Reality TV likes spectacle.
Half the fun of American Idol, after all, is puzzling over how so many talentless people can delude themselves into standing in line for hours only to be torn apart by Simon Cowell in the end. The occasional high-C’s impressive, sure, but there’s a particular guilty joy that comes with witnessing failure (in German there’s even a word for it: schadenfreude).
American Idol’s not the only offender; most other reality TV (and certainly any talk show) could easily fit the bill. Intrigue, backstabbing, freaks, and deviants glut primetime in a genre that, ironically, pretends to “reality” while trotting out the obnoxious, abnormal, or shocking. It’s a guilty pleasure—spectacle voyeurism.
With that in mind, it shouldn’t be much of a surpise that there are few genuinely good-natured shows on television. Since 2004, however, a notable exception has been NBC’s The Biggest Loser, revolving around the efforts of morbidly obese contestants to lose weight—which they always do, in almost awe-inspiring amounts. Needless to say, it would be the abnormal person who doesn’t want to see Biggest Loser competitors make over themselves and their lives in such a dramatic way; and nobody heckles Bob and Jillian.
The Biggest Loser’s format has been so successful that it’s spread literally around the globe—the UK, Australia, Brazil, Germany, Israel, India, Mexico, and Arabic TV (among others) have all developed spin-offs. No shock there; rapid, drastic weight loss (sans surgery) is as much a spectacle as anything else on reality TV, but unlike some other shows I could mention, it’s the positive transformation—not the failure—that’s a pleasure.
This year, TLC joined the weight-loss genre with their own happy family—Norris, Tameka, Amber, and Shane Cole, each of whom weighs between 300 and 400 pounds. Shane, the youngest son, is just 14.
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, an “obese” person is someone with a Body Mass Index of 30 or over—as of 2008, in every state except Kansas obese American make up over 20% of the population.
That’s no small number.
And it’s no small wonder, then, that reality TV is reducing stigma in this sub-genre in particular—at some time or another, almost every American has sulked around the house in December, realizing that “Lose 10 pounds” can’t be checked off the old New Year’s resolution list after all… again. It’s easy to sympathize with someone stuggling with weight, and even easier to succeed when the work’s not only vicarious, but postiviely entertaining.
It’s especially easy with a family like the Coles.
Norris, the father, is a stay-at-home dad who can laugh at anything (including himself) and proves very resourceful reselling garage sale buys on eBay; Tameka, his wife, struggles with her weight and moderate workaholism, having little time to exercise after two jobs and two kids; Amber’s the average American 16-year-old girl, worried about getting her hair wet on a family outing to a local water park; and Shane, meanwhile, defiantly insists that he “doesn’t care” if his weight keeps him from having any good friends. “I’m fresh,” he asserts, “One-of-a-kind.”
Who knows but miracles happen in the editing rooms at TLC, but I’d be hard-pressed to believe any skilled producers could manufacture a family as tight-knit and devoted to each other as the Coles. The debut episode features a particularly sweet family scene—“Truth Night,” described by Tameka as a time of “no consequences; you can say whatever’s on your mind” in the hopes of keeping an open relationship between the generations. The shocking revelations? Norris habitually adds a secret ingredient to his wife’s lasagna (chicken seasoning), and Shane goes out with friends when he says he’s at the movies.
It’s not the spectacle talk shows and more sensational reality programs have surrounded us with, but it’s cute—and more than a little amusing.
The real heart-rending revelations come with Shane and Amber’s “confessional” monologues—particularly because they probably resonate with so many people: food equals comfort. “In my childhood, I was allowed to eat whatever I wanted, fried chicken, anything,” Shane explains, “I didn’t even have teeth then!”
For six weeks, TLC’s going to let viewers peer into the lives of Charlotte, North Carolina’s Cole family—but it’s hardly voyeuristic. As they try to shape a healthier lifestyle together, without the benefit of Biggest Loser trainers or nutritionists, I expect everyone will be rooting them on. The Coles are likeable, close, and perfectly normal—for once, we have a reality show thatr emphasizes the real.
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Isabela Morales is a History and American Studies student who rabidly reviews indie science fiction at http://thescattering.wordpress.com/ 
