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High Society on CW

Worst.  Self-promotion.  Ever.  Okay, maybe not as bad as the Bubble Boy or the White House Crashers, but definitely up there.  High Society (Wednesday, 9:30 p.m. ET) - the vile new reality show on CW - follows the vapid exploits of New York socialite Tinsley Mortimer and her circle of friends.  It’s ostensibly a crass ploy to market Tinsley’s line of handbags…and herself.  She serves as the show’s creator and one of its executive producers, so ultimately Tinsley Mortimer is to blame for showcasing the stream of foul language, excessive drinking, and deplorable behavior that has earned the March 10^th series premiere the title of Worst TV Show of the Week.

According to reports, Tinsley had previously shot another reality show, which followed her from one charity event to another, but the project was scrapped for being too boring; evidently the train wreck too low-velocity for viewers (or CW executives) to care.  So the show was retooled by adding what every reality show supposedly needs: villains you love to hate.  Well, they got the last part of the equation right. 

Enter Paul Johnson Calderon “Page Six Scandal Boy” and Jules Kirby “Trust-fund Partier” – two of the most spoiled, selfish, immature, reprehensible people you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting, or serving, or watching on television.  In introducing himself to the viewers, PJC – as he is called – admits with a hint of pride that he’s been to rehab twice already and goes on to proclaim the reality-show villain’s creed: “I do what I want when I want.  And if you don’t like it … peace.”  To prove this, he flings a beer can out of the window of his limousine.  In introducing herself, Jules says the words every reality-show producer loves to hear: “I don’t have a censor button.”  Don’t believe her?  Here’s a nice sound bite: “My friends do tend not to be homosexuals, fat, or Jewish people and black guys, and I only like white guys…I use the N-word sometimes, um, and I really think it should be okay to say.”  What does this kind-hearted, loving humanitarian hope to do with her otherwise useless life?  “My dream is to work for the United Nations,” she claims without a hint of irony.  

PJC and Jules, former BFF’s, have an ongoing rivalry that sounds like, soooo, high school.  And it amounts to both sides spreading rumors.  According to PJC, Jules faked having cancer because her parents had cut her off, after which she burned down a home in the Hamptons.  PJC admits that he stole her blackberry.  The childishness boils over at a bar when PJC throws his drink at Jules, accidentally hitting another woman instead.  Jules curses at PJC, “Get the [bleeped “f***”] away you [bleeped “f***ing”] freak!”  PJC snickers as he offers an insincere apology.  Meanwhile, Jules calls the police, sending PJC running for his limo.  “All in a days work,” Paul brags, “I know how to get myself out of a situation like that.”

Strangely, Tinsley seems like a secondary character in her own reality show.  Much effort has been made to present her as a normal woman with normal problems – a recent divorcee, getting back on her own two feet amid pain, loss, and uncertainty.  Except, unlike normal women, she’s dating a German prince named Casimir and furnishing her Mid-town loft with the extravagant spoils of her divorce settlement.

Tinsley’s mother, Dale, openly admits that she will do every in her power to reunite Tinsley with her ex-husband Topper, heir to the Standard Oil fortune.  “Their initials are even the same – Topper and Tinsley.  It’s just like it was meant to be,” she laments.  Right.   

Frankly, if it weren’t for her divorce there’d be nothing interesting at all about Tinsley Mortimer.  So the series gooses up sympathy for her by showing her weeping in bed with her arm over her face, either to mask the pain…or the insincerity.  It’s hard to tell, despite (or precisely because of) the show so deliberately framing her pity-me storyline. Tinsley narrates the scene, “I’ve never been single in my life…How did I end up like this?”  Um, maybe by spending all your time trolling for fame and associating with abhorrent people. 

For someone who desperately wants to be seen as high-class, this show is so, so low-brow.  Good luck selling those luxury handbags.

It’s hard to tell what’s more offensive about the series.  Could it be the profligate spending and conspicuous consumption during the worst recession in generations?  Is it the crude suggestion that sleaze is more watchable than charity?  Or perhaps most offensive of all is the CW’s persistent belief that its young female demographic wants to see this kind of dreck.

Randee Dawn’s review in the Hollywood Reporter sums it up best: “If this is what the network [CW] considers appropriate programming for its largely female audience, then I'll be over at Spike, where the misogyny doesn't come with a designer bow on it.”

For foul language and for setting the reality-show bar unbelievably low, High Society has been named Worst TV Show of the Week.