It’s high summer and that means “Big Brother” is well underway. A Los Angeles-based TV reality show, “Big Brother” sequesters 15 pieces of 20-something eye candy (plus a token older adult who usually is the first to go) for 99 days in a well product-placed house. There, they vie for the “power of eviction,” which allows them to nominate a rival to be voted out by the other house members. The winner receives a half-million-dollar prize. Over its 20 seasons, the show has finetuned its cast to represent the width, breadth and beauty (physical beauty, anyway) of all-American diversity. LGBTQ house guests have run the full spectrum. They’ve been good players and bad, endearing and annoying, but all just part of everyday America. It’s been great for the community, allowing the country to see LGBTQs normalized.
Still, normalcy doesn’t make for good ratings. Two decades of any TV reality show can reduce its viewers to yawning ennui that would have them switching to “Two Broke Girls” reruns for their fix of mindless entertainment. So, this year’s ensemble reflects “Big Brother’s” astute casting evolution from regular-ish guys and gals to quirky sideshow types to Millennial freaks. And, in that, this season presents us with a looking-glass reflection of our national discontent and division. The show’s producers deserve credit where credit is due; they’ve managed to monetize the nation’s woes and have created potential inter-cast conflict deftly rooted in our pervading fears and bigotries.
When the season began back in June, among the guys were a Second Amendment hunk; a Muslim hunk; a chiseled, blond lifeguard; the fly black guy with his self-given “Swaggy C” nickname (that, lest we forget, was emblazoned across all his clothing); a sleek, nerdy, virgin ginger; and a hefty, 40+ ex-cop from New Jersey (he was the first evicted, of course). Covering the gay base was a little person—a 4’8” Latino bodybuilder-dancer. Among the uniformly buxom women were the twangy country-girl welder; a psychology major coed; a natural birth, stay-at-home mom; a life coach into crystal (the magical minerals, not meth); and the bible-thumping, black, “nice but nasty” flight attendant. A bi-racial football player provided the obligatory lesbian. The bros, always shirtless, pose a lot; the women incessantly cry. They all lie to finesse their way to the prize.
Social media groups follow the action, allowing the audience (oddly, a largely 50+ demographic) to scathingly opine about who they love and hate. The gay guy, JC, isn’t particularly loved. Being a little person, he naturally brings a certain discomfort to some. Then there’s the Latino (read: immigrant) part and the gay part. Plus, he’s effusively ebullient in a short, gay Charo way.
In a my-oppression-is-greater-than-thine exchange—when the black flight attendant obliviously dropped the “m-word”—JC tried to explain its inherent offensiveness by comparing it to the “n-word” by obliviously saying the “n-word.” That didn’t go well. He’s also accused of sexually harassing both his male and female houseguests. The last bit seems ironic enough, given the show’s driving tits-and-abs dynamics, with many cast heteros rotating bedmates since night one. But then, judging others is best when we can condemn them of our own moral failings. It’s a reality show, after all.
