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 Once upon a time, I was on a reality TV show. I can't tell you which one it was, or what I did on it, because I signed a contract that said I wouldn't disclose details and that I'd be liable in the amount of $5 million if I did. So no details here; I'm not even using my name, in case someone out there knows which reality TV show I was on and might be able to put together the pieces and "damage" the producers of the show in the amount of $5 million. I think, though, that my experience was pretty typical, at least in the most important ways. I think that contract I signed was pretty standard, and it not only included that clause that said I couldn't ever tell the truth about what happened there, it also contained what I've seen referred to as a "consent to deceive" clause. In short, the contract said that the producers of the show might be lying to me about how they planned to use the footage, that they might choose to make me look bad (or even misrepresent me), and that I was agreeing that I understood and accepted all that and couldn't do anything about it later. Of course, reality TV couldn't survive without that clause. Jerry Springer can't tell people in advance that their girlfriends are going to tell them on national television that they secretly had children with their closest relatives. You can't lay a trap for someone on a television show designed to break up marriages…um, I mean, test fidelity…and then say, "Okay, now we're going to throw this really hot guy in your path, and we'll be filming the whole thing for your husband—so let's see what happens when you "spontaneously" meet this hot guy." In short, reality TV wouldn't work if the producers couldn't lie and trick the participants. And the participants do agree to it, so there's a fair argument to be made that they get what they bargained for. But there's a bigger issue in play, maybe more than one. First, there's a reason for that $5 million threat. It's because the producers of reality TV shows PRESENT them as reality, as truth, even as they're warning participants that what they present to the world may very well be a fabrication pieced together from unrelated clips to create the entirely wrong impression—better press, you know. The theoretical appeal of the genre is that it's real people having real experiences, but they're engineered in a way that rarely corresponds with what a real person would experience. In other words, they're lies, and the participants sign contracts specifically designed to prevent them from telling the truth. Think about it: that contract says, in essence, "We're going to perpetrate a huge hoax on the American public, and you agree that we can sue you if you tell them." Good public policy, don't you think? You might be thinking that everyone knows that reality TV isn't about reality. You might not be surprised at all if I told you about the great lengths we went to in order to orchestrate a chance encounter, or how many times we re-filmed certain "spontaneous" conversations. You might even know that you're told in advance what to wear, and to dress for the season in which the show will be airing and not the one that you're in the middle of. The elaborate stage direction might be a given for you. But if that's the case, I think that you're in the minority. I've been paying attention and engaging people in discussion about the issue since that day, and I've been surprised by what I've heard. The fact that it's a lie, designed to misrepresent people and the realities of life on a large scale, is enough to put me off. But there's more. Like so much else in today's world, reality TV is escalating in order to stay interesting, and it's escalating in disturbing and possibly dangerous directions. This may come as a news flash to some in the television industry, but eating cockroaches is not healthy. Climbing between moving trucks is a bit risky. Exposing married couples to temptation just to see whether we can get them to cheat for our entertainment value is morally questionable. And having someone drive blindfolded to test his faith in his spouse is dangerous and probably illegal. And speaking of illegal…anyone catch that classic car going out of the airplane? I’m sure that the producers of the Ex-Wives Club paid for that car—and equally sure that anyone who followed in their footsteps by taking revenge on the ex’s prize property would neglect that little step. All of that, perhaps, pales in comparison to the Kid Nation contract, which reportedly signed over all parental authority to the show's producers for a period of six weeks and did not allow any "interference" from the children's parents. Sure, again we can say that all these people knew what they were signing on for, but does the issue really end there? What about the active encouragement of dangerous stunts simply to prove yourself (or win money), the ratification of revenge and destruction of other people's property, the failure to mention the health and legal ramifications if you "try this at home"? Do we want to live in a world where people sign contracts saying that it's okay to lie to them and trick them, where they promise to preserve the lie at the risk of millions of dollars in liability, where they're encourage to eat things that will make them sick and do things that might be crimes (and certainly would be if they occurred outside the production of a television show) and risk their lives and their marriages in the name of sensational entertainment? Or worse, in which we become so accustomed to those things that we begin to believe that they ARE entertainment? In which we rent out our kids in its interest? I vote no. All in all, I think it’s pretty ironic to hear the producers of reality TV talk about how they might be damaged. By, of all things, the truth.
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