‘The Bachelorette,’ But With More Semen: New Reality TV Low?

Everything we can’t stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture. [View in Browser]( [Subscribe]( [Image] with Kevin Fallon Everything we can’t stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture. This Week: - Reality TV’s search for spunk. - The redemption of Smash. - The most disturbing video of the week. - Moira Rose, slaying as always. - Jamie Lee Curtis’s epic clapback. A New Reality TV Low? On the one hand, we knew everyone in quarantine was spending more time than usual watching footage of men ejaculate. ([Studies have shown](!) We just didn’t think that it would be happening in primetime on Fox. When reality TV that was [pure, irredeemable trash]( had its first big boom in the late ’90s and early ’00s—Temptation Island, Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire?, The Swan—and cultural critics fussed with their tweed jackets and tsked at us that societal intellectual bankruptcy was nigh, it is probably a series that begins with 15 men jizzing into cups that they were warning about. [Image] I’m glad that it’s finally here! We already have a pandemic, let’s go down with our last two brain cells aflame. But the thing is, proclaiming Fox’s [Labor of Love]( as the [harbinger of cultural doom]( is giving the series too much credit. It’s too blandly pleasant and too skittish about its own trollish, outrageous concept for that. At worst, it’s more boring and predictable than it is offensive or naughty. At best, it’s kind of sweet. If we’re being honest: Could use more cum. Labor of Love, which launched Thursday night, follows Kristy, a 41-year-old divorcee who, as host Kristin Davis (of [Sex and the City]( fame) chirps cheerfully in a voiceover, “seems to have it all, except one thing: a partner to start a family.” She’s not getting any younger (their phrase, used between 700 and 4,000 times an episode), her eggs are frozen, and the fertility doc is on speed dial. It’s time to choose daddy, and reality TV producers are going to help her out. They rounded up 15 “sexy and sophisticated men”—cue montage of mostly white guys with six-pack abs working out shirtless—“who are ready to skip the dating and go straight to baby making.” A woman turning to reality TV to choose a sperm donor? I’m scandalized! I love it! Except, here’s the thing: Labor of Love isn’t skipping the dating at all. We have been BAMBOOZLED. What Kristy really wants is love and a man to raise a baby with. Each episode is about finding connections with the potential suitors/fathers. This godforsaken thing is The Bachelorette, just with a higher median age and more talk of sperm count. There should be exciting topics to debate here. Is it crass to publicize a journey as personal as this in a medium as notorious as reality TV? (What will the eventual child think?) Or is it a certain kind of fantasy fulfillment for women seeking a sperm donor to be able to meet and vet them first? Is there something sweet, like the germ of a high-concept rom-com, to the idea of a woman falling in love with the sperm donor? Or is there something regressive about the whole thing: a woman making the empowered decision to make a baby happen for herself, but then deciding she wants to still be in love first? (Alternately, is there something empowering about making that decision, too?) Davis kicks things off by announcing that the first order of business is figuring out if they’re “fit to be fathers...in the most literal sense,” stressing, “We’re not messing around!” Cocktail servers with specimen cups on their trays enter, Charlotte York gestures to a porta-potty trailer where the men will be jacking off on national TV, and their fertility stats are measured in real time. More, their results are ranked! Congratulations to 39-year-old Alan, the hunky writer from South Africa who, with 317 million active swimmers, takes first place. Even Kristy gets a glint in her eye, her ovaries practically moaning as he swaggers over to accept his trophy. The whole sequence is batty and eye-rolling, yet sort of sarcastic and in on the joke. If only the show kept leaning into this. We’d have things to be angry about—why does every single “challenge” and “activity” gauge the contestants’ levels of masculinity, biological or otherwise, as if that’s the only measure of a suitable father—and laugh at: grown men nervously giggling as they talk about their sperm. [Image] Even the very idea that this is an untraditional, perhaps controversial way of starting a family is only glanced at. What Kristy is going through is a reality for so many women. Let’s talk about it. Let’s dig into it. Let’s go there. Let’s not...do this. At one point in the premiere, Davis shares that she identifies with Kristy, having spent her thirties working and emerging on the other side with concern over how to make motherhood happen for her, ultimately deciding to adopt. If you thought we were going to delve further into the emotional weight of this, nope! Time to get to the group dates, Bachelor-style. (For what it’s worth, Davis is a compassionate, refreshingly invested host, a welcome change for the genre.) Since we’re forced to look at the show as just another remix of The Bachelor universe, instead of something provocative and new, the one thing that does set it apart is age. Age is talked about a lot here. It’s the best part of the show. Kristy explains that she’s turning to something like this because when she’s dating, family-minded men are turned off by the fact that she’s older. That is candid and heartbreaking. The ticking clock here is far more palatable than while watching The Bachelor, in which 23-year-old women gripe with certainty that if they don’t find love now, they’re a lost cause and will never find it. To that end, it’s nice to see a cast of reality TV contestants in their late thirties and early forties for once. There’s a whole, dynamic array of hairlines, and even some grays. Unlike on The Bachelor, their jobs are actually real. Of course, there’s still not an ounce of body fat on any of them; this is still reality TV, after all. Which is to say, if the goal of the premiere is to cheekily get the audience to visualize this group of men masturbating into cups...well, it’s time well spent. [Alternate text] [Daily Beast Crossword: Where Shonda Meets Schumer]( [The Daily Beast Crossword is where power, pop culture, and politics intersect—quite literally. Designed to be more challenging throughout the week, you can test your knowledge with five puzzles each week.]( [PLAY NOW]( Megan Hilty Gave TV’s Best Performance The hottest thing on TV this week was a nearly decade-old NBC series that ran for a [harrowing roller coaster]( of 32 episodes over the course of 15 months before [ending in historic notoriety](. It was, at a time, the best and most exciting series to air on a modern network television. It was, by its end, also one of [the most ridiculous]( and critically maligned, partially responsible for the entire concept of “hate watching.” It was Smash. [Alternate text] Smash returned this week for a [live-streamed reunion]( benefitting The Actor’s Fund, as well as the premiere broadcast of a 2015 charity concert that stripped the wild ride of the series down to its most indisputably masterful element: Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman’s original music, the choreography Joshua Bergasse created specifically for the show, and the jaw-dropping talent of its main cast performing it. And that is how, for a few hours on Wednesday night, a massive swath of people still passionate about the show’s complicated legacy—[hi, my gay boys](—belted from the rooftops about the astonishing, award-worthy performance by an actress in a role she played eight full years ago, and demanded praise, justice, and attention for her exceptional work. This week, as she arguably did then, [Megan Hilty]( gave the best performance on television. On Smash, Broadway veteran Hilty played Ivy Lynn, a chorus girl up for her breakout moment playing Marilyn Monroe in a bio-musical called Bombshell. But ingenue-from-Iowa Karen Cartwright (American Idol alum Katharine McPhee) also caught producers’ eyes, and the two had to battle it out for the role, to the steam-out-of-the-ears frustration of everyone who watched and could see that Hilty was glaringly better suited for the part. (To that end, it was a pleasure to watch that concert all these years later sans that exasperation, and be able to simply enjoy McPhee’s own talents without the context of the storyline.) Here are some facts about Smash: Its pilot, no matter where the show went from there, ranks as one of the greatest that has ever been produced. “[Let Me Be Your Star,](” the big duet sung by Hilty and McPhee in that first episode, is one of the greatest musical theater songs ever written, despite not technically ever having been performed on Broadway. ([At least not yet](.) And Megan Hilty performing the torch number “[They Just Keep Moving the Line](” in season two is—and this is utterly sincere, not my normal hyperbole—one of the most thrilling, impressive, absolute best things I’ve ever watched on television. Her performance of the song live at that benefit concert was every bit the fireworks show that the original airing was, and it was just one highlight of Hilty’s explosive work that night. (That someone could perform two production numbers at the caliber of “[National Pastime”]( and “[Let’s Be Bad](” and still be alive and breathing?!) So as we generally do all the time anyway, we’re thinking about how talented Megan Hilty is this week. And, of course, thinking about Smash. Forever. American Idol Will Haunt Me Forever This happened last Sunday, but it has haunted my dreams, my nightmares, my every waking hour—my entire state of being—ever since, and therefore demands further discussion. On the season finale of American Idol, which had contestants performing remotely from quarantine, judge Lionel Richie debuted a remake of “[We Are the World](,” a noble gesture to cheer everybody up. It was horrifying. [Alternate text] Richie recruited the finalists as well as an all-star roster of Idol alumni—Fantasia, Ruben Studdard, Jordin Sparks, Phillip Phillips, Kellie Pickler, and McPhee among them—with each of them recording themselves singing various lines of the song directly into their cameras. Their floating heads were then transposed using CGI over a montage of various national landmarks, marking the first time decapitated singing celebrity heads have been used as a tourism ad for the United States and also a symbol of healing. Historic. Also, cursed. Anyway, the entire thing is out of its damned mind and if I had to see it, so do you. We go through the trauma together. Only then can we heal. Catherine O’Hara!!!!! How do you artfully photograph a celebrity for a splashy magazine profile during a pandemic when everyone is in isolation? When it comes to champagne problems, it may be a vintage Dom Perignon. (Or, considering that, in spite of ingeniously pivoting to find ways to produce content and excellent, necessary journalism amidst one of the most significant news stories of our lifetimes, magazines and news outlets are hemorrhaging revenue and being forced to lay off or furlough thousands of staff members...maybe it is an actual, very real problem!!!) [Alternate text] In any case, we’ve seen [Robert Pattinson]( and [Naomi Campbell]( shoot themselves for cover stories. Entertainment Weekly [produced an illustrated cover]( to commemorate LGBT Pride and, well, at least they tried. This week, Vanity Fair revealed a photo shoot it did with Catherine O’Hara by drone at her L.A. home. It’s so good! ([See the photos here](.) We can tend to be hysterical when it comes to Catherine O’Hara, but let’s just says she’s the greatest gift this world has ever received, the light that exudes from her could possibly be the cure for the coronavirus, and if she doesn’t win an Emmy for the final season of Schitt’s Creek there will be no other recourse but to cancel television and erase the entire concept of acting completely. Jamie Lee Curtis and Activia Yogurt!!!!!! Don’t even think about coming for Jamie Lee Curtis, celebrated actress and iconic benefactor of the poop yogurt fortune. One Twitter user learned this the hard way, offering some misguided criticism of Halloween, accusing Curtis of pandering to political buzz in order to cash a paycheck. Her response made me scream louder than Laurie Strode in the original movie. [Image] - The Lovebirds: Kumail Nanjiani and Issa Rae in a rom-com. It’s charming. Don’t overthink it. - AKA Jane Roe: Possibly the opposite viewing experience from The Lovebirds, but remarkable. - Homecoming: In season two, Janelle Monáe is the new Julia Roberts, a phrase I just like typing. - Barkskins: A solid weird streak in this, as far as bleak 17th century settlement dramas go. [Image] - Love Life: It’s, like...fine. Just aggressively fine. Advertisement [Facebook]( [Twitter]( [Instagram]( © Copyright 2020 The Daily Beast Company LLC 555 W. 18th Street, New York NY 10011 [Privacy Policy]( If you are on a mobile device or cannot view the images in this message, [click here]( to view this email in your browser. 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