Reality to Earth . . . Don’t expect me to believe anyone would want to intentionally call themselves something ending in ‘Zilla’ unless they’re a hundred feet tall and breathe radioactive fire.
Let’s be precise about what you’re seeing here folks. I’m talking about an odd little corner of the world of Reality Television and I want your opinions. For what I see here, I honestly prefer the term ‘unscripted television’ and if you want me to believe something’s real, I’d like to see an effort to take the patently astounding and make it a little more believable.
The itch in my hitch today comes from a jaw-dropping creation known as “Bridezillas’, a parade of fluffy car wrecks which has its season premiere this Sunday on the “WE” (Women’s Entertainment) network. Like many car wrecks, be they NASCAR or INDY car, I find a certain vulgar fascination at what I see on the screen, so long as no one gets hurt, but while I can believe there are people who will act like one might see them on this show, and there are some who are so bold as to do so on camera, I cannot figure out for the life of me how the producers get the ladies on this show (Seven seasons down, the eighth on approach) to agree to appear on it, knowing they’re going to be held up as the apex of bad pre-marital behavior . . . Complete with a cute, snarky voiceover narrator whose obviously having fun in the studio while watching another Weddingeddon go down.
Just how do they find them? Is there a nationwide network of wedding planners, dressmakers and caterers who keep their eyes open to cull the herd, giggling with their phones in their hands and contacting the producers when they find one of these shy, retiring darlings? Or is it an all-volunteer army, with the brides contacting the network with the enticement ‘Bring the cameras; you ain’t seen nothing yet?’*
“It is puzzlement” as the King of Siam (with his dozen or so wives) sung in his musical of years gone by; as is the ability of the husbands-to-be to resist the urge to run for the nearest available hills during the wide range of histrionics displayed. Love and patience only accounts for their hanging in so much . . . I’d love to see the green room where the Valium dispenser is kept.
One thing for sure, the divorce rate can't be very high for this crowd. If they get past the wedding, I quake at the thought of what it would take to split them up.
* For those who know the answer to this mystery, please share it if you're not giving away a trade secret.
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