It turns out that, after all the rose ceremonies, hook-ups, and knock-down drag-out fights, the most dramatic moment in Bachelor history won’t be televised.
The franchise’s drama, which is orchestrated by producers and induced by a toxic mix of alcohol and incentivized bad behavior, came to a head after a producer on Bachelor in Paradise blew the whistle on alleged sexual misconduct between two cast members that occurred as cameras rolled. While few details about the situation have been confirmed, we know that production on the show has been suspended, the cast has been sent home, and a formal complaint was filed by a producer. An internal investigation has been initiated in response to the allegations of misconduct.
Many members of “Bachelor Nation,” as the franchise’s viewers are called, initially expressed disappointment on social media that their favorite summer show won’t air, and some questioned what the big deal is. Why would a show, whose entire premise is based upon watching people get drunk and hook up, halt production over a drunken hook-up?
As it happens, there is a limit to just how dramatic something can be before it becomes potentially illegal. And Season 4 of Bachelor in Paradise might have crossed that line.
Reality television has been around long enough for viewers to see how the participants become exaggerated versions of themselves, circumstances are manipulated to create drama, and the shows are edited in a way that doesn’t show the full story. What audiences may not realize is just how contrived the context is and how destructive and traumatizing the experience can be for cast members during filming and after airing.
As a cast member on MTV’s Road Rules and several seasons of its spinoff, The Challenge, I have watched as reality television has grown and changed in response to increased competition, desensitized audiences, and a race to the bottom to produce the most outrageous and scandalous content. What began as a “social experiment” (and a cheap way to produce television devoid of actors and script writers) to document what happens when “people stop being polite,” became a highly profitable genre that hinges upon increasingly shocking narratives designed to capture audience attention with warped regard for cost.
My time on MTV began nearly two decades ago, in 1998, before Survivor and the reality boom that followed. The Real World and Road Rules maintained a documentary-style approach to production. There were fights, fraternizing, and friendships, but the narratives developed organically through the “larger-than-life,” diverse casts living under one roof. Those early years included almost no intervention from the producers, who had to hope their efforts to cast uncensored and authentic personalities would translate into compelling television. As reality television caught on, however, that changed. Over my seasons, I watched as producers became more heavy-handed in their involvement and more involved in “story,” using techniques that now are considered par for the course in the creation of reality TV. I was asked to recreate scenes if the cameras missed the shot. Producers would reveal what other participants had said about us to induce conflict. They would often explicitly and implicitly encourage cast members to hook-up, and in the case of The Challenge, create competitions that simulate sexual acts to encourage sexual tension and get erotic content.
Drama doesn’t always happen naturally, and given the pressure to keep these highly profitable franchises afloat, producers will go to great lengths in the moment to ensure they get shareable, watercooler stories. These efforts include providing virtually unlimited alcohol and removing “distractions,” which amount to literally anything that might prevent cast interaction including, but not limited to, books, televisions, phones, games, and computers. On The Challenge, producers even banned watches and clocks from the house, creating a Las Vegas-style environment that disorients the participants’ sense of time (and among other things, encourages people to stay up too late partying).
While being without technology and other distractions for four to 12 weeks (depending on the show) might seem like a nice break, it essentially creates a telegenic—albeit voluntary—prison. Phone calls home are limited (and sometimes forbidden), and often used by producers as leverage to get more content. One Challenge cast member was only allowed to call home if she promised to talk about the recent death of her father. The boredom created by these conditions doesn’t get featured in the episodes of course, but it is overwhelming, and cast members become agitated, frustrated, and on edge. When you combine that feeling of being caged with the stress of trying to win money or find love, people behave in ways that appear crazed to viewers.
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