How real is unREAL?

Shiri Appleby (L) and Constance Zimmer in unREAL

Way back before the dawn of time – okay, 1979 – Robin Williams released his first comedy album. It was called Reality- What a Concept. If you want to hear it you can still find it on YouTube; it’s great, if a little dated. However even the mercurial mind of Robin Williams would have been blown by modern notions of reality; to paraphrase Humpty Dumpty, when we use reality now it means whatever we choose it to mean.

I was thinking of this as I was watching the first episode of unREAL, the latest behind the scenes glossy TV drama from Lifetime. The main aim of unREAL is to lift the lid on reality television in the sense of allowing some daylight in on the magic of constructed reality. Although it appears oxymoronic, constructed reality is exactly what it says. It is a version of life constructed by real people who are in effect playing themselves; life without the boring bits as Hitchcock once said of drama. The best examples in this country are shows like The Only Way is Essex or Made in Chelsea in which cameras are always on hand to record the feuds and fights of everyday folk.

unREAL is based on a short film called Sequin Raze, written and directed by Sarah Gertrude Shapiro which was itself inspired by her four years as a producer on The Bachelor. In that reality show, an eligible male is expected to choose a bride from a pool of around two dozen eligible women. If you’ve seen the show you might share my view that it is a sign that we are approaching the end of days; these women generally debase themselves in order to catch the eye of the hunk du jour. The hunk has all the power. He can make or break the rules on a whim, in an especially demeaning sequence eliminated women get to come back and plead for another chance. Think of Gladiator but with lip gloss and more pouting.

The Bachelor is a perfect example of constructed reality. The narrative unfolds at the whim of the showrunner; the Caesar of this digital Coliseum who gets to decide who lives or dies. Caesar also chooses who gets to play which roles; who is the psycho villain, who is the needy ingénue, who is going to be the audience favourite, who is going to be the butt of the jokes. It’s an awesome responsibility because all the while even Caesar is vulnerable, this electronic emperor lives or dies at the whim of the audience figures.

In unREAL, created by Shapiro, the show in question is called Everlasting which is to all intents and purposes, The Bachelor in disguise. The hunk here is a hotel tycoon who needs the publicity and the women are there to win his wallet, if not his heart. Caesar is the androgynously named Quinn King (Constance Zimmer), a producer who runs her world from a control booth with a walkie talkie and a will of iron, dispensing favour and cruelty in equal measure as she attempts to construct a romantic narrative for the benefit of the baying audience. Also here is Rachel, Maximus to Quinn’s Caesar. Rachel (Shiri Appleby) was the best in the business at getting the all-important sound bites even at the cost of destroying the contestants’ lives, but she flipped out on set in the last series and ruined the show. Rachael really knows how it works; like Fitzgerald’s Monroe Stahr in The Last Tycoon she has the whole equation in her head. Quinn needs Rachael but can Rachael be trusted? When we see her first she’s wearing a ‘This is what a feminist looks like’ T-shirt, so I’m guessing someone is in for a surprise.

On the basis of the first hour there is the usual backstage intrigue; old romances, simmering rivalries, the air of quiet desperation and barely suppressed panic. But what is interesting for me is how much daylight is allowed to intrude on the lengths they go to in order to manipulate the story, producers posing as extras to direct scenes from within for example. Or the quite naked exposure of commercial interests; the male star will only go on if one of his hotels is used as a location with a prominent shot of the exterior. And there we were thinking all of those close-ups of restaurants, spas and boutiques in Real Housewives were just because they were really good stores.

But even more interesting I think is that the audience won’t care. Rather like Matthew Lillard’s deconstruction of the slasher movie in Scream, the audience is being told all the way through how it is being gulled by shows like these. It’s like a magician explaining how the trick is done while it’s being done. But it doesn’t matter because it’s reality.

And it’s a big hit. What a concept.

So, who made you do this one Channing?

The Western actor Hugh O’Brian said there are four stages in an actor’s career: ‘Who’s Hugh O’Brian? Get me Hugh O’Brian. Get me a young Hugh O’Brian. Who’s Hugh O’Brian?’

Obviously O’Brian was smarter than many of the roles he played but in fact there are really only two stages in an actor’s career; the first stage when the work chooses you, and the second stage when you choose the work. Channing Tatum is happily in stage two but a couple of weeks ago he made headlines by referring to the first stage of his career in which he was ‘forced’ to do G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra.

Let’s be clear. It’s not like anyone was putting a gun to his head or holding relatives hostage. The ‘forcing’ came about as the result of a contractual obligation to a three-picture deal for which he was doubtless handsomely recompensed. As it goes The Rise of Cobra made a lot of money, so much so that the sequel G.I. Joe: Retaliation had production interrupted to include even more Tatum. Presumably he was even more handsomely recompensed for this; if he wasn’t he should be looking for a new agent.

Neither film was especially bad of its type, the second one was better and not just because of added Channing. They made a lot of money and very firmly established Tatum as a star, and put him into the stage of his career where he chooses the work rather than vice versa. Which made me wonder as I was watching Magic Mike XXL; why choose this Channing?

It’s a sequel to Magic Mike, a movie based on Tatum’s brief career interval as a male stripper. It starred Tatum, Alex Pettyfer, and Matthew McConaughey and was probably the film that kicked off the hopefully short-lived McConnaisance. Perhaps most notably Magic Mike was directed by Steven Soderbergh and if the one thing you can say about a Soderbergh film is that there is no such thing as a Soderbergh film, even for him this seemed a left-field choice.

The problem with Magic Mike is that the idea was too thin. It ran out of steam by the end of the second act leaving us with a leaden finale which turns the film into a dull and worthy morality tale. But how do you craft a sequel to a story that could barely sustain one film. The answer is simple; you just don’t bother with a story.

Magic Mike XXL makes as much sense as it title. Two of the principals from the first movie – McConaughey and Pettyfer – aren’t involved here and the story revolves around the remainder of the troupe of male entertainers getting together again for one final hoorah, at a stripper conference in Myrtle Beach.

There is no characterisation or nuance. Every line lands with a dull expository thud. There is no drama, nothing is risked, and there is nothing at stake. Magic Mike XXL is like one long hen night – they are doing the show because they are doing the show. One last ride? So what? It’s a collection of bump and grind dance numbers with no obvious intention other than objectification and titillation.

Soderbergh is missing this time, or sort of. His loyal lieutenant Gregory Jacobs is in the director’s chair but Soderbergh did shoot it and cut it which means he is presumably responsible for some jarring editorial choices. There are moments in the Andie MacDowell hen party sequence which suggest they just don’t have the coverage.

What is most disturbing about Magic Mike XXL is what it says about women, or how those involved regard them. Mike and his pals are simply fresh meat for various frenzied mobs of women. The suggestion here is that sexual empowerment for women consists of nothing more than having a well-oiled, hard-bodied male cram his crotch into your face. Meanwhile Jada Pinkett Smith gives the same performance she gives in every film prowling around as a sleazy MC telling the ladies that this is what they really want. Amirite girls?

The Bechdel Test is well established now but films like this suggest we need a new version, perhaps something that quantifies just how egregious a film is. Something like this which manages to infantilise men and women and objectifies both would set the bar pretty low.

But to go back to where we started maybe there is a third stage to an actor’s career after all. There is the stage where the work chooses you, the stage where you choose the work, and the stage where they pay you so much money that you just don’t care. That I would suggest is where Tatum is at round about now. And with talk of Magic Mike 3 in the offing, one final question; just how much money is enough, Channing?

Peak Minion and the new abnormal

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Hollywood has an originality problem. As the industry becomes increasingly risk averse the notion of taking a punt on an unproven property becomes even more remote. Producer Lynda Obst wrestles with this issue in her entertaining book Sleepless in Hollywood. Obst is a veteran – her first screen credit was Flashdance which almost makes her a dinosaur – with a distinguished career but she confesses to being a little nonplussed by what she calls ‘the new abnormal’ which now exists in Hollywood.

This new abnormal is obsessed with IP rather than ideas. It wants intellectual property, a pre-tested, pre-digested, pre-sold product from another medium that it can retool for the movies. It doesn’t do originality; the website Den of Geek is keeping track and according to their latest estimate there are 140 sequels in various stages of production and that doesn’t included remakes, re-imaginings or whatever other synonym applies to the creatively bereft.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is a perfect example; we reach the end of Phase Two with Ant-Man next month, then Phase Three is rolled out with another ten films scheduled between May 2016 and November 2019. The new abnormal has taken something which was fun and glorious – a four-colour, nine panel, comic book – and turned it into a corporate balance sheet. The quality isn’t important, and I will concede the MCU has been lucky so far in producing some cracking films. But this isn’t about quality, it’s all about recognition factor and continuity of product.

Which brings me to Minions. A bunch of characters who look like ambulatory temazepam, they were introduced in Despicable Me as anarchic and unruly underlings to supervillain Gru in an animated film which was obviously going to be a franchise. Despicable Me 2 duly followed in 2013 and Despicable Me 3 is on that Den of Geek list for 2017. However the world is apparently crying out for more little yellow henchmen and four years is just too long between fixes, hence the new movie.

Let’s be clear from the outset, Minions is fun. It’s agreeably daft, and in the best traditions of modern commercial movie making it is effectively an origin story. These banana-yellow single-celled creatures evolved from the primordial soup with only one aim; to find a villain and support them without question. Unfortunately their zeal in serving their masters and the quality of their strategic advice seem to be at odds which does tend to make their supervillain bosses somewhat expendable.

A collective ennui falls over the tribe until the redoubtable Kevin, decides he will go out into the world and find a new evil master worthy of their undying servitude. Accompanied by fellow minions Bob and Stuart he sets off an epic journey which leads them to Scarlett Overkill, the world’s wickedest woman, and a plot to steal the crown of the young Queen Elizabeth II – the story is set in 1968.

It all moves along very efficiently. There are some very funny gags, some gentle satire on geekdom, and a skilful voice cast that includes Sandra Bullock, Jon Hamm, Michael Keaton, and Alison Janney. Not to mention director Pierre Coffin who apparently voices all 899 minions. Chapeau M. Coffin!

But for all the fun that it provides, and there are several laugh out loud moments, there is also something slightly dispiriting about this film. The minions seem to have lost their spark. In Despicable Me there was a wildness to the characters, they were a manifestation of chaos theory, a little like modern-day Gremlins. In the intervening five years they have been softened somewhat, made kiddie-friendly, and in the process lost their edge. The result is hundreds of millions of dollars in box office, gaming, and merchandising revenue but at the cost of their spark.

Minions will be an enormous international hit; possibly the most successful film of the year. Then there is Despicable Me 3 of course and I get the feeling that they are ideal for an animated TV series. All of this means that, considered as part of the new abnormal, we are a long way away from peak Minion.

The Pacific? Not so terrific....

I have been meaning to write about this for several weeks but kept putting it off in the hope that things might improve. It was billed as 'The television event of the year' by Sky which in Skyspeak translates to 'we've paid a shedload of money for this and we are going to cram it into every nook and cranny in the schedule'.

The big selling point is that this is Band of Brothers but in the Pacific theatre. Once again we have Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks behind the scenes and a cast of largely unknown actors in front of the camera. The problem is that the world has changed since Band of Brothers which was a product of the pre-9/11 mindset; now with America mired in a morale sapping conflict it seems a harder sell to an audience watching combat footage on the nightly news.

Narratively there are big issues too. Band of Brothers, as the title suggests, is about a tight-knit group of men who participate in a twelve-episode story that lasts just under eleven months - June 1944 to May 1945. That is bound to make for a gripping cohesive storyline. In The Pacific, however, eleven months often elapse between episodes and the cast is much more widely dispersed in a conflict which is much less well known to its audience. It's hard to care about characters when you don't see them for weeks at a time.

I'm glad I waited to write this because the past three episodes - five, six, and seven - have seen the series hit something of a stride. These three programmes cover the bloody battles on the tiny island of Peleliu, an action I had never heard of before. This is essentially the war in the Pacific in microcosm, the action is relentless and brutal and astonishingly violent. Spielberg has been here before in Saving Private Ryan so he knows the audience is almost unshockable but he still manages to jolt the viewer with a combination of unrelenting bombardment and individual moments of horror such as a group of soldiers killing a wounded comrade to prevent him giving away their position to the enemy.

This I suspect is the series as it should have been, especially in the sense of it being a young soldier's baptism of fire. The combat is interwoven with moments of sincere friendship and genuine tenderness that makes some of the forced patriotism ring extremely hollow. However no one would go for a three hour miniseries in this day and age so we have ten episodes whether we need them or not - so much better for the box set sales.

But it is in this tryptych of episodes that The Pacific shows what it might have been and it becomes a more frustrating experience because of that.