Temptation Island

National Review Online, January 14, 2001

All those organizations with the word 'family' in their name can relax. The Fox Network's new Temptation Island is no threat to the American republic, the institution of marriage, or the morals of our fragile young. It was, however, a terrible waste of an hour, 9-10 p.m. last Wednesday evening, quality time that would, in the New York area, at least, have been better spent watching World Championship Wrestling, Rivera Live or, for those in need of cheering up, Survivors, a movie about double teen suicide. Just in case you have not read a newspaper in the past few days let's start with the premise of the show. Four "unmarried couples at a crossroads in their relationship" are taken to a tropical island. Once they arrive, the lovebirds will be separated and each of them will be "set up on a variety of dates" with some of the 26 'fantasy' singles who have also been taken there by Fox. The idea, and, allegedly, the drama, is to test the strength of these relationships. "This could rip two people apart," gloats one potential seducer.

Oh really? Call me old-fashioned, but any couples agreeing to 'test' their relationship in this way are not at a crossroads. They are at a dead end. There's no test, no one is going to be "ripped apart." If you want to talk test, talk Gandhi. That iron man of abstinence used to test his commitment (to celibacy, as it happens) by sleeping in the same bed as a naked woman. Nothing, we are told, ever happened. That is what I call a test. Now, I never knew Gandhi, but I did watch the couples of Temptation Island and Billy, you are no Mahatma. And nor, Taheed, Mandy, Kaya, Valerie, Ytossie, Andy, and Shannon, are any of the rest of you.

So, if viewers cannot look forward to the vicious destruction of previously strong relationships, can they at least hope for some smut? Once again, the answer is almost certainly no. The first hour featured bikinis, shorts, and a few naughty comments, but on the whole the show is tamer than Baywatch and the cast, it has to be said, are not as good looking. To be sure, the initial episode was set up as a teaser, but the same, I suspect, will prove to be true for the rest of a series that is likely to pack about as much erotic excitement as an MTV beach volleyball special.

Of course, subsequent episodes will doubtless feature what the British call a 'snog' or two (ask Austin Powers), but much more than that will have to take place behind closed doors. Nudity? Not a chance, this is American prime-time TV. We can rely on the network's killjoy pixels to blur what little voyeuristic fun there is to be had. What will be on display, however, is far more shocking, In a future episode, we can, apparently expect to see one of the participants (a grown man!) weeping on the beach. On Wednesday night we already saw some sobs from two of the ladies, Ytossie and, I think, Shannon. If this is what Fox is coming to, I might as well turn to Lifetime. Worse, there is a strong possibility that these early tears were only the overture. It is likely that much of the show will be dedicated to tantrums, wailing, whining, complaining, confessions, hugging, hand holding, insincerity, sincerity, empathetic moments, and men and women telling each other what they really, really, feel. In fact, watching Temptation Island will be much like witnessing someone else's marriage-counseling sessions, and it will be about as relaxing as Party of Five. Sartre was wrong. Hell is not other people, it is other people's problems.

What else we can expect after eight years of a president who wants to feel our pain? We are in the age of Rosie and Oprah. We talk about everything, absolutely everything. The notion of a private sphere of behavior is dying. Emotional restraint is considered to be a psychiatric problem rather than a necessary virtue. Publicly baring the body, a respected form of degeneracy since the days of Salome, may be too much for Fox, but baring the soul, it turns out, is quite all right. Of course, the latter is much more of an imposition on the rest of us, as even the most strait-laced should realize. Most strippers (Salome was an exception) ask nothing more from their audience than the dollars in their pockets. Emotional exhibitionists like Kaya, Mandy, Taheed, and the rest of the gang on Temptation Island are far more demanding.

They would like us to share in their drama, and, yes, to feel their pain. To some critics of the show, this is a degrading spectacle, the showbiz equivalent of tearing the wings off some not very intelligent flies, a callous and potentially destructive exploitation of four supposedly close-knit couples. Unfortunately, the critics would be wrong, even if these relationships were as strong as Fox would like us to believe. For, if anyone deserves humiliation it is Kaya and his friends (yes, Kaya is a he). They will be contaminating my television with their simpering psychobabble and penny ante angst. They should be punished. However, far from being humiliated, these folks will revel in the attention that is coming their way. Temptation Island may be an extreme case, but in our therapeutic society there will be no particular shame about a public airing of some of the 'issues' that will surely come to play in the later episodes of the show. Someone will, inevitably, praise these people for their honesty, and for coming to terms with themselves. If there is any residual embarrassment to the participants, it will be eased by the greatest of all the rewards that this country has to offer, not money (they are not being particularly well paid), but celebrity. Play their cards right on Temptation Island and these couples could make their way to American's pantheon, right up there with the greats, Tonya, Monica, Lorena, Joey, and Amy, and, even (dare to dream) Darva and Rick.

Viewers (there were 16 million on Wednesday night) can either reach for the off switch, or they can remain slumped on the sofa, hypnotized by the sheer tackiness of the event. Those who are fascinated, but mortified, can tell themselves that they do not to have to worry, none of this is really 'real.' Fox makes this an easy option. The island itself is already an alibi, a Robin Leach fantasy of sparkling seas, tumbling waterfalls, and enchanted beaches, a place where the ordinary rules are suspended. And then there are the players themselves, some of them with the sort of strange otherwordly names last heard on the bridge of the USS Enterprise, Kaya, Ytossie, Dano.

As for their jobs, well, let us just say that this was the least representative cross-section of America since the Village People. Participants on the show include a singer, a singer/poet, a singer/waitress, an aspiring entertainment reporter, a practicing entertainment reporter, a bartender, the founder of an online dating service, a model/actress, an actor/drummer, the owner of a kayaking company, an artist, a masseur, Miss Georgia 2000, a teen-crisis counselor, and a motocross guy. And then, in a final hint that none of this really matters, there was the network's proviso that none of the parties should be married, either to their significant others, or, presumably, to anyone else. It was a curiously old-fashioned gesture. In effect it was a statement that a 'relationship,' whether at a crossroads or not, is somehow less worth protecting than the 'real' thing, marriage.

What a pity, then, that one of the couples should have gone and spoiled it all by turning out to be parents, the parents of a 'real' child. That was against the rules too, and the wicked pair has been thrown off the island. It is on film, of course. We will be able to see it for ourselves in a few weeks.

And so, one day, will their child.