By Greg Beato
In "Age of Love," TV's latest tribute to arranged marriage, 13 desperate man-hunters are determined to weaken the surgically reconstructed knees of the world's 114th best professional tennis player, 31-year-old Australian Mark Philapoosomething.
The gimmick here? Half the women are collagen-depleted antiques in their forties; the other half are wrinkle-free twentysomethings who won't start bragging about how they still get carded for at least a good 15 years or so.
You've seen "The Bachelor," so you know the drill. After a tedious decathlon of outdoorsy gang-dates and Jacuzzi-based symposiums on the importance of family, "Age of Love" will conclude with a storybook wedding -- or at least a really sincere offer on Tennis Dude's part to hook up once or twice after the cameras stop rolling to see if the magic persists in the real world. But who will he single out for this honor -- one of the so-called "Cougars," or one of the "Kittens"?
As HBO's "Big Love" illustrates on a weekly basis, God invented polygamy precisely to avoid such dilemmas, but apparently the heathens at NBC don't read the Bible. As a result, we've been blessed with the least intriguing "social experiment" since Steve-O wondered if stapling his scrotum to his thigh would hurt much.
Of course, the "Cougars" on "Age of Love" might have more of a chance if they actually lived up to that description. Instead, they're fauxgars. They may display some of the external characteristics of the breed -- expertly crafted silicone bolt-ons, tastefully refurbished foreheads -- but they have none of the heart.
The prototypical cougar, after all, is a smart, fiercely independent predator with little interest in monogamy, much less matrimony -- Jack Nicholson with firmer boobs. Their preferred quarry is fresh meat that knows when to leave. Washed-up jocks jabbering ad nauseum about journeys of self-discovery leave them as dry as a Mormon bachelor party.
Alas, "Age of Love's" hotties of a certain age are more Stage Five Clinger than cougar. Before they even experience Tennis Guy's remarkably wooden charm in person -- compared to him, the human tree stump who starred in "Joe Millionaire" is Oscar Wilde -- they are smitten by a videotape in which he essentially explains that his relationship with his pet Rottweiler is more fulfilling than anything he's ever experienced with a woman.
"What a sweet guy!" one enthuses; apparently this is a woman who enjoys fetching sticks, loves shitting outside, and can lick her own genitalia.
But will such attributes actually give her a leg up on the supple tummies and near-mint-condition vulvas of the six creamy "Kittens," at least a few of whom are no doubt genuinely determined to bag themselves a starter hubby?
The long answer will drag on for seven more episodes of drearily predictable, endlessly recapped love, complete with catfights, champagne, teary moments of self-empowerment, and the hardest, hardest, most hard decision Tennis Guy has ever had to make in his life.
The short answer is "No."
A frequent contributor to Las Vegas Weekly, Greg Beato has also written for SPIN, Blender, Reason, Time.com, and many other publications. Email Greg at [email protected]