I would nod my head vigorously if I were among a group of friends and anyone said disparaging things about the Monday night show, The Bachelor. I would nod so that no one would find me out for having watched it. But for just a minute, I'm going to take off my clothes, so to speak, and reveal to you the cellulite of my brain.
I am, along with one of my very smart friends (who shall remain nameless to protect her reputation) a closet watcher of this beyond-ridiculous show wherein a bunch of "girls" (they are all called girls even though they are in their twenties and thirties) swoon over the bachelor of the season, hoping in the end to be the winner, the recipient of an impressive diamond and a proposal for marriage.
My name is Linda and I am a narrative addict. And this cheesy show has some notable narrative elements:
First, we have our handsome leading man, made even more attractive to "the girls' because he is a single father. ("I'd given up on ever finding such a genuine good man like you," one says). His single-fatherdom also gives him an out: If he doesn't want to kiss a girl, he takes the high road and says it's because he doesn't want his daughter to see him kissing on TV. (We do not believe him)
He also has a Latin accent--which, as we all know, makes a man all the more sexy. And he knows his moves, both on the soccer field and as a lover of girls. We know this because he doesn't resist full-on kissing and making out with the three or four girls he really likes, never mind the prospect of his daughter catching the scenes on TV.
Juan Pablo is not, by the way, ever referred to as a "boy."
Juan Pablo is a "man," a full-fledged grown up. (Turns out he was a reject on a recent season of The Bachelorette--where he was one of the house-full of "men" vying for the favor of the one pretty "girl.")
Second, we have our seekers: of fame? of marriage? of notoriety?
Two of Juan's favorites, both blonde beauties, come across very differently when JP is around (they are "hot" according to the bachelor) than when they are back in the mansion with "the girls." Among their rivals, the words of these two are often bleeped out. The other females in the pack do not think those two are hot at all: one is flagrantly aggressive, the other less so, but these two girls despise each other, adding the narrative element of conflict.
Another favorite of our bachelor is an opera singer, the only one half-hearted about being there--even though she keeps receiving stay-roses. (Let's call her our only Possibly-Dimensional character) According to the teaser last night she may decide to go home next week, never mind all the roses she's already gotten.
Among the rivals for JP's favor, we have our all-American single mom, a nurse, a perky attorney, a hair stylist, the majority of the original cast already banished from the kingdom and "sent home." At the end of the night, the Star gives roses to the keepers--and the unfortunate rejects ride away in tears, cameras rolling. They are, understandably, deflated. After all, each banished girl has finally found someone "to spend the rest of my life with." They all say that, almost verbatim, as they ride away in the black limousine, their humiliation making them all the more attractive.
So why do I watch this ridiculous, politically incorrect, flat-charactered show? Why do I keep hoping that one of these people will broach a subject besides themselves, anything--politics, literature, religion, their work, music!--which never happens?
The opera singer tried a time or two to open up the conversation--but Don Juan silenced her by stroking her beautiful face and looking longingly into her eyes. (He has just, moments before, done the exact same moves with a few other girls, but only the singer is visibly bristling and looking into the distance.) You can see the writing on the wall. She's either going to take her roses and go home next week, or she's going to stretch it out all the way to the proposal and refuse the bachelor's offer, take that, Don Juan!
Maybe I like watching it so I can write a critical blog post, revealing that I really do get how stupid the show is while I'm spending two hours watching, so you won't think me superficial.
Maybe it appeals to my fascination with romance, period, however flat. And maybe, after all, that's the way certain twenty- and thirty-somethings do talk and fall in love?
Or, maybe, I just like a weekly taste of cotton candy....
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