding at different locales and then one event is selected to finish off the show – the infamous cliffhanger.  Often this is a shot of someone dying, a bomb beginning to countdown, or a mystery uncovered, but – as intended – it is usually intriguing enough to allow viewers to eagerly await the next hour… although it will take 167 of their own until it arrives.  The temporal discord is important to note.  The show, operating under the guise of real time narrative delivery, perpetuates the myth of temporal continuity while jarring viewers with a rather profound gap between the time they experience in their own lives as they watch the show and the time that they will continue to experience during the hiatuses that exists between weekly segments and season breaks.  The promise of real time is delivered (in mutated, commercial-filled form) for approximately 45 minutes each week, but in all actuality this practice of the temporal tease is actually delivering the opposite of what a show like 24 promises – it slows down time.  Jack Bauer’s day is actually retarded and stretched out in order to fulfill the necessary requirements of program sequencing and network delivery.  And, in multiple seasons, viewers are forced (again despite the promise of real time continuity and temporal parallelism) to experience the reverse and watch time be sped up as a new season of 24 will often find itself starting up in the fictional world months and/or years from where the viewers left the imaginary scene the season before.  However this temporal discord is played out, the device is apparently quite enjoyable and has inspired many shows in its aftermath to attempt such a temporal structure (e.g. Prison Break, Lost, Mixology). 

            

24 also helped to disrupt televisual rules, such as “thou shall not kill off main characters.”  As is expected, Jack is always successful in saving the world from peril.  However, the first season schooled viewers early that such heroism would not always come without a cost.  The final episode ended in a scene reminiscent of the final moments of the film Seven, where Jack (who had successfully prevented an assassination attempt and rescued both his pregnant wife and teenage daughter from captivity) walks into a holding room at his own work place to find that his wife’s throat had been slit by his traitorous, double agent partner.  The happy ending – the saved day – is undone within the last 30 seconds of the episode.  Other shows have followed in step, making bold moves to unexpectedly kill off main characters (e.g. Lost was known for this practice early in its run as well, and kept viewers unnerved by eventually even killing off the character whose flashbacks grounded the individual episode that was showing). 

In its early years, 24 was also at the forefront of programming that provided timely post-9/11 political critiques – merging real news headlines concerning terrorism, torture, homeland security, and foreign policy into its narrative.   Since 24 went off the air in 2010, other shows have surfaced to do similar narrative work:  Showtime’s Homeland (2011-present), ABC’s Scandal (2012-present), and Netflix’s House of Cards (2013-present).  With so many shows giving viewers a fix of what 24 once did (an action film in a televisual format; temporal play; narrative complexity; political commentary), I was curious to see how Fox’s recent miniseries, 24: Live Another Day, would be received and what this limited run reboot would do the narrative legacy it left behind four years ago. 

The ratings would deem this added season (although they are not calling it such) a success.  And, as I expected, the potential of another miniseries or a movie offshoot is not off the table.  As a fan of the original series, I found myself once again enjoying the narrative pacing, the ability to binge multiple “hours” at a time through delayed viewing, and the ways in which contemporary concerns (foreign relations with the Middle East, China, and Russia; military defense debates concerning drone programs; campaigns for information transparency, and so forth) played out (hyperbolically) in the fictional world.  But mostly I was interested in seeing how this new run would pick up on old plots and relationships and in that way I was not disappointed.  [Spoiler Alert]  Live Another Day brought Jack into contact with his former love interest, Audrey Heller, and his old nemesis, Cheng Zhi.  Like the shocking first season, this series ended with Audrey’s death (at Cheng’s extended hand) which (although not at all shocking now that the show’s formulas are so well established) gave the series the feeling of having gone full circle back to the beginning.  Her death during the last fifteen minutes of the episode pretty much solidified the fact that Jack himself would not die, although viewers might have been led to believe otherwise.  The pained look on Jack’s face in this scene reminded me of that of Dexter’s in that series’ finale after Deb died.  It did not surprise me to discover that the writers had toyed with killing off Jack because, like with Dexter, it is hard to imagine that the series will ever end in a traditional happy ending for a character who has perpetually played the suffering soul and crossed so many moral lines.  The tightrope dance Jack does in terms of morality was displayed beautifully by the juxtaposition of his last two scenes this season.  In the first he decapitates Cheng after providing the proof the Chinese government needed that he was alive (hence stopping a war). And in the second he sacrifices himself to save his only friend, Chloe, by surrendering himself to the Russians who have been hunting him for four years.  This scene where Jack is whisked away on a helicopter was almost exactly the same as the end of season five where Jack was carted away on a freight headed to China – another moment of déjà vu.  But it was fitting that his last heroic action was to save his friend – arguably one of the best characters on the show – as their relationship has always been the one constant the strung the various seasons together.

If I was a betting media critic, I’d say that we haven’t seen the last of Jack.  I’m not sure that we still need Jack Bauer in 2014, and I’m not sure that any additional runs of 24 will provide us with anything we haven’t seen before, but there is comfort in the familiar, in the nostalgia, and the escapism of believing the world will always saved by a little rouge vigilante justice, so I’ll watch the next round when it comes out.