Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/1999/08/26/the_fake_world_of_mtv.php
Thursday, August 26, 1999
Teck is the wild partier, Amaya is the sensitive sorority girl, and Ruthie is the self-repressed drunk. Justin is the gay Harvard Law scholar, Kaya is the nose-ringed Berkeley student, Colin is the boy next door, and Matt is just plain boring. These six college students compromise the cast of MTV's eighth season of The Real World.
If the show began as an honest attempt to gain insight into the way Gen-Xers interact in tense situations, it has degenerated into the sort of postmodern mush that has come to characterize the late 90s. It's the MTV Generation at its most flagrant.
Looks alone are enough to crown these six as the poster children of their time. They have dyed hair, nose rings, and wear only the latest fashions—if they wear anything at all, that is, since discretion-free nudity is en vogue in the house. The issues they address are just as fashionable. Ruthie drinks because she needs the attention her foster parents failed to bestow on her, and never fails to confuse viewers with her sexual orientation (she claimed to be a lesbian at first, but it's getting mighty hard to tell). Her rampant alcoholism recently earned her a profile in People magazine, in which she says she was 'drinking out of spite.' Kaya is torn between her nebulous relationship with Ruthie—Kaya, you see, is also sexually confused—and the realization that a quieter lifestyle suits her. At no more than 100 pounds, she constantly laments her alleged 'weight gain' and goes on a suspicious fasting diet.
Joining the sexually turbulent is Justin, who charges the other roommates with being 'too heterosexual,' whatever that means. Colin and Amaya have a troubled relationship in which she accuses him of not showing enough affection. He, of course, has an intimacy disorder, while she has been hardened by too many bad sexual encounters. Amaya also complains of having oversized breasts.
Teck and Matt are perhaps the only clear-headed members of the bunch. Teck, however, spends most of his time out partying (one suspects he too is disgusted by some of his roommates' antics), while Matt, unaware of the boredom he inflict on his hapless viewers, drones into the camera with the gusto of a humming refrigerator
It's silly, but we watch. And why not? Following the gang as they mawkishly plod through the demented, vaguely Shakespearean, themes ('Shakespeare on Prozac') does carry a certain enjoyment factor. Nevertheless, it is a devilish pleasure, and anyone, when asked whether they watch the show, will level a barrage of insults against it. Don't be fooled by their hostile front.
Perhaps what is most troubling about The Real World is the social tinkering that dwells in the underbelly of the otherwise-flawless (snicker) production. The Real World is much like many universities. It recruits for diversity, not because of genuine interest in such, but for reasons of public image. MTV has done that: for them, though, diversity (of sex, race, age, etc.) is needed for conflict. After all, who wants to watch eight white kids argue who stole whose Abercrombie hat?
With that in mind, MTV has done quite the job of playing devil's advocate, knowing that, in the pressure cooker that is The Real World, someone is bound to snap. And that's when the fun begins. When tempers flare, sexual/racial/social identity comes into question, making for prime viewing pleasure. Already Justin has clashed with Teck (briefly) and Matt (at length) about his sexuality, and Ruthie's alcoholism has been addressed by the cast collectively. Though race has not been an issue yet, earlier Real World seasons have featured the classic 'ignorant white girl vs. young militant black man' clash. For those who are awed by MTV's noble attempt at diversity, don't be. It's all for higher ratings.
The Real World is not the channel's bread and butter, as MTV wisely caters to a wide variety of audiences with its myriad programs. Road Rules, an offshoot of The Real World, naturally comes to mind. The cast is commonly chosen from The Real World reject pool, and their objective is to travel in an RV, performing randomly-assigned inane tasks (a Puerto Rican tour had them searching for a goat). Suffering from the same ills as its vastly popular uncle, this is a show for Gen-Xers who simply don't feel that The Real World is grungy or hardcore enough.
Not unlike the members of that generation, the Road Rules cast members roam around aimlessly, completing tasks they have been ordered to do for paltry monetary rewards, but without much reason or purpose.
Catering to hormonally charged teens, Loveline is a sexual advice show featuring a Dr. (sometimes you wouldn't know it if he didn't wear a suit and glasses) Drew and Adam Corolla, an every-day guy who serves a as a respite to the often dull doctor with his witty, though useless, advice. A woman—Diane Farr—has been recently placed along with the duo serves no discernable function but to smile amiably at the camera.
The format of the show allows for viewers to present their sexual dilemmas to the hosts via telephone. One man wondered what to do with his 11-inch penis, while another glorified his ability to masturbate forty times in one hour using a 'revolutionary' technique.
Some people actually get sexual advice from the show, but most of the time, Loveline reverts to Jerry Springer tactics, with viewers wondering what to do with their cheating husbands or phone-sex operator wives. The show also features celebrity guests, but anyone who would take advice from Limp Bizkit is more than just sexually confused.
Once again MTV attempts to aid today's confused youth with dubious motives. The show's creators wisely predicted that tapping into the sexual misgivings of young people would pay off. Whether sexual dilemmas really call for a dose of Adam Corolla's caustic witticisms or Diane Farr's mind-numbing commentary, however, is questionable. Of course, if Dr. Drew spent the time dispensing medical guidance, the show's viewership would shrivel up. In the end, it's more schlock TV masquerading as civic-minded, thoughtful advice.
Occasionally, MTV (which, coincidentally, stands for Music Television) plays music videos. But not too often. The first video MTV ever aired was the Buggles' 'Video Killed the Radio Star.' But the video medium now lays dying, having been conquered by easily-transferable MP3 music files, which abound on the Internet.
MTV has always stood at the forefront of popular culture, playing videos which were the coolest and most hip. Lately, it seems as if MTV has gotten pop culture down to a precise science, having somehow discovered an algorithm which dictates whether, at a precise moment, a video is cool or not. That output is paramount, for it dictates MTV programming frame. Should Ricky Martin become unpopular—as many are ardently hoping—MTV will immediately cease playing his videos, and vice versa. But if teenyboppers continue swooning over his hip gyrations, we all have to continue suffering from La Vida Loca, and even the occasional Menudo song. Should 98 Degrees break up, MTV will hastily cook up a video requiem for the group, and we will never hear their name again.
Such is life and death in the MTV age. Only the hippest, coolest, most popular have the unequaled grace to have their videos played: the aforementioned Limp Bizkit, Jay-Z and N'Sync, among others. The rest are destined to live in the gray twilight that is FM radio.
The video venue suffers from the same woes as The Real World and Loveline. Any artistic credibility the format ever had has been trampled on by flashy, high-priced video reminiscent of Schwarzeneger's latest. Scantily clad dancers, explosions and fantastic scenarios do as much to sell records as good music, which is in pitiably poor supply on MTV. That's because MTV caters to a diverse (!) variety of interests, most of which do not include good music. Should MTV cease playing rap or N'Sync, their mass audience would whither. So the band plays on.
Any criticism of MTV is made null by the channel's popularity. After all, who wants to tell a banshee-like mob of 12-year-old girls that the Backstreet Boys are nothing but another boy group, and a poor one at that? But MTV's allure reaches far beyond.
There is nothing inherently pernicious about the mindless, flashy programming of MTV. Rather, it is the culture that MTV promotes, if we actually buy into it, that will render us a society of shallow, uninteresting socialites whose only substance is directed by the current trends. That of course, is a nightmare which can be easily avoided by healthy doses of VH1.