Whether or not I am sickened by the idea of my viewership adding to the riches and critical narcissism or every Bravolebrity, I’m hopelessly addicted to The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Ergo, when I saw the promo for Vanderpump Rules on a commercial break of monday’s episode, I marked the date in my calendar. Because I have a problem, and I even watch the spin-offs.
Although Beverly Hills cast member Lisa Vanderpump is the namesake of the new Bravo show, the series ostensibly has very little to do with her. The focal point is the hot sexy staff of Vanderpump’s restaurant SUR and their hot sexy interbreeding and social dalliances. Oh, and the name is an abbreviation, meaning Sexy Unique Restaurant. Which is PERFECT, because the type of employee it attracts clearly speaks in abbrevs. You know, normal words have too many letters to remember.
The gals are doe-eyed, waifish, and tan, the dudes are gym rats with shorn chests, and everyone sleeps with each other. At SUR, they take shots, party, go skinny dipping, make out, put on cabarets, and dance. They go “wooo!” alot. They curse each other out. One of the dudes tells a girl “You’re a disease in this place.” We can’t help but wonder if he may be speaking literally and this restaurant ends up developing its own strain of Chlamydia. Now there’s a plot twist! Whining, infighting, and that signature Bravo self-obsession and exhibitionism are plentiful. What seems to be missing from the show is the part where they seat people and take orders. Like, do their jobs.
So It’s like the cast of The Hills with the tempers of The Bad Girl’s Club, but there are dudes, and everyone is forced into the same space regularly under the guise of “working” together. But the thing that may make it watchable is the fact that there is someone to yell at all of them and let them know how not special and poorly behaved they are. Enter the honorable judge Vanderpump and her no-bullshit attitude delivered in that British accent that gives every reprimand that much more bite. At one of the staff meetings, she yells out over her roost of horny chicklets, “I’m glad this is playtime to you, because it’s not playtime to me.” They hang their heads in shame, like puppies who have dirtied the floor. Likely, she will make someone cry. Instead of just shouting insults at the screen like the people will hear them, she will hopefully do some of that work for us. Albeit, in a largely permissive manner, and in a fashion that Bravo intended to be “motherly.” In either case, I will be curled up on my couch watching the premiere, relishing in the hate-watch joy. My new years resolution to get rid of trash TV can wait til 2014.