UnREAL Makes For Mighty Compelling Television

I'm not a fan of reality television and rarely watch straightforward scripted drama, so on the surface, new series UnREAL shouldn't appeal to me as a viewer. But beneath the surface, beyond the preconceptions of the genre it's parodying—that's where UnREAL truly excels; making it one of the most riveting programs I've seen in a long while.

The show's creators are Marti Noxon (she cut her teeth on Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel) and Sarah Gertrude Shapiro, who worked on The Bachelor in a variety of producing roles from 2002-2004.

The series follows the lives and adventures of a production team working on a reality show called Everlasting (similar to The Bachelor). Romance is one of my most disliked reality television sub-genres, but I hung in there because I like star Shiri Appleby (Roswell, Life Unexpected, Chicago Fire, Girls) although I had no idea she possessed the depth and intensity showcased here. When her character is revealed to be a producer for Everlasting, all the while looking incongruously disheveled in a t-shirt that says, "THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE", I really tuned in.

It's made clear from the pilot she is persona non grata on set, her character having had a breakdown last season, making the audience wonder why she's back? The question is answered when we see her manipulate the bachelor-style male lead Adam (played by Freddie Stroma) into signing a contract after he threatens to leave.

Rachel is a master manipulator. She understands the reality show's core audience, can visualize what kind of material corporate wants, and knows what strings to pull to get the reactions she needs from the contestants on camera. A part of her finds her own behavior abhorrent, another part of her psyche revels in it. She is completely self-aware, making her a magnificent anti-hero.

And here is the crux of the matter. What does one do when you're not only very, very good at your morally bankrupt job, but thrive on it, secretly adrenalized by the experience? Suffice to say I doubt Rachel's college professors envisioned a major in Women's Studies being put to use on a reality show.

These elements are part of what makes the material so fascinating. On some level nearly all the characters are being manipulated, and are also manipulative: simultaneously puppet and puppeteer. The idea that everyone has a price isn't even a question in this context, it's an assumption that fuels, and often redirects, the narrative.

Another solid factor is the way the contestants are presented—as pawns moved around the board, partially if not fully complicit in each scenario. While they're given enough depth to be believable, the audience is offered more insight into the production crew characters. Their motivations and insecurities are projected onto the contestants they "manage"; each contestant is in fact a metaphor for their particular producer's ambition, which hence subconsciously dehumanizes them in the mind of their producer handler.

The series has no real "goodies" and "baddies"—only the overly naive stand out as traditionally "good" characters but it feels like they lack the depth to conceptually understand what's happening, so they don't feel elevated.

In terms of subtext, there is so much going on. Romance and relationships are prime meat here; obviously reality television sells a cynical interpretation of true love, but that goes without saying and is almost too easy a target. Instead we watch the characters of Rachel and her boss Quinn attempt to traverse their emotional landscapes from within an emotionally unhealthy environment, i.e. one that focuses on fabricated intimacy and is propelled by the cold goal of commercial success, almost devoid of/considered exempt from ethical considerations.

Competitiveness and ambition are also key themes. In a sense these traits are great weaknesses (because they leave the characters open to manipulation), while simultaneously proving great strengths (compelling them to manipulate others on the show in a way that empowers their position in whatever hierarchy they inhabit). It’s an ugly dichotomy. Be warned—rose tinted glasses are only on the cameras.

Constance Zimmer plays Quinn King, who runs the reality series. Quinn offers her production team cash bonuses for eliciting catfights, nudity, and 911 calls, which pretty much sums up her empathic tendencies.

And yet Quinn is easily one of my favorite characters, possibly because Zimmer's portrayal completely humanizes her. Professionally Quinn is thriving in a traditionally male-dominated environment. Her intelligence and ruthlessness are tempered by moments where she does show a Quinn-esque brand of convoluted empathy: the kind that has to return some dividend, short or long term, for her character. 

In stark contrast is Quinn's lover and the show's big cahoot Chet Wilton (portrayed by Craig Bierko), a coked-up party type who also possesses ruthless business acumen. As Quinn tells Rachel—when learning she asked for Chet's help—Chet never does a favor without expecting something back. Their solemn expressions and a general sense of foreboding bring a dark, ominous foreshadowing to the scene.

A handful of episodes in and Quinn is stepping up to battle with Chet (this should be interesting); Rachel's confronted her mother (a psychiatrist who introduces us to a unique form of child abuse: ever-changing diagnoses of multiple disorders to explain Rachel's personality), not to mention embarked on a veiled and complex interaction with Adam, the show's charming but spoilt "bachelor".

It's clear from the get-go political correctness has not only been thrown out the window, but run down at high speed, before being reversed over. The rules are simple and boil down to one guiding premise: Only. Ratings. Matter. We're offered blunt, unapologetic portrayals; all gloves are off, and I love it.

Lines like "sluts get cut" (a warning to the contestant Grace, played by Nathalie Kelley, caught giving the bachelor a blow job) and Rachel reminding Adam the girls aren't hookers, highlights the confusing and often contradictory idea of female sexuality the viewing public possesses and that reality shows like Everlasting have to appease. When Adam's best friend visits the set and sexual assault behind closed doors is inferred, the contestant (Maya, played by Natasha Wilson) fuelled by fear of victim-blaming, neither confirms nor denies the incident, concerned primarily with how the situation impacts her chances on the show.

Race issues are highlighted just as bluntly. In the opening of the pilot a dark-skinned woman, Shamiqua, gets out of the contestant carriage and Quinn explodes, calling cut. The first one out is supposed to be wife material: hence she can't be black. As Quinn says, "It's not my fault America is racist, people." (Almost ironic that in highlighting these ugly facts UnREAL is presenting the reality of the situation.)

Viewers also see two dark-skinned contestants (Shamiqua and Athena, played by Christie Laing and Natasha Burnett) face a less than sterling choice; given that colored competitors rarely make it to the final, they can either play up the race card or face the possibility of getting cut. Each woman takes a different path, and watching the unfolding impact of their choices makes for thought-provoking television.

Horrifyingly, the contestants' psychological profiles are viewed as tools with which to play them. Bulimic character Anna (played by Johanna Braddy) is a prime example. After removing her “marker” food (i.e. something bright so she knows when to stop throwing up) Rachel promises to get the snack food back on set, but not before manipulating the character's fears while she’s in a weakened and vulnerable state. As expected, the dramatic fallout is ratings gold.

In the context of the show, fame is just another metaphor for success. Professional, personal, romantic: whatever the form, success is the primary goal. And it's all a game. Albeit one that's sick, twisted, complex, and let's face it, downright riveting, but still a game. I think this is brought home (literally) in the episode where Adam and Rachel attend a funeral in an attempt to regain a contestant. There is no border to the board: even offset, the game is still on. 

In a way the show is an exaggerated, satirical metaphor for life (well the way many live it nowadays) and that is the ugly beauty of UnREAL. The competition continues, and the cameras are always rolling—even when they're not. In today’s world it could be argued we're all pieces in play.