Nick and Vanessa Lachey, a reality TV staple for the past decade and a half (for reasons that should not worry us now or perhaps ever), presented their final show, Love Is Blind.
Until different pairs declare their love, become engaged, and finally meet and get to know each other for a month before actually-actually getting married, viewers of this show were unable to see each other while they conversed from separate “pods”; the show will continue in this format until at least 2024, as a fourth and fifth season have just been commissioned.
The Ultimatum Marry or Move on Review Absolutely Terrible
First season memories are among my strongest. When asked to explain it, I said it was “absurd, repulsive, adorable, toxic, and wholesome at turns – and addictive as hell throughout.” Crack-meth.”
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I also pondered if there was a more efficient or merciless way to capitalise on viewers’ voyeuristic tendencies by taking advantage of their vulnerabilities (emotional or otherwise), making the fearful seem normal, and turning something private and precious into something public and hence worthless.
Goodness gracious me, I’m glad we finally got an answer to this rhetorical question! Absolutely, unquestionably; the solution comes in the form of The Ultimatum: Marry or Move On.
In this 10-part dumpster fire, the Lacheys introduce us to what are ostensibly six couples, but which, by my instantaneous, frantic, feverish count, total at least 302. All of these couples share the desire of at least one member to either propose or end the relationship.
A more appropriate title would have been “Shit or Get Off the Pot,” but unfortunately, the United States clings in the weirdest ways to its Puritan heritage, so getting married or moving on is the decent option.
Given my advanced age and the fact that the names of all 604 (or even 12) contestants are interchangeable, I have instead given them the labels blonks 1-6A/B (the men) and blermps 1-6A/B (the women).
Although a second season with an LGBT cast has been promised, homosexuality has not yet been introduced into the Lacheyean universe. The only real information shown in this programme is that “A” means blond and “B” means not blond.
Some of the dweebs really do stick out (Jake for being nine parts puppy and apparently as nice a guy as reality TV has ever unearthed; Colby for being the only male ultimatum-giver and for having Garth Brooks vibes even before he puts on a Stetson in the final episode).
Several blermps are also worth mentioning: April is a quick-witted, genuinely charming 23-year-old who has no more business wanting to get married than any other quick-witted, charming 23-year-old does; meanwhile, Alexis is a lantern-jawed blond who wants a ring in exchange for the cooking, cleaning, and laundry she does for her live-in blonk (“Marriage is a financial and emotional transaction”).
Anyway. In order to find out if any of the couples have any “chemistry,” they are split apart and told to spend the evening lounging by the pool, dining, and drinking drinks. After three weeks with their new relationship, they return to their long-term partner and either shack up with them or decide to move on.
That which you would expect to go wrong does, in fact, go wrong. Before long, the contestants are in tears, the audience is hoarse from screaming at the screen (the look of utter fury on Alexis’ face as she chisels out of Colby, during their second drink, that he doesn’t see himself marrying her lives with me still), and the Lachey/Netflix accountants are popping the champagne in their poisonous lairs.
The potency of the crack-meth cocktail has not diminished. Your lizard brain will be completely committed after only 15 minutes, leaving your higher functions little choice but to wish for an early end to the universe’s existence in the remaining 9 hours and 45 minutes.
It’s horrible, no doubt about it. Putting people in situations where they might give in to temptation is completely immoral (I believe it is one of the tenets in fact of quite a few world religions).
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It fails on every creative level. On the academic and philosophical fronts, it… isn’t. People talk as if we’ve already lost the war and should just burn feminism on a pyre. Nonetheless, the fun factor is through the roof. Ah, what a way to escape reality.
Oh, the bliss of letting your hatred and love for various blonks and the blermp 2A who seems to be making progress towards her rightful place on the arm of new blonk 6B flow freely through you, clearing your mind of the day’s mental debris and leaving you fresh and ready to take on the next day’s accumulation of cares and woes. As bad as it is, you just can’t let go of it.
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