Strangers in paradise

At Fox's "Paradise Hotel," dimwitted booze hounds check in ... but they don't check out! And it might be the best reality show disaster on TV.

By Heather Havrilesky

Aug. 2, 2003 | While most normal, sane human beings loathe reality TV and see this as a low point in our cultural history, I feel lucky to bear witness to such a pivotal time in televised entertainment. Right now, we're in that precious pocket between the invention of a new genre and the point at which that genre is standardized into bland uniformity. Soon, unpredictably awful reality TV will be a thing of the past, and those who pooh-poohed it will look back with nostalgia and longing, the way we now look back on discotheques, bad perms and Shaun Cassidy iron-on T-shirts. Sure, we thought "Herbie, the Love Bug" was corny when we were little kids, but who doesn't long for the days when the hit movie of the summer starred a compact car?

At this extraordinary juncture in reality TV's short history, one show stands out among the others. Yes, one show perfectly captures that fleeting pop cultural moment, that rare glimpse at the unearthly underbelly of the American psyche, an amalgamation of sights and sounds that bemuse and bewilder and enfeeble the mind, a moment when time stands still just long enough for you to say, "Sweet Jesus this is bad." "Paradise Hotel" is the quintessential winning failure, the crowning disaster, the Hindenburg of untested reality formulas.

But who knew that a concept so simple -- lure unsuspecting, mildly attractive morons into a lush setting, serve them an endless supply of TGI Fridays-style fruity alcoholic beverages, and leave the cameras running around the clock -- could bring about two scintillating hours of tragicomedy per week?

You really have to hand it to the producers of this show, though. Instead of calling it "Drunk Asshole Hotel," which might have raised a few red flags, even among the pea-brained flesh monkeys chosen to appear, they selected the wildly deceptive title "Paradise Hotel," cleverly obscuring the show's true thrust and emphasizing the paradise part. Like convincing a little kid that liver tastes just like chocolate, the host keeps braying about paradise: how great it is in paradise, how they're staying at the most exotic and exclusive hotel in the world and how, if they're not careful they'll get kicked out of paradise ... forever! Oh no! The tanned cretins get bug-eyed and jittery, pawing at the earth, rolling their sad eyes at the sky and gnashing their teeth ...

Look how relaxing paradise is! Even though being trapped in a small space with a collection of people almost as stupid as you are while your catastrophically dimwitted interactions are broadcast to a jeering nation could hardly be considered anything but purgatory, it doesn't matter. The amazing thing about people this shallow is that, as long as the piña coladas are flowing and the sun is shining, no one seems to care about the cameras, and no one wants to leave. What are they supposed to do? Who knows? What's the prize? There is no prize! Who the hell cares? It's paradise, damn it! The chick with the Australian accent just said so again!

Oh, but when the ax falls and someone is kicked out of paradise, that's when paradise gets very sad and circumspect. That's when the natives of paradise sigh deeply and pick at their manicures. Last week, when newcomer Tara chose Beau, casting Amanda out of paradise (forever), the mood was more solemn than the last scene of "Saving Private Ryan" when Tom Hanks' bottom lip starts to quiver and then he collapses and Matt Damon vows to honor his death by living well and doing only high-quality independent movies instead of crappy commercial ones like Ben Affleck does.

Host: (grasping both of Amanda's hands) Ooohh, Amanda, this is very difficult for everybody here tonight. How do you feel?

Amanda: (through tears) It might be more difficult for some of those people than me right now. (bravely) I, I'm ready to go home.

Host: You are?

Amanda: (high-pitched, through tears) Yeah.

Host: Is there anything you want to say to the guys tonight?

Amanda: Um ... You guys have taught me a lot about myself, and, um, about growing with people. Tara? No hard feelings, no hard feelings.

Beau: (through tears) Good for you!

Amanda: Beau? Thank you for all your support, all the talks, all the love.

Beau: (weeping) We'll have more!

Poor confused, emotional Beau! Once the very heart and soul of paradise, he's been split in two by his love for Amanda! First Amanda seemed to really like him -- she said her mom would think he was adorable, didn't she? But that must have been the kiss of death for poor Beau, because the next thing you know, Amanda's saying they're just friends, and then she starts flirting with Alex, then she kissed Zack, then her ex-boyfriend visited and she really seemed to love him, even though he was all butt-white and sober. You see, the natives of paradise are suspicious of outsiders, with their strange pale skin and oddly unhistrionic way of speaking. Why did Amanda disappear with a guy she'd known for years, they asked themselves, instead of spending time with us, her true friends of a few weeks? Her actions shook the very foundations of paradise! Beau was heartbroken! Kristin complained, "We never saw you, for two days!" Even so, Amanda let her ex-boyfriend leave without her, because damn it, this is paradise we're talking about!

Next page: When everything explodes into a dazzling burst of passionate head-cocking and lip gloss