Delicious AND good for you?
How the Traitors became the first "ethical" reality TV format.
*** SOME SPOILERS ARE INCLUDED ABOUT SERIES 2 OF THE TRAITORS UK ***
“I’m addicted to you. Don’t you know that you’re toxic?” So sang Britney Spears providing a conduit for songwriter Cathy Dennis who was, it’s rumoured, writing about Supervet Noel Fitzpatrick. But that’s not important right now.
It’s a sentiment that works equally well with the national addiction to reality TV. Or the evolving “constructed reality” genre that now swarms the EPG like an enthusiastic virus.
People are put in a place and seemingly interact organically while an army of producers act as subtle shepherds behind the scenes, whispering “come by” in their ears when the cameras (and we) aren’t looking.
And so often, it is toxic. To the participants and to the viewers who slowly become desensitised to the humanity of the dupes on screen. We view them in the same way we do people taken in by a pyramid scheme.
They knew what they were getting into, their greed led to their downfall and we shed no tears for them. So long, suckers.
But watching the new series of The Traitors (BBC One) I have become convinced that something else is going on and it’s making me feel actually good about watching it. As opposed to the usual guilt of seeing dumb animals tortured for my entertainment. I can’t do that anymore. I take no pleasure in it.
But The Traitors is different and I will tell you for why. It is the closest we have come to seeing those puppet strings being pulled in real time and it’s a better show for it. I’ll explain.
The Traitors takes “ordinary” people (some will of course have tried their hand at television before and they all volunteered for a TV show so judge for yourself how normal an ambition that is) and it offers them cash. Thousands of pounds if they can stick out the whole process and inveigle themselves onto the winning team come the final. So far, so similar to every other format.
It is not trying to be a “social experiment” or a chance to observe humans in their natural habitat as they become slowly cut off from actual reality. It’s a game show. Nothing more. When they are together, they are playing that game at all times.
The cruellest element of most reality formats is the enforced closeness to other people, sharing a house or villa or jungle camp, with no possible escape from the game.
And, crucially, at the end of the filming day they go back to their accommodation where the worst they can do is over-think the day’s events and grow ever more paranoid about who is out to get them.
The cruellest element of most reality formats is the enforced closeness to other people, sharing a house or villa or jungle camp, with no possible escape from the game. It does horrible things, psychologically, to people more used to being in charge of their own destinies.
They are, at best, captives of their own ambition.
We underestimate (and often so do they) what happens when they become one with the machine, like that woman in Superman III.
It’s all fun at first, getting to be on TV, showing everyone “the real you”. It feels like a paid holiday on, say, Love Island or in the Big Brother house. But even the most seasoned, camera-friendly pros can find themselves quickly out of their depth as the producers get to work, prodding and manipulating the narrative, waking them up with bright lights and loud music, sending in more alcohol when arguments are bubbling.
Before you know it, you’ve gone from smily influencer to national hate figure and you’ve completely lost control of your own image. You’ve signed an NDA, agreed to abide by the rules of the show and in some cases risk not getting your fee (if there is a fee) if you break the terms of your contract.
The makers of The Traitors bus in contestants for a day’s filming at that ridiculously gothic castle, manoeuvre them around the board for the best possible dramatic effect and let the game play out before taking them all away again to decompress.
Even the ones impelled to gather around a crucible and murder their fellow players do so in huge cloaks, grinning at each other. Because it’s a game. At no point does anyone appear to be losing their grip. Everyone seems to be emotionally robust enough to distinguish these bursts of game play from the real life going on either side of it.
All that drama and high dudgeon is squeezed from them painlessly and they barely notice it.
The tension of the dramatic irony we experience, because we know who is a traitor and who is faithful, is obtained ethically, because they aren’t forced to live together while they play the game. They don’t lose themselves to it. All that drama and high dudgeon is squeezed from them painlessly and they barely notice it.
The second a contestant is “murdered” or banished by their fellow competitors, the tension goes and they’re all smiles again. My favourite example of this came last night in the now essential spin-off show, Traitors Uncloaked, where presenter Ed Gamble showed a clip of the latest murder victim coming face to face with her killer. “Ya wee shite!” she exclaimed, hugging him and laughing like a drain.
This series has so far included a secret mother and son duo, a murder in plain sight where one contestant unknowingly drank from a “poisoned chalice” and the traitors turning on their own not once but twice during the tense round table discussions that take place at the end of each day.
And it’s all presided over by Claudia Winkleman who is now fully embracing the campness of the format, last night dressing in funeral veil and inky garms to slam shut the coffin lid of the traitor’s latest victim with said victim shivering inside it.
The social media reaction was cock-a-hoop. I was bouncing up and down on the sofa. TV make woman feel good. Woman like. The fun, for once, is not at the expense of anyone. The cruelty of other shows is absent.
Perhaps the decision to hype up the cartoonish, Gothic brouhaha is itself designed to remind us not to take this seriously. The occasional tears during that incredible funeral sequence last night, were all about friends not wanting to say goodbye to each other. The furniture of a death, however stylised, made some of them react accordingly.
I can finally break cover and say, “I watch this constructed reality show and I am not ashamed.”
But the casting of The Traitors is responsible. Other producers might be looking for contestants with the potential to melt down when the going gets tough. No one on series one or two of The Traitors UK has even come close to emotional implosion. The format isn’t for that.
Reality producers (the smart ones) have finally realised that subtlty can still be compelling. Looks and eye rolls and lip-chewing is as fun to watch, can be like emotional fireworks, if you frame it well.
It’s like I can finally break cover and say, “I watch this constructed reality show and I am not ashamed.”
May Studio Lambert, the makers of the show, always know what they’ve got and how to nurture it for future series.
And of course, they’re casting for the new series in case you fancy messing with the minds of strangers for my entertainment. Apply here.
If you want to know my prediction for tonight’s show, I’m only going to tell my paid subscribers because fair’s fair.
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