Words: Ava Mutter (She/Her)
TW: Abuse / Sexual Assault
When no amount of filler can protect you from the truth, the pursuit of “pure” reality TV becomes the most dangerous illusion of all.
What is it about the Manolo Blahnik Gold Strappy Sandal clad feet strutting through Beverly Hills that draws the attention of a 22-year-old Glaswegian law student more than any of her case readings? Is it the promise of unfiltered access to her favourite popstar’s family drama? The good, bad, and the ugly? And if so, when does “pure”, raw, and unfiltered become bare, broken, and bruised?
When pure, lived experience is edited meticulously, it becomes impure storytelling – with real people and real emotion subject to producers’ cuts. Moral roles are simplified with narratives creating pantomime-esque villains, saints and sinners, and people made into characters when conflict is shown without context. Real life itself is impure; boring without daily fast-paced conflict, lacking in shocking moments in a world where clicks are currency. Real life isn’t entertaining enough to be watchable when shock value is given more consideration than long term consequence. This then begs the question: can perfectly shaped storylines and expertly cut narratives really be considered “documentation”? In an age of constant surveillance, little goes unconsidered – so viewers, armed with years of reality TV and social media literacy, are increasingly attuned to disingenuous storytelling. With behind-the-scenes crew asking leading questions, before carefully cutting and piecing clips together post-production to shape the predetermined storyline of the season, reality tv has long lost its juicy quality – contaminated with expertly cut lines and expressions.
In the event of real harm, when does filming become witnessing – and when do witnesses become obligated to intervene? Those of us rewatching Season 1 and 2 of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills can’t help but see familiarly unsettling episodes in a new light. Camera crews captured Taylor Armstrong’s distress but kept the cause implicit – failing to name the abuse until its effects were realised. Contained harm was exposed on television, and true “reality” only came to fruition once the damage was done. Taylor’s season storyline – breakdowns, instability, fear – painted as “drama”, was in fact abuse. Domestic violence occurring in plain sight, on camera, not behind closed doors. After an often-revisited episode of season 2, in which Camille Grammar notoriously outs the now-deceased Russell Armstrong’s abuse on camera, she received threat by way of a lawsuit that would follow any further comments made in the same regard. After Taylor’s husband Russell’s suicide in 2011, producers stated that they were ‘merely flies on the wall in capturing what happens in real life: the good and the bad, and in this case, a really unfortunate tragedy.’ Was safety a consideration for Taylor and Russell’s 5-year-old daughter Kennedy (who features in early seasons of the show) when her traumatic home life aired on TV as it was happening? Are these TV shows raising awareness for victims of abuse, and providing them with support? Or, perhaps, simply amplifying their vulnerable situation whilst failing to intervene; recognising a safeguarding issue while offering no real protection for those involved.
Producers are ever-present during breakdowns and confrontations, artfully placed behind the lonely barrier of a camera lens watching on as families break down in real time. Involved enough to benefit from the virality and controversy, but distant enough to avoid responsibility. While networks are quick to release press statements, input disclaimers, or project hotline numbers on screen, they rarely halt production to intervene in real time, or remove content that could potentially leave cast members in danger. While indefinite psychological care for every cast member may be outside the reasonable scope; the lack of long-term support – diluted with NDA’s – means the pursuit of “pure” authenticity can often come at the cost of personal safety.
While some cast members benefit wildly – such as Lisa Vanderpump, notorious Real Housewife and business tycoon who expanded her empire with Vanderpump Rules and Vanderpump Villa – others are tarred with a different brush and suffer online backlash after being edited as the “villain” of the season. Moral neutrality takes a backseat when faced with a gripping storyline. But shouldn’t those who play a part in shaping the storyline share some of the consequences? In the era of virality and hour-long conversations being “clipped” into 20 second Instagram reels, it is important now more than ever for those in the limelight to have control of their online image – a control that now lies with editors and producers. Anyone signing up for reality TV is aware of the potential implications, but the public’s reaction cannot be predicted. Can people really consent to an edit after a show has aired?
The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, a highly contrasting show featuring those dubbed the “saints & sinners” – is workshopped around faith and “purity”, yet packed full of activities that destabilise that image. Recent allegations between cast-members Demi Engemann, Jessi Ngatikaura and Vanderpump Villa’s Marciano Brunette were outed in Season 3 by what has become a shared ecosystem of reality tv conflict that bleeds across shows. Cast members are no longer contained to 1 franchise, with morality quickly dissolving as NDA’s are hinted and allegations cross-contaminated.
Social media is the new producer, allowing viewers to watch narratives from both sides play out in real time. While the drama begins on TV, what follows are interviews, podcasts, tell-all’s, Instagram stories and comment sections – no producer, no duty of care, no responsibility. The narrative snowballs so much so that you forget its origin.
Audiences treat real human suffering as entertainment, forming parasocial feelings of love and hatred toward reality stars. Once the content is distributed, responsibility becomes both everyone’s and no one’s – a lonely life for those suffering at the hands of it. Can responsibility really be edited out? With a duty of care that becomes vague, the trauma and reputational damage will often outlive the show itself. So, when the mics come off, the audience fades, and the producers move on to the next storyline – who is left to face the fallout? When no amount of filler can protect you from the truth, the pursuit of “pure” reality TV becomes the most dangerous illusion of all.
