The Real Housewives of Melbourne – a precis: Six vapid, vacuous women compete to become the most despised harpy queen in Australia’s short history.
Surely this sextet cannot think for a minute they will be celebrated for this nation’s turn in the worst television franchise in the world. There are no redeeming features on display and, despite the assurances at least one of them uses a stylist, seemingly no use of any understated hair or make up techniques (if big is beautiful when it comes to hair at least two of the participants have morbidly obese bouffants).
The lap dogs, the pretend acknowledgement of the various trades they use to nip/tuck/primp/restump their bodies, the incredibly farcical “friendships”… the gall of the women and the producers knows no bounds. There is NOTHING aspirational about these people. There is no reason to give them any more oxygen than they already consume (and I’d suggest at least one is probably paying for a person in a third world slum to stop breathing so they can have a little more).
It is, however, edited perfectly. From the cuts of one “housewife” talking about the weekends are her time to “hang with the kids” as she spends it inside their Peninsula home while the kids run around outside to another talking about how important strong women are in her life while enjoying a coffee with two other ladies whose company it is very clear she cannot stand – the finished package is dripping with sarcasm.
“Me and Ben are very private people… which is why we allowed a camera crew to follow us around and film our every move for this ludicrously-positioned TV show.”
The bit players in this debacle are the “real house husbands of Melbourne”. Or at least the four who were beaten into submission by their real housewives to appear on the series. One was so smart he high-tailed it to the US six months before filming started… or at least that’s what one Queen Bee proposes as her cover story (her real Mr Big allegedly lives in a drawer beside her bed at home). There’s the rock star, the plastic surgeon, the architect – you get the idea. They appear at the whim of the wannabes and are paraded for the betterment of society, quite possibly as a warning to any beaus considering dating the remaining singles. DANGER WIL ROBINSON, DANGER!
The joke is clearly on the participants… and anyone who thinks that these six are in anyway real. A better use of your time instead of watching The Real Housewives of Melbourne would be to slowly and carefully remove each layer of your dermis with a vegetable peeler.
The Real Housewives of Melbourne – Sun 7:30pm AEST, Arena.