The term ‘reality television’ has become even more of an oxymoron with the latest mutation of the genre. The Only Way is Essex (ITV2) lets us in to the lives of a bronzed breed of Essex geezers and girls. For these walking hairstyles, life is just a permanent loop of nightclubs, boobjobs, salons and boy/ girlfriend difficulties. Somehow they manage to spend more time talking about relationships than actually having them.
Whether or not the viewers can relate to this lifestyle is beside the point. Where the programme detaches from reality is in its staged set-ups. What the group of friends do is directed by the puppeteers at ITV2, who were no doubt cackling maniacally throughout. it’s not clear how much of the show is fake, though. The producers say that most of it is real, despite everything appearing structured, filmed and edited like a cheap soap opera. So, the participants perform as themselves in scenarios which have been guided to some extent. Usually, this pans out as something like ‘hunk x chucks blonde y then flirts with blonde y’s friend, brunette z’.
The Only Way is Essex’s bizarre mix of fact and fiction is less disorientating if you think of it as improvisational theatre. The difference, of course, is that this show is lived for real. Who would have such a flimsy grasp on their lives to hand them over to a film crew? Presumably, the participants enjoy the exposure, even if it means being portrayed with less depth than a puddle. For people so self-obsessed, they don’t seem to care how much they’re being manipulated.
Previous reality TV shows have had the discretion to be set in their own little world, such as a mini-recreation of the past or Big Brother’s bunker. But The Only Way is Essex has been let loose in suburbia. So it’s more like The Truman Show, but where everyone’s in on it. Or maybe the final episode will reveal that it’s all been an extended remake of The Stepford Wives?
Mike Foster
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