You’ve heard the news by now: Ilene Chaiken has somehow convinced Showtime that we all want to see a reality show called The Real L Word. For details, see Variety, and for great commentary, see Dorothy Surrenders and Gawker (but hey, Gawker, what’s with the blindingly bold all caps? Ouch.).
In order to express my own opinion of this idea, I must resort to analogies and images.
1. It’s laughable, like Max’s facial hair.
2. It’s appalling, like Shenny.
3. It’s offensively manipulative, like the death of Dana.
In other words, it’s probably going to be provocative, exploitative, and disgusting, instead of thought-provoking, revelatory, and hot.
It’ll be regurgitation, not resurrection. Seaminess, not steaminess. Risibility, not visibility. Salaciousness, not sensuousness. Profligacy, not profundity. I could go on and on!
But you’re the one who needs to go on, Mama Chaiken — in the sense of moving on. The rest of us have, and the post–L Word water is just fine!