1999

22.1

Anthony Enns and Christopher R. Smit

The Creation and Corruption of Diversity in MTV’s The Real World

In the most recent season of MTV’s The Real World (TRW), seven strangers were asked to live together in a stylish loft on a pier in Seattle, Washington, in which their "real," unrehearsed social interactions could be recorded and broadcast over prime-time television. At first glance, the most unreal aspect of the show appears to be the loft in which they were asked to live, which was furnished with hip furniture, shag sofas, a black velvet pool table, a rockclimbing wall, several state-of-the-art computers and a hot tub, along with dozens of beautiful lamps, bookcases, desks, etc. This set is obviously an environment constructed for commercial product placement; Ikea, the Company which furnishes most of TRW’s sets, even advertises its logo in the closing credits of each episode. According to producer Tod Dahlke, some elements of the set are solicited in order to achieve the look of the "MTV lifestyle." For example, a major part of this lifestyle image involves athletics, and therefore the producers of TRW—Seattle contacted REI to construct the rockclimbing wall. However, the link between this lifestyle image and the commodities which appear on the show clearly moves in the opposite direction as well; in other words, the show not only reflects a certain youth lifestyle, but it also dictates precisely what that lifestyle should look like. After building the rock-climbing wall, for example, REI became a major sponsor of the show, most explicitly in their funding of a trip to Nepal. This trip was clearly a shameless marketing ploy by REI due to the fact that they provided not only tickets but also wardrobes and equipment; their line of clothing, therefore, became synonymous with the athletic MTV look, and to drive this fact home their logo appeared constantly on-screen throughout the Nepal episodes. MTV is so conscious of product and logo placement on TRW that Bunim/Murray productions have even hired a person whose sole job is to scan tapes looking for logos that aren’t under contract with the show and blurring them out.

It doesn’t take long to realize, however, that it is not only the set of this show which is consciously constructed. TRW’s narrative is also consciously being manufactured by the producers, as well as the subjects themselves. Over the course of TRW’s seven seasons, this narrative has become formulaic, recognizable, and predictable. The basic storyline of the TRW genre is as follows: a diverse group of people are thrown into a confined space where they are forced to consciously or unconsciously confront their personal issues/prejudices and to eventually find a harmonious way of living together. The drama of this story is fueled by the explicit diversity of the cast members’ sexual, religious, socioeconomic, and most importantly, racial differences; however, this process of constructing drama and crisis is at odds with the show’s pseudo-liberal project of promoting harmonious relations. The fact that this drama is so obviously constructed prevents any natural community from emerging, thus creating an atmosphere where real people are simply players in an over-produced TV melodrama.

The catalyst for this diversity project possibly stems from the controversies surrounding MTV’s early years. From its inception, MTV was accused of being racist in its exclusion of black performers (see Levy). Andrew Goodwin points out that this racism was actually inherited from the rock music industry, which defined "‘rock’ in essentially racist terms, as a form of music that excluded blacks. [MTV] based its playlist on the ‘narrowcasting’ principle of American radio that viewed rock and ‘urban contemporary’ (i.e. dance music, often produced by black artists) as incompatible" (133). Goodwin also points out that MTV responded to such negative criticism by moving away from this narrowcasting model and reorganizing its programming into discrete program slots. This reorganization not only signaled a shift away from the station’s programming of strictly music videos, but also a move towards a more general "lifestyle programming," which was modeled on traditional television network programming but targeted specifically at MTV’s youth audience; in the late ‘80s, for example, MTV developed its own news show, The Week in Rock, and even a game show, Remote Control. Therefore, by moving away from narrowcasting and focusing increasingly on lifestyle programming, MTV was able to change its image and portray itself as more politically correct.

TRW can clearly be read as a natural outgrowth of this lifestyle programming philosophy, but ironically this attempt to foster diversity is not only transparently artificial but also undercuts itself by using and sometimes reinforcing racial and gender stereotypes in order to inspire conflict, which in turn inspires ratings. By exploring the ways in which TRW is constructed, both by producers and players, it will become clear how diversity is commodified as just another product for popular consumption. The most recent, seventh season, TRW—Seattle, is an ideal case study not only because the genre conventions have become so finely honed over time, but also because these conventions are constantly being articulated and deconstructed on-screen by the cast members themselves.

The most obvious aspects of the show’s constructed nature are performed by the production staff. First, they select the cast members. As Erika Suderburg points out, the characters are chosen based on "who could be read as being ‘representative.’ Attention to race, class (especially in terms of educational background), sexuality, and regional point of origin (with special attention to the American South and Western Europe) delineate the parameters" (67). In addition to these obvious demographic concerns is the cast members’ aesthetic beauty and personal history. The group chosen for TRW—Seattle, for example, were selected as representative of a wide range of ethnic and regional groups, but they are all physically attractive, shamelessly exhibitionistic, and they have all suffered some dramatic family tragedy. David, for example, is a working-class guy from Boston whose mother was a victim of domestic violence. He was forced to support his family at the age of 14. Stephen, the only African-American cast member, was abandoned by his father and was subjected to the often abusive discipline of his mother’s boyfriends. Janet, Nathan and Lindsay also have unstable father-figures: Janet’s Korean family is dominated by an overbearing patriarchal father, Nathan was adopted and was reunited with his birth parents by MTV, and Lindsay’s father died of cancer shortly before taping began. Thrown into this tragic group is Irene, who supposedly comes from a stable, middle-class nuclear family, which is ironic because she is the only one to leave the show in mid-season—due to what MTV portrays as mental illness.

As if these casting choices were not enough to ensure high drama, MTV utilizes many other devices to assure interesting television. The show is made up primarily of two different scenarios: 1) where cast members are videotaped together interacting, and 2) where they are videotaped individually addressing the camera. The latter scenario is the one where the cast members are supposedly the most open and honest, but more often this device seems simply to encourage cast members to talk behind each others’ backs. Conflict is also encouraged by the constant surveillance of the cast’s daily activities. For example, the set is surrounded by dozens of studio arc lamps, which are always on; there are fixed cameras in every room; there are also several roaming cameramen at all times of the day; there are no doors in the entire house; all telephone conversations are recorded; and even the bathroom is co-ed, communal, and monitored. This destruction of privatized space enforces an unnatural model of interaction, which creates throughout the season several arguments over simple issues such as cleaning, phone use, and sex. At times this relentless surveillance seems almost malicious. One can see this in the episode where Lindsay’s friend Bill commits suicide. As she is told the tragic news over the phone, cameras assault Lindsay’s space, never giving her the privacy obviously needed. In scenes that are hard to watch, Lindsay screams her disbelief for all housemates and home-viewers to see. Even when she goes for a walk outside, cameramen follow her at a distance, always keeping her anguish within the frame.

To add to the difficulties of domestic co-habitation, MTV has begun to give the cast members a "mission." In the past, these assignments have included setting up a business (TRW—Miami) and working with children at a community center (TRW—Boston). According to Dahlke, TRW—Seattle’s cast was originally going to be involved with an unnamed wildlife preservation organization. However, when that environment was thought to be too dull, they chose instead to give the cast members jobs at a local radio station, 107.7 The End, and required them to compete for three on-air DJ positions. This concept appealed to Dahlke and the other producers because they believed this conflict would be "great to create a story." This is the first of many constructs in which TRW—Seattle deliberately places its participants in competition, and the fact that Lindsay is the only cast member with experience in college radio also shows how Bunim/Murray’s casting decisions were designed to add tension to other situations in the show.

One particularly interesting aspect of the DJ competition is that the cast members have very different musical tastes. In a pre-season commercial, TRW—Seattle was advertised as a collection of seven people with disparate musical tastes being forced to work together at a radio station; thus the show’s diversity narrative, its major selling-point, is being enacted through music—or, more specifically, through the music being produced by major MTV artists. The conflict which this musical disparity inspires can be seen, for example, when Irene speaks to a friend over the phone, saying, "I’m working at a radio station and I know nothing about the music." Irene goes on to say that the only musician she really loves is Neil Diamond, but she is afraid to admit this to the group. Other cast members, however, listen to nothing but alternative music. Nathan, for example, says, "this was a really kick ass radio station and they played a lot of the music I listen to." The assumption seems to be that "alternative" music remains the dominant genre among youth culture even though this hegemonic classification seems to be exactly the type of generalization which the show claims to be working against. The pretense of musical diversity, the privileging of the "marginal" or "alternative," is undercut by the assumption of a single, homogeneous youth music.

The music played during the show not only reflects the playlist of the radio station where the group works, 107.7 The End, but it is also used as a soundtrack to accompany the on-screen events. Rather than using an orchestral score to heighten the drama of the program, the producers of TRW—Seattle tend to use dark, alternative, popular songs for similar effects; popular music is thus used as ambiance to convey the emotional content of each scene. For example, when Irene has her farewell breakfast, in which she says the whole show is "fake" and that she needs someone real to talk with, the soundtrack uses Fiona Apple’s song "Carrion," in particular the following verse: "I don’t know what to believe in, you don’t know who I am." By adding this non-diegetic component, Irene’s leaving the show is transformed by the producers into a music video vignette, a form of mediation more familiar and more easily digestible by the viewer than an authentic emotional experience. Another example of this technique can be seen in the scenes between David and Kira, a former MTV casting director. Because MTV forbids relationships between their employees and TRW participants, David and Kira’s relationship leads to several highly dramatic moments, including the latter’s resignation from MTV. Throughout each of these scenes, over the course of several episodes, Savage Garden’s song "Truly Madly Deeply," a then chart-topper, is used as the soundtrack. This combination of song and image is so consistent that the use of this song, even with no accompanying image, would immediately indicate to the viewer that the narrative of David and Kira was a component of that episode. And just in case the audience did not make this connection, David himself began wearing a black turtleneck and brown leather jacket after his relationship with Kira began, an outfit which is virtually identical to that worn by Savage Garden’s lead singer in the song’s music video, which was being aired regularly on MTV at that time. Therefore, the producers not only use music to translate situations into music videos, but their shot selection also works to transform the action on the show into recognizable video tropes.

The interrelationship between TRW and music videos is possibly the most important aspect of the way the production staff constructs the narrative of the show. Part of their use of sound is designed to promote MTV itself. For example, as employees of an alternative radio station, the cast members spend most of their time attending concerts, clubbing, or hobnobbing with minor musical celebrities, which not only makes the episodes more interesting to watch but also allows the program to showcase new MTV talent. Obvious examples of this include the Cornershop concert and David’s interview with the Afghan Whigs. Moreover, TRW uses music video editing techniques not only to promote MTV’s own musical products but also to heighten the drama of its episodes. One example of a music video editing technique occurs when a verbal confrontation between two of the players is followed by single shots of each player looking pensive. This sort of isolation can be seen in countless videos, such as Sinead O’Connor’s "Nothing Compares 2U," or Fiona Apple’s "Shadowboxer," and it is used consistently throughout TRW—Seattle along with such songs as the Foo Fighters’ "Hero," or the Goo Goo Dolls’ "Iris."

These editing techniques not only heighten the drama, but often they create drama when there is none. Two thousand hours of footage are shot for each ten hour season of TRW, and the selection and ordering of these shots is used to express crescendos of crisis. An example of how this selection can affect the content of the narrative can be seen when Irene leaves the show late in the season. The official reason for Irene’s departure is that her lyme disease has made her mentally unfit to continue. Although lyme disease is not a psycho-somatic illness, the editing of these episodes seems to indicate a mental instability: the use of loud sirens and other disruptive diegetic elements gives the impression that Irene is having a breakdown. The editors also use jump cuts and brief clips of Irene staring at the camera in silence to convey the feeling of madness. This is exacerbated by clips of the other cast members asking if Irene is crazy. At the farewell breakfast, several shaky camera shots show Irene laughing hysterically, repeating the phrase, "I’m not crazy, isn’t that beautiful? I’m not crazy." She attributes her apparent craziness to the stresses of TRW’s environment, stating that she no longer believes in the project because "art shouldn’t hurt." Irene’s critique of the show is made to seem ridiculous because of the way she is portrayed through the editing of the sequence; however, once she is removed from the environment and brought back home, she reports to Rebecca that in fact she was totally healthy again. It remains unclear whether her alleged mental illness was a result of lyme disease or MTV editing techniques.

Up to this point, we have been examining and criticizing the way the producers have consciously constructed TRW—Seattle; however, it is equally as important to look at the way the cast members themselves have conspired in this construction, creating their own television personas and manipulating the narrative conventions of past TRW seasons. From this season’s first episode, it is clear that the cast is familiar with TRW’s diversity formula. Within the first ten minutes of the premiere the cast members are inquisitive about each other’s sexual preference, knowing full well that the cast typically includes at least one homosexual. Stephen also voices his concern about the casting selection, complaining that it is unfair for the other two males to already be friends while he has no friends among the cast. Stephen’s alienation later becomes a major plot in the story, as he becomes ostracized from the other cast members because of his race, age, and eventually his temperament.

This conscious critiquing of the producers’ casting choices is continued within the diary segment. In the second episode, Lindsay finds a page ripped out of a mysterious diary lying on the kitchen counter. The diary entry reads as follows: "I wish that they had brought a more diverse group of people to the show. I wonder why they don’t have any people who don’t go to college and are not from the upper white . . ." (the last two words are crossed out). When the other cast members read this, they become furious. Nathan claims that he is "so far from upper white class," and assumes immediately that Stephen, because he is the only black cast member, is the author. After a strategically placed commercial break, it is revealed that the actual author is David, Nathan’s friend from the Virginia Military Institute. David confesses his reason for writing the entry: "Ethnically we’re diverse, but in a sense we’re all the same. What about those people like my friends who don’t go to school, who are schmucks and deal drugs on the street? What about the kids who work at car washes? What about the everyday Joe?" Once the whiteness of the author is proved, the conflict is quickly resolved and the cast goes off clubbing.

Two things are important here. First, the diary segment proves how diversity is used by the producers to create conflict rather than inspire community. The fact that Nathan assumes that Stephen is the author falls right into the lap of the producers’ intent. Being the only African-American cast member, Stephen is immediately under suspicion and this becomes the springboard for the season’s racial tension. Second, this event shows how the cast members of TRW—Seattle deconstruct the show itself, identifying and questioning the show’s genre conventions. David’s critique of the casting is certainly valid, and by questioning why the show is ethnically diverse but not economically diverse, David shows that MTV’s attempt to seem diverse is not actually successful. Suderburg addresses other ways in which the show’s participants "infiltrate" and "transgress" the constructions of its producers. For example, she claims that Pedro, a gay man suffering from AIDS in TRW—San Francisco, was able to overcome the stereotypes of AIDS victim/gay man:

The audience is asked to identify with Pedro’s "condition," a dominant and clear crisis trope. His articulation of his own subject position, however, rebuffs a predictable and limited audience inclination to register pity. . . . Because of his insistence on queerness and HIV-positive status as defining elements of his character and his position as an activist educator, he was able to navigate the artificial boundaries of the Real World house through a series of impassioned and volatile debates that refused both his silencing and his victimization. (58-59)

Another example of a player who seems aware of his own performance is Stephen, who attempts a complete overhaul of his star image halfway through the season. During the first half, Stephen is marked by a tendency to lose his temper. From the earliest episode, where he complains that the other male members of the cast already know each other and that he is the outsider, to the conflict between him and Janet in Nepal, to the final eruption with Irene where he actually strikes her and is threatened to be kicked off the show, Stephen’s temper continued to play a major role in the drama. During his fight with Irene, a major source of tension is the issue of who would be seen as the "chump" to the viewers. This is the first moment where the cast members seem aware of how their conflict is going to be represented when the show is broadcast. Realizing that he made a mistake in hitting Irene and that he will most likely appear as the chump, Stephen uses the last four weeks of the broadcast to repair his shameful star image. In an emotionally charged scene, Stephen is recorded talking to one of his friends over the phone, saying, "What will my mom think?" It should also be noted that Stephen’s confrontation with Irene was sparked by her accusation that Stephen was gay. Within the last four weeks of the show, however, Stephen goes to anger therapy, he makes a formal apology to each cast member, he mends his broken relationship with his employer, and he even finds a girlfriend, Oruba, with whom he openly and deliberately discusses sex on camera. In the final, farewell episode, he even writes, "Stephen Loves Oruba" on the bathroom wall. Although this relationship only lasts several days, Stephen magnifies it into a grandiose love affair in order to save face before the camera.

After Irene’s departure, the producers, making their first appearance on camera, show the remaining five members of the cast the edited sequence of Stephen hitting Irene and ask them to decide whether or not they feel safe allowing Stephen to remain in the house. In a rare moment, the players become their own viewers, reminding them that all of their actions have been documented, edited, and packaged for mass consumption. The shock that they express upon watching this sequence therefore has a double meaning: it is the inexpressible horror of watching one of their housemates commit an act of violence, but more significantly, it is the shock of actually seeing an edited sequence from the show for the first time; in other words, of actually witnessing themselves as spectacle. Furthermore, this witnessing is itself being witnessed, as cameras are surrounding them in order to capture every nuance of their reactions. Being watched as they are watching, consuming television while at the same time that they are being commodified by television—this enigma points to the complexity of any television show that asks its viewers to become part of its cast.

MTV’s TRW would appear to be the ultimate incarnation of Warhol’s "15 minutes of fame." Fascinated by the idea that they may in fact participate in the programming they view in their own homes, thousands of members of the viewing audience apply to be on this show every year. Becoming part of the spectacle in many ways denies the intentions of the production staff, and as we have seen, lends itself to fabricated constructions of so-called "identity" and "reality." These stereotypes, constructed as star images by production and cast members alike, result in merely commodified identities which resemble the commercial products advertised by the show. Like these material products, the identities of the cast members can easily be blurred or emphasized depending on the editing choices of the producers. Rather than creating a safe environment where people of diverse backgrounds and beliefs can create community, TRW merely offers an arena of forced conflict in which true diversity is neither realized nor embraced.

Anthony Enns and Christopher R. Smit
Department of Rhetoric
153 English-Philosophy Building
The University of Iowa
Iowa City, IA 52242-1492

Dahlke, Tod. Personal interview. 12 Jan. 1999.

Goodwin, Andrew. Dancing in the Distraction Factory: Music Television and Popular Culture. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1992.

Levy, Steven. "Ad Nauseam: How MTV Sells Out Rock and Roll." Rolling Stone 8 Dec. 1983: 30-31+.

The Real World—Seattle. Prod. Tod Dahlke. MTV. 1998 season.

Suderburg, Erika. "Real/Young/TV Queer." Between the Sheets, in the Streets: Queer, Lesbian, Gay Documentary. Ed. Chris Holmlund and Cynthia Fuchs. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1997. 46-67.