Respect Authority

"Next stop: Judge Judy."

Balloon Boy is ruining reality television.

Just one week ago the world seemed apathetically at ease with what’s easily become the most popular (or at least most predominant) genre of television. Shows like Big Brother and Survivor, which years ago paved the way for reality TV amid much controversy, now seem tame when pitted against even more low-brow fare like Bad Girls Club and Dance Your Ass Off. The barrier to entry has gotten undeniably lower. Shows used to require elaborate set-ups involving obstacle courses, cash prizes and the eating of bugs; these days all you need is a foul mouth, or fourteen children.

So when six-year-old Falcon Heene duped the nation last week, reportedly at the behest of his fame-seeking crazy person of a father, critics were quick to condemn reality TV for perpetuating these kinds of stunts, and bringing about the worst in human nature. In other words, it’s not entirely Papa Heene’s fault. Can he truly be blamed for tricking the authorities, and the viewing public, into believing his son was trapped in a giant UFO-like helium balloon? Well gee golly, certainly not, considering the effect these sorts of lowest-common-denominator programs have had on the human psyche.

It’s precisely this sort of retarded—that’s a scientific choice of words, retarded—thinking that absolves countless people from responsibility because of ideas “society” has put in their heads. Fame, all fifteen minutes of it, existed long before Donald Trump started hiring apprentices, or Jon and Kate had 900 kids. And people have long aspired to stardom; otherwise the entire entertainment industry would be phenomenally boring.

For one, I take issue with the idea that reality TV, simply by virtue of including the word “reality,” is misleading people, as though the fate of the human race is dependent on whether a Project Runway cast member actually insulted Heidi Klum, or was just edited to appear that way. I think it’s fair to assume that if you’re watching a show about normal people living in a house, it’s not as dramatic as it seems. If you’re watching a show about television-made couples getting married, they’re probably not. And if you’re watching a show called I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here!, you should kill yourself. We as a country listen to and absorb heavily edited content all the time—last time I checked, the State of the Union speech wasn’t “Well, we’re in two wars, broke, and pretty much fucked”—so considering reality shows an exception to the norm would be both ill-advised and moronic.

There’s also very big and inaccurate assumption of cause and effect here. There’s no real evidence to support that people, as a whole, are deteriorating because of reality programming. I know as many non-reality-watching idiots as I do intelligent people who happen to like a little trashy TV. Additionally, we have always been voyeurs when it comes to sensational news: Fifteen years ago, Americans spent upwards of five hours watching O.J. Simpson “evade police” at 35 miles per hour.

Nor does providing a forum for crazy people to be crazy create craziness, which is the unspoken implication of these criticisms. Do you mean to tell me that without reality TV, America’s Sexiest Bachelor Brian Lee Randone would never have murdered an ex-porn actress? Megan Wants a Millionaire’s Ryan Jenkins wouldn’t have killed his wife? John Heene, a man who pre-Wife Swap, consciously named two of his children Falcon and Bradford, would be normal?

Frankly, I’d rather the John Heenes of the world go on TV, where they can be monitored. It reduces the chance of them popping out of my trash can one day, armed with my discarded tinfoil and promises of contacting alien life forms. At least this way I get a laugh out of it.