AS I LEARNED from the reaction I got to the first column I wrote for this newspaper, no one cares that reality shows are fake. Or that I'm writing a column.
In fact, people care so little about the scripting of reality shows that the writers felt comfortable outing themselves in order to sue to get Writers Guild residuals and DVD money.
To see what reality stars are like when there are no writers around, I went to hang out with them off-camera. They were gathered at Pepperdine University for Bravo's "Battle of the Network Reality Stars," which airs Wednesday and is a tribute to the greatest show ever aired: the 1970s ABC sports special, "Battle of the Network Stars." In that masterpiece of programming, TV stars tug-o-warred and kayaked for the honor of their networks, and both Farrah Fawcett-Majors and Suzanne Somers sat in a dunk tank.
As soon as I got there, I realized that the reason people don't mind that reality shows are fake is because they are amazingly accurate in portraying real personalities. Reality didn't displace scripted shows because people longed for facts, but because they wanted lies that were better at getting at truths.
Each of the reality stars I met was exactly like the person I saw on TV.
The show's co-host, Trishelle Cannatella, the flirt from "The Real World" and "The Surreal Life," was explaining how easy it is for her to meet other reality show stars. "Whereas if I see you in a bar, I might think you're cute, but I wouldn't walk up to you," she said. Then she gave me her e-mail address. In case the point of that example isn't clear: I am an incredibly attractive man.
Richard Hatch, the wily champion from the first season of "Survivor," easily won Bravo's game of "Simon Says." Richard Kennedy Gould, the earnest, eerily normal guy who on "The Joe Schmo Show" was tricked into thinking he was on a reality show that was actually filled with paid actors, had moved back to Pittsburgh after working as a host for Spike TV in L.A.: "I'd rather be in Pittsburgh doing a job I hate than be here in L.A. I got homesick."
Gould told me how Evan Marriott, the hulking, eternally frustrated, nice-guy idiot from "Joe Millionaire," was actually really smart.
Then I met him. After the swimming competition, Marriott turned to me and complained about some bogus controversy that was brewing. I told him he should have learned from "Joe Millionaire" not to get sucked into that. He got upset that I was making fun of him. I told him I wasn't. It worked like a charm.
