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Thanks to the delay caused by Major League Baseball, Fox is only now getting around to starting its fall season. Given that most of their new programming is failing miserably in the ratings, and proven successes like That '70s Show and The O.C. are off to slow starts, it looks like Fox is poised to become this year's version of what ABC was last year. That might mean they'll have a creative renaissance next season, but until then we're left with what Fox executives think makes for a successful fall. In two words: reality shows.
Not just reality shows, even, but reality show rip-offs, from the summer debuts of The Next Great Champ and Trading Spouses, pre-emptive copies of NBC's The Contender and ABC's Wife Swap, respectively, to two—count 'em, two—new takes on The Apprentice. The irony is that while one, My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss (Fox, Sundays, 9 p.m.) is a full-on parody of the NBC Donald Trump ego-fest, the other, The Rebel Billionaire (Fox, Tuesdays, 9 p.m.), is a straight-faced swipe. You can't have it both ways, Fox: Is Trump's show ridiculous TV to be mocked or a brilliant concept to be shamelessly exploited?
The answer seems to be "Who cares?" as no one has been watching either attempt. Obnoxious Boss is actually the better of the two, surprising given the history set for the My Big Fat Obnoxious franchise (the last installment, My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé, was not exactly a high point for reality TV). It's certainly not brilliant satire, but it does a good job of parodying the Apprentice concept, with 12 unsuspecting contestants put at the mercy of a fake CEO played by actor William August. The first episode had them begging for change on the street, with the losing team forced to sleep in a vacant lot. The show suffers from a tendency to over-explain things (it's fake; we get it), but it's far more entertaining than anyone had a right to expect.
The Rebel Billionaire, however, is just about as entertaining as anyone had a right to expect, which is to say, not very. The second show to rip off The Apprentice by giving another ultra-rich businessman the chance to impart wisdom and money to a crop of telegenic business hopefuls, it's at least better than ABC's awful Mark Cuban-driven The Benefactor. Here, Virgin founder and president Sir Richard Branson combines boardroom lessons with daredevil stunts, befitting his status as the world's richest Evel Knievel wannabe. Branson gets credit for participating in the stunts, which so far have included walking a balance beam between two hot-air balloons and being strapped to the wings of a biplane, along with the contestants, but the show is too torn between being Fear Factor and being The Apprentice.
There's never a clear-cut reason for people being voted off, as failing in the physical challenges doesn't necessarily correlate with leaving the show, nor does failing in the business challenges. Like The Benefactor, the elimination seems more driven by Branson's whims than rules. Branson himself is an affable screen presence, but he often seems awkward and tries too hard to differentiate himself from Trump, even mocking a Trump look-alike in the first episode.
A better insight into the business world can be found on the latest Vegas-based reality show, The Club (Spike TV, Wednesdays, 9 p.m.). Taking place behind the scenes at the Ice nightclub, it's most reminiscent of the Discovery Channel's American Casino, with an emphasis on the business' inner workings over the flashy clientele. The show doesn't do much to differentiate itself from any number of other behind-the-scenes reality shows, but it's amusing enough in its own right.
It also has a great villain in promoter Allison Melnick, brought in from LA by Ice owner Ed Williams to give his club an edge over Strip properties. Melnick is bitchy, self-centered and demanding, one of those people who lives in such an insular world of celebrity sycophancy that it's hard to believe she's still human. Her big celebrity "get" in the first episode is Rod Stewart's son, yet she acts like she's brought the world's biggest star to the club and demands to be treated accordingly. In time, she could get incredibly tiresome or remain deliciously entertaining, and so will probably go the entire show.
Perhaps the cure for all this trashy reality TV is Regency House Party (PBS, Wednesdays, 9 p.m.), public television's answer to The Bachelor. Like past shows including 1900 House and Frontier House, Regency House Party takes modern citizens and throws them into situations set in specific periods from the past. In this case, of course, it's the Regency period, the time in British history from 1811-1820 immortalized by Jane Austen in her romantic novels. The players are given roles to inhabit and then set loose in a castle for nine weeks to engage in archaic courting rituals. The concept sounds fun, but the balance between historical insight and salacious romance is hard to maintain, and the stars have trouble being themselves while playing starkly defined roles. Best to leave the sleaze of reality TV to those professionals at Fox.