The current season of Survivor seems like a zombie version of itself. Formulaic isn’t necessarily bad, but the pattern here has become painfully obvious.
Young and Pretty gang up against Old and Useful, confident that all will cower in the face of Young and Pretty. Their confidence is immediately revealed to be deeply misplaced. The men, despite repeated losses to the women, maintain unfounded certainty that the women are weaker (coyly reinforced by host Jeff Probst and the production staff), infrequently tossing out a condescending compliment about how “determined” the women are. (Not skilled or strong, just “determined,” like kittens trying to get the laundry hamper open.) Nobody seems to have cultivated any actual survival skills prior to arrival on the island. And the whining… Dread Dormammu, the whining! As I stated previously, contestants, nobody forced you to compete for a million dollars. You applied for the show of your own free will, presumably familiar with its “rigors.” Suck it up.
My favorite gripe thus far was when a contestant compared the experience to prison, like she’d know. I loved this not because it was particularly apt or revealing but because it immediately made me want to see Survivor: Alcatraz. Which tribe will be the first to turn their toothbrushes into shanks? Who will rat out their tribemate to Warden Probst to get a cushy job in the prison library? Will the Young and Pretty crumble in the face of the ruthlessly starchy fare of the prison mess hall? Who will win this week’s reward challenge, 72 hours in solitary?
On to happier viewing, I’m looking forward to tonight’s Joan of Arcadia. If you’d told me that I, as an atheist who considers “uplifting” one of the very meanest things you can call a television program, would love this show as much as I do, I would have given you such an eye-roll. But love it I do, and without shame.
Tonight’s O’Grady is a repeat, or “previously aired episode,” if you prefer, but I’ll probably watch it again all the same. I’m weak that way.