Randall Murphree
AFA Journal editor
June 2002 – More polite than the cut-throat, Survivor (CBS), more proper than the sex-charged Temptation Island (Fox), more palatable than the foul Fear Factor (NBC), on which contestants ate live roaches. It was The Bachelor, ABC/Disney’s spring entry in the “reality TV” genre.
While The Bachelor projects a more genteel tone than any of its peers, it’s just as unreal as the others. Unfortunately, it was a surprise ratings hit – reason to dread sequels in the works. The final episode on April 25 was watched by 18.2 million viewers according to Nielsen Media Research.
The premise of the series is to take one bachelor and send him to the meat market – uhm, make that a Malibu mansion – to shop for prime rib – uhm, make that a blushing bride. There are plenty of options – 25 lonely lovelies willing to compete for a chance to land Alex at the altar.
“This is no ordinary relationship show,” intoned host Chris Harrison (HGTV). “This is about something real.”
Real life, huh?
The genre
A few years back, the broadcast networks dreamed up “reality TV,” a vehicle in which to display the most unreal situations one can imagine. Competition, of course, led to the creation of the most bizarre program concepts, in the process delivering a deluge of drivel to appeal to the basest voyeuristic leanings of human nature.
The Bachelor exemplifies the “Crappy Era of network programming,” according to Ty Burr in his May 1 column (www.EW.com). “In the battle of reality TV, there are always new lows to conquer,” wrote Burr.
Other TV critics and columnists have not been even that kind. Linda Stasi wrote, “[The Bachelor is] so ill-conceived and so demeaning to women that it makes Howard Stern look like a feminist” (www.nypost.com, 3/25).
Series creator Mike Fleiss is, according to Eric Deggans of the St. Petersburg Times, a cousin to infamous Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss. This connection may be what led a number of critics to compare The Bachelor to prostitution. Or maybe it’s just the obvious parallel – women “selling” themselves on the public auction block in hopes of landing a man.
In the initial episode Alex meets the 25 contenders for his love. “The only thing missing,” wrote Stasi of the episode, “is Heidi Fleiss and a credit card machine. Yes, the scene is like a two-bit brothel filled with sad ex-prom queens who never made it past the second date after high school.”
On USA Today’s Web site, Robert Bianco also panned The Bachelor, calling Disney/ABC a “combination dating service and prime-time pimp.”
It is an apt metaphor. Should the networks continue down this reality road that demeans human dignity or elevates depravity, we should not be shocked when, down the road, Toilet Tricks of Top CEOs or The Pedophile Picks a Partner hits the airwaves.
The guy
In the March 25 debut episode of The Bachelor, some viewers thought Alex Michel was living every man’s dream – surrounded by 25 beautiful women, all hoping to be the one he’ll pick. It would be like choosing the cutest from a big litter of wriggling puppies at the pet store.
“The girls clamored to be near him, hung on [his] every word, and laughed at his jokes,” wrote Marshall Allen in “The Bachelor’s Harem”(www.boundless.com,) “Then they gushed to one another about his sweetness when he exhibited nothing more than ordinary politeness.”
Michel projects the aura of a mysterious, adventurous man. He also comes across as a smooth operator, somewhat self-obsessed, making the most of every opportunity. As for his opportunities with the 25 women at his beck and call, he did his best, whispering sweet sentiments and making out with various ones week by week. The little snippets of dialogue fed to TV viewers would suggest that he told every woman exactly what she wanted to hear.
In one episode, the women asked him if he’d ever cheated on a girlfriend.
“Uh, yeah,” he admitted, “I have cheated on a couple of girlfriends.” However, he went on to justify his unfaithful conduct because he was away from the girl for a long time. “It’s not like I ever just got drunk on a weekend and slept with somebody. I think of myself as a very good boyfriend.”
It could leave one wondering: Why would these women risk their reputations and their futures competing for the affections of a self-avowed cheater?
The girls
Glowing credentials fill the resumes of all 25 competitors. They sound like a list of Who’s Who Among Brainy Beauties. There are a couple of doctors and lawyers, an event planner, a nurse, a teacher and a few actresses. Maybe there are, indeed, more actresses. “…[A]ll 25 of these poor, matrimony-crazed women are acting up a storm,” wrote Burr. A Hooter’s waitress and a Miami Heat dance girl are also in the mix, the latter landing the final runner-up position.
Few critics are kind to the women – the adjective “desperate” is used frequently. Stasi wrote that she was “so embarrassed for the desperate women who are on this show, that I am now officially ashamed to be a woman.”
Professionally, they give Alex a formidable entourage. But the show’s premise brings most observers back to the question: What could they have been thinking to subject themselves to the idea that they are objects whose sole purpose is to titillate and tantalize a man? Sadly, that question is never really addressed by the series. In the “Loser’s Reunion,” (author’s title, not ABC’s) the individuals who responded to that question cited the idea of adventure, or just doing something different.
Amy said, “I’ve tried the bar scene, the club scene, online dating and I just haven’t met the man of my dreams.” Heads nodded in sympathy.
Even their thoughts on that question still made them, as a group, come across as Burr described them: “desperate, single, staring-down-the-biological-clock, neck-cords-strained-from-constant-smiling women.”
The game
It’s a game for one player only. The revolving game board boasts a posh Malibu beachfront villa, New York City streets, a glitzy Las Vegas casino, an opulent desert spa, and homes of middle America. The player manipulates and toys with the emotions of 25 game pieces, each one pleading in so many ways, “Please, please, please, take ME to the altar!”
The player subjectively evaluates each exquisite game piece, eager to determine which one is most nearly his soul mate, which one can make him happy, be his beautiful trophy wife and bear him beautiful children.
At designated stages along the way, the player must eliminate a given number of the game pieces. It’s called “Invitation Night” and the player offers a rose to each woman chosen for the next round of competition, asking, “Will you accept this rose?”
At the end of the first episode, he faced the 25 hopefuls, then devastated 10 of them by eliminating them from consideration for the final prize – himself. “Yes,” wrote Stasi, “he eliminates them like a john at the Mayflower Madam’s house.” In the weeks ahead he would reduce the contenders to eight, then four, three, two and one.
No matter how much ABC insists the show edifies women, it is a hollow claim. “There are several instances where they remind the girls, and the viewers, that this is not as chauvinistic as it may seem,” wrote Allen. “Several lines in the script are affirming to women, but taken in the show’s context they’re so out of place and self-conscious they become non-sequiturs.”
On each Invitation Night, the host reminds the nervous women that they are “empowered” – they can refuse the rose, Alex’s invitation to proceed to the next level.
Yeah, right. Guess how many refused a rose. Right – not one. At the Loser’s Reunion, one insisted she was going to refuse the rose if Alex had offered her one. Sure. We believe that, too.
When the player has narrowed the field to three, the overnight dates include a shared hotel room – if they so desire. Amanda looked forward to the overnight. “I’m excited,” she said. “It’s a perfect opportunity to see how physical it could get.”
During her private night with Alex, Amanda ordered room service – ice cream and chocolate sauce. Viewers were startled to see her slathering the food on herself. Whatever followed that is, fortunately, left to the imagination. But she must have found the way to Alex’s heart. Alex picked Amanda!
In “The Bachelor Rings Sleaze-ometer’s Chime” (www.sjmercury.com) Charlie McCollum sums up the show: “The Bachelor may be the most vile, cynical, tacky, sexist, degrading piece of television to float by in some time.”
In the Loser’s Reunion, Angelique the actress acknowledged demurely, “A lot of people do think it’s degrading.”
And she’s right. We do. But only for obvious reasons. 
