Photo Credit: Jean-Gabriel Fernandez
The rainbow crosswalk at Cathedral Square.
In another sign of the waning pandemic, the popular TV reality show “Big Brother” is back. A staple of mindless summer viewing for 23 seasons hosted by Julie Chen (who since the flap over her husband’s sexual misconduct, now introduces herself as Julie Chen-Moonves in spousal solidarity), the show sequesters 16 contestants in the “Big Brother” house. There they compete in challenges to gain the title “head of household” (HOH) that gives them the power to nominate other house guests for eviction. The last player standing wins a cash prize at the season’s end.
A window into a certain slice of American reality, the show has always made an awkwardly obvious effort to cast contestants who reflect the nation’s melting pot population. The range of “house guests” spans dopey affable jocks to tough moms or dads of varied walks-of-life, ethnicities and identities. All are good looking and mostly 20-somethings (except the moms or dads but they usually get evicted first).
Throughout its run (and as recently as 2019), the production’s poor filtering of contestants led to some unfortunate outbursts of racism and homophobia among the house guests. It appeared as though the sometimes-sociopathic casting was designed to drive conflict and add to the game’s dynamics (to be fair, it’s a reality show).
Deliberate Diversity?
Now, the cast is deliberately diverse but, for all intents and purposes, as much as the competitive premise of the game permits, harmoniously compatible. In any case, inter-cast conflicts are no longer (or at least not overtly) predicated by culture war issues, but rather simply by the nature of the game.
Usually, LGBTQ contestants stand out in a crowd. Several seasons ago, a gay Republican Hispanic little person, in his effusive way, charmed and annoyed viewers and house guests in a manner reminiscent of the 1970’s ever-ebullient Latina entertainer, Charo. When a Black female contestant referred to him with the “m” word, he tried to explain the offense by comparing it to the “n” word by saying the “n” word.
Suffice it to say, it proved some teaching moments remain best unsaid. Others have been deemed “obnoxiously gay” even by LGBTQ fans who appreciate being represented but not to the point of embarrassment. The show has also brought viewers an emotional coming out and a couple of same sex showmances (Platonic and otherwise).
Pull Out the Stops!
This season, the producers have pulled out all the diversity stops with eight people of color and at least three (maybe four, depending on whom you ask) LGBTQs. Of the latter, there’s an opulently full figured Black gay guy, Derek, son of champion heavy weight boxer, Smokin’ Joe Frazier; a girl-next-door lesbian (maybe bi depending on whom you ask), Sarah Beth; and Claire, a bisexual woman, whose opening introduction underscored her sexual orientation by listing a litany of her former partners of both sexes. The fourth possible candidate is Kyland, a hunky bro type of color, who, it seems, identifies as pansexual. He currently has a girlfriend.
This year there’s a Milwaukee representative, a strikingly handsome, presumably straight, Black male lawyer who stands out in a crowd for his uncomplicated low-profile demeanor. The other guys, financier cum beach-bum/surfer Travis—and his doppelganger, contractor Christian and an apparently non-gay flight attendant, Brent—fall into the inevitable muscle-boy bro category.
Among the remaining women there’s a good bit of diversity as well. There’s the obligatory elder, Tiffany, a 40-year-old phlebotomist and mother; Hannah, a sort of Kamala Harris homage of Black South African-Indian descent; another, Azah, covers the Cameroonian princess category. Her autobiographical intro mentioned her polygamous grandfather’s six wives and 49 children. As for the rest, think Pedal Tavern bachelorette party.
The series seems as superficial as it could get, offering its TV and Internet viewership a bland blend of entertainment, eye-candy and product placement. Yet, its shift towards more positive messaging may reflect the evolving mood of a nation tiring of division and tribalism. An indication of that trend is a once unthinkable and still paradoxical alliance forged between the show’s Black and extravagantly gay son of a legendary boxer (unto itself a seeming paradox), Derek from urban Philly with the very white Brandon, a down-home farmer and father of three from rural Tennessee.
As peripheral as that relationship may be in the grander “Big Brother” scheme of things, it provides a subliminal parable for many, and may indicate a moment when a reality show supersedes current reality and helps bring about a better one.
