by Edward Kelly

First, I’m going to take you back—all the way back to the not-so-halcyon days of 2003. Reality TV was just starting to become a truly viable market. Its tropes and clichés were already well worn. Into this scene steps a little show with grand artistic ambitions: Spike TV’s “reality parody”, The Joe Schmo Show.

The Joe Schmo Show was entirely fake, save for one aspect. Each cast member (all of whom were up-and-coming improv comedians, including a pre-SNL Kristen Wiig) played a stereotypical reality TV contestant type (the catty gay man, the house slut, the grizzled former military guy). The “schmo” of the title was Matt Kennedy Gould, an average person who believed he was part of an actual reality show called Lap of Luxury. Gould didn’t find out the truth until the last episode. He was, understandably, shocked and pleaded with the rest of the cast, “What is going on?!?”



Reality TV is known to be mean-spirited and voyeuristic. While the creative forces behind The Joe Schmo Show may have been trying to reveal the artificiality of so-called “real” programming, they actually ended up revealing the producers, cast, and even audience to be a big bunch of jerks.

Joe Schmo is one of the few reality TV shows that I watched every episode as they aired. The more I became invested in the con, the more I felt like an ass for enjoying the elaborate trick played on Gould. I hoped he would figure it out. He didn’t and “What is going on?!?” became the symbol of everything wrong with reality TV—here was a nice dude who had been totally duped and (I think) hurt.

In other words, reality TV is no place for decent folks.

I stayed away from reality TV after that and decreed it was bad and exploitative and a detriment to the American people.

And then Jersey Shore aired.



It took one terribly campy 1960s television series, one arguably brilliant animated series, and five movies (three of which were good and the other two were directed by Joel Schumacher) until fans got the Batman movie they deserved: The Dark Knight. Likewise, it may have taken years of awful, disgusting, downright amoral reality TV series to bring us to Jersey Shore but, thankfully, we’re there now and we can enjoy it.

You see Joe Schmo had been trying to change the game, holding a mirror up to the genre and hoping that audiences would get how they were playing with the format. But the reason Joe Schmo wasn’t a huge hit (though it was successful enough to warrant a second season) was because reality TV is not a worthy satirical target and, despite its goals, Schmo ended up coming across as another cruel exercise in “look at this sucker.”

Jersey Shore, on the other hand, isn’t as ambitious with its meta-conceptuality as Schmo was. In fact, Shore is nothing if not a delightful embrace reality TV standards and a full-throated appreciation of all things trashy. And in that non-pretentiousness lies its genius.

The brilliance of Jersey Shore stems from the fact that everyone behind it knows exactly what kind of show they are making and are reveling in it. From the casting to the producing to the editing, everything is put in place for optimal immersion in this fantastical far-off land called “New Jersey”.

Now, rationally, I should feel bad about liking Jersey Shore. After all, I felt bad about being part of the swindle surrounding Matt Kennedy Gould. So, I should feel guilty about laughing my head off every time The Situation tells me the robbery is in progress or when Snooki strikes out time and time again with one of her “gorilla juiceheads.”

But I don’t. In fact, I delight in the schadenfreude provided by the shenanigans on Shore. And when I stop and think about it, I realize that the show is accomplishing everything The Joe Schmo Show tried and failed at.

If The Joe Schmo Show was trying its damnedest to hold up a mirror to the genre, Jersey Shore steps it up one level by holding up a mirror to the audience watching at home.

The show covers its cast in the same way that Jane Goodall covers apes: it offers up them up without much commentary and allows the audience to choose whether we will accept, reject, celebrate, or scorn. The response has been all of the above.

Simultaneously loved and derided, the kids (and The Situation, who, at 27, doesn’t count as a “kid” anymore) have become walking punch lines and symbols of the ADD generation. Are they really that way? Probably not, but who cares? They’re on TV, they say funny things, and embarrass themselves.

And therein lies the brilliance of the show. If The Sopranos can be seen as both a thrilling crime epic and a treatise on the dissolution of the American Dream, then Jersey Shore can be seen as both a ribald, never-ending party and an exploration of an American subculture that serves as a microcosm of a generation. The cast is identifiable, if only because everyone knows what is it like to be young, dumb and full of… well, you get the point. It’s snapshot of life that we don’t often get to see and, yeah, sometimes that snapshot is of an orange oompa-loompa downing Jägermeister and getting in catfights.

And if that ain’t art, then I don’t know what is.

There is more interest now in the film business than at any time in history. Back in the day, round about the mid-1970s, your average person didn’t have much interest in movies other than seeing them. At that time, box office reports were something seen only in the trades. And you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who could name a filmmaker.

But that was then.

Now, my mom who lives in the Midwest can name the number one film at the box office each week. With the internet, there are more outlets covering movies now than there are movies made in any given year. There’s almost an obsession on the part of average moviegoers to learn everything about film’s that peak their interest. DVDs seem to be required to include a “making-of” documentary. Television is filled with coverage of movies from interviews to on the set visits to peaks into the process of moviemaking itself through shows like Project Greenlight, IFC’s Film School and even HBO’s Entourage. All this must have led TV super-producer Mark Burnett and his associate Steven Spielberg to believe that the public would embrace a show that is basically “American Idol for Filmmakers.” Unfortunately, they were wrong. Not about the interest on the part of the public, but by the approach to the subject.

If you are one of the few folks still watching FOX’s reality show On the Lot, then we should talk. Both of us. The ratings for the show have been abysmal from the start, even though the premiere episode aired just after the final episode of American Idol, a show I am proud to say I have only seen glimpses of in promos. (I am used to the fact that my personal taste rarely aligns with the general public’s.) The ratings for On the Lot have dropped by half nearly each week, and they even cut the schedule from twice weekly airings to only once a week on Tuesday evenings. I’m guessing the only reason it’s still on is because Mr. Spielberg, the most financially successful filmmaker of all time, is involved.

So, why am I still watching this terrible show? I am burdened with a lifelong film obsession and I relish every peak into the process provided by shows like Greenlight and Film School, both of which I highly recommend on DVD. I believe that the show began with good intentions – to reveal the drama of a movie competition as filmmakers “go for their dream” in a contest where America votes. I remember first hearing about On the Lot and being excited about the possibilities, to the point where I was actually recommending certain talented filmmaking pals submit applications. I am so glad none of my friends took my advice, I’d feel so guilty. The show is not just a ratings disaster, plenty of great programming receives awful Nielsons, it’s just plain torture to watch each week. So rather than continue viewing in pain, I feel compelled to tell you why On the Lot failed.

Reality TV super-producer Mark Burnett, the lucky contestants from the Fox's reality TV series On the Lot and director Steven Spielberg, who has yet to make an appearance on the show.

The Dream
There’s something about watching underdogs go for their dream that is instantly relate-able. We feel their pain and want them to triumph against the odds. The individual singers on American Idol seem to generate armies of fans rooting on for their success. Sadly, no one seems to care about filmmakers. Somehow, the dream of those pursuing a career as a filmmaker is just not widely relate-able as those of a kid who wants to sing on stage. Or, perhaps the producers have not shown us enough about each contestant to make us care.

The Host
Many who have seen the show always seem to complain about the host, Adrianna Costa, who was a replacement at the last minute. Having done a job that was similar on show on IFC, I can tell you that it’s not a lot of fun. You’re there to play traffic cop, and lead the audience to the next bit. Adrianna Costa is fine to me. She’s most likely being overproduced before she appears live to read teleprompter, after she’s read it 50 times before that, and after having done rehearsal after rehearsal which puts the minds of producers at ease, but can make the host seem stiff. Let her loosen up.

The Films
Well, they’re very good, for the most part, especially compared to most of the content uploaded to YouTube. But let’s see each director making those movies. That’s the fun part, witnessing the struggle to get it made, which is how shows that tackled similar material became popular – by exposing the process.


Film and television producer/director Garry Marshall and actress/writer Carrie Fisher make up two-thirds of the panel of judges each week.

The Judges
The panel of judges is, well, for the most part, out of touch. Carrie Fisher prefaces nearly every statement by saying “I think you’re very talented,” then proceeds to explain why she didn’t get it. It’s like watching a John Waters movie with your mom who then fails to understand why Divine eating poodle poop is an important scene. While Carrie may be loopy, Garry Marshall seems to still be living in the 70s with his views on women. He’s referred to female directors as “girls” and is simply condescending in his remarks when he says words to the effect, “That was a good movie… for a girl.” I think grampa forgot to take his medicine. There is a glimmer of intelligence when it comes to comments made by the weekly guest director. The judges who have dispensed all the best advice have been the revolving directors chair which has included Brett Ratner, D.J. Caruso, Michael Bay and most recently, Wes Craven. Each of them seem to be mentoring when they provide notes on each film. Why not a panel of three directors?

The Drama… or Lack of it…
The show is clearly modeled after American Idol by showing this fake drama created solely by the host informing contestants one by one whether they are “safe.” Then, a few “unsafe” filmmakers must stand and wait for the entire show to learn if they will stay or go. Ugh. It’s so embarrassing to watch, I actually feel awful for the filmmakers.

Ultimately, FOX was probably not the best home for this show. Bravo or Sundance Channel or IFC would probably have take the concept of a film competition show and made it much more intelligent given that they're less dependent upon ratings. It’s too late to retool the show on FOX, but it’s not too late for another network to create an imitator. Though, TV is not really in the business of replicating failure.

Anyway, if you happen to have missed On the Lot, every episode is available for download on the official site… if you care.

Gore gone.

Chris_Gore admits being addicted to reality TV, but is in slow recovery.

Menudo is essentially a watered-down bowl of tripe that leaves a terrible taste in your mouth. And the soup isn't so great, either! HEY-O!

I digress.

Puerto Rican revolving-door boy-band sensation Menudo, responsible for giving us such wonderful talents as Ricky Martin, has been laying low for the past decade. Now, however, they're on the verge of coming back with a vengeance, and this time there's a twist: why go out scouting and recruiting, when there are plenty of hopefuls more than willing to fight on cable TV for a shot at heartthrob glory?

I love that the dude behind nearly every really huge boy-band since forever is saying anything at all about not being pigeonholed. It's kind of precious.

The sad thing is that The Road to Menudo (and by the way, is that an epic show title or what!) is being aired on MTV Trés, or I guess "Tr3s" if you want to be leet about it. I would totally watch this over American Idol, but I don't even get MTV Dós, let alone the bilingual version, so I'm just going to have to rely on the internet to let me know the thrilling outcome.

At least I'm sure, whichever way it ends, I can rest easy in the knowledge that it will sound horrible and yet impossible to ignore. So it goes.

Yesterday, I was reviewing the tattoo news of the week when this message popped up on my screen from my buddy Dave of Big Kahuna Tattoo in Florida:

Following that message, our online conversation included references from Dave on how watching the show is akin to watching one’s mother in a porno, how clients now come in and tell him how to tattoo based on what they saw on TV, and even how people on the street now frequently ask him the meaning behind the tattoos of his full body suit. He preferred when they just crossed the street in fear.

Of course, Dave will admit that the show has increased business. With some of the mystery gone, the general apprehension of walking into the unknown dissipates and leaves people free to waltz in the studio for their own work of art.

While Dave and many other tattooers I’ve spoken with are clearly on the anti-tattoo TV side, I’m still trying to figure of how I feel about Miami Ink. I’m gonna try and flesh it out here today.

Before I do, let me just say that I am clearly decided on the other tattoo reality show, Inked, a big joke of a show where the focus is on the drama and “hijinks” of the cast than on any art. I was once asked by one of their producers if I knew tattoo artists who would want to be part of the show. I could not find one. Enough said.

On the contrary, Miami Ink does feature really good tattoo artists. Chris Garver’s tattoo portfolio is first rate, especially his Japanese work, and Kat Von D does a mean portrait tattoo when she’s not posing for ubiquitous pictorials. And now I hear that one of my fave tattoo pin-up artists, Joe Capobianco, will be doing a guest spot on the show from April 2 through the 7th. What this all means is that the general public gets to see a high standard of tattoo art and can make better choices when deciding on an artist.

The public does not see the full picture, however, and this type of reality programming is often far from the truth. First, in Miami Ink, clients don’t just walk in and make an appointment. They go through producers, they are booked based on things like a good back story to wanting the tattoo. But not every body tells a story. No one has to die for you to get tattooed. You do not need to be a victim of abuse to reclaim your body via art. Tattooing the name or face of your child on your body does not make you a better parent. Not that these are bad tattoos but they do not represent the full breadth and depth of the tattoo experience.

Many people get tattooed because it just looks pretty. Because they like it, and that should be enough. That’s reality. I guarantee you that most tattooists will not throw you out of the studio for not having some spiritual awakening that compels you to get needled. In fact, many are probably grateful that they don’t have to hear the story.

Which brings me to another tattoo truth: Most tattooers do not work in the resplendent glamour of being flown to the Super Bowl, Hawaii, and A-List parties. They do not regularly tattoo wrestlers, rock stars, and models. In fact, many people they tattoo do not bathe before the session. Tattooers generally work for hours hunched over with a buzzing machine in their hands leading to bad backs and carpal tunnel. They perform tasks like kicking out drunken frat boys and cleaning up vomit from clients with weak stomachs who can’t take the pain. They deal with cries, screams, and large burly men who pass out and pee themselves because they’re too manly to take a break. I’ve seen it. It ain’t pretty. But I think it would make for more interesting television.

What are your thoughts on tattoo reality TV? Leave your comments below.

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For tattoo headlines of last week, read Needled’s take on guy who’s suing his tattooer for misspelling a stupid tattoo, a story on how one amputee transformed his stump into a dragon head that’s a work of art, and more.
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Marisa_DiMattia is a lawyer and editor of Needled.com, a blog on tattoo art and culture.

I considered live-blogging Gene Simmons' new reality show Gene Simmons' Family Jewels, but had second thoughts when I realized I'd have to actually watch the show for more than ten minutes. But then, despite myself, I got sucked in.

Gene Simmons is to being a rock star what being a rent-a-cop is to being an FBI agent. In interviews Simmons proudly claims he never took drugs or drank. He also admits to being more of a businessman than an artist when dealing with Kiss. Although his candor in admitting Kiss's shittiness is admirable, and his constant hustling of Kiss merchandise is nearly charming, he shows the soulless core of the machine in a way that's extremely unattractive. Rock 'n' Roll is one of the few businesses where booze addled fuckups thrive. Why did Simmons and his kabuki rock machine have to hone in that action?

Family Jewels, which follows the template of the Osbournes so closely you almost expect to hear "Crazy Train" between cut scenes, is Simmons' third reality show venture. Reportedly, through selling Kiss Kaskets (and the other 2000 Kiss licensed merchandized items) and tickets for endless reunion tours, Simmons is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Why he's wasting his time on reality T.V. gig, probably the lowest paying gig in television, is beyond me. Maybe he just needs the attention.

The show sorely lacks the screaming vicodin mojo of Ozzy and Sharon. The kids, while not as British trainwreck crazy as the junior Osbournes, are a lot better looking. Shanon Tweed is a fairly normal indulgent California soccer mom and keeps things as grounded as possible under the circumstances.

Simmons's 16-year-old son Nick has a band. Gene takes an interest, which frankly become very uncomfortable. Rock star' kids should steer clear of their parents' businesses. They should be cake makers or actuarial accountants or something.

Unfortunately, knowing the current state of Kiss, there's no hope for an Ace Frehley cameo. Which is too bad. His old school Bronx drunk shtick could have brought the show to another level.