Channel Nine’s series is a compulsory TV engagement in which the participants are just hoping to survive the perils of dating
Last night, 1.3 million Australians uttered the same phrase at exactly the same time: “Finally!”
Finally air hostess/model Nadia called bullshit on perennially smug race caller Anthony. On a romantic date, as the pair contemplated their future together, he declared it was entirely logical that she should give up her life in Brisbane and move down to his home town of Sydney for him. And, really, what’s the big drama?
“Such a lot of bullshit,” she said, before taking a forkful of food. Finally.
Anthony’s face twitched in disbelief. Over the past seven weeks, he’d questioned her sense of direction in life, called her frigid and criticised her breasts – and yet time and again she had serenely smiled and continued on with him in wedded surely-it-can’t-be-bliss. And now she was daring to question him?
Anthony and Nadia are one of six remaining couples on Channel Nine’s outrageously compelling reality series Married at First Sight, which is soon to reach its climax. Billed as Australia’s most controversial “social experiment”, the show’s premise is ridiculous: 20 singles sign up to meet the person of their dreams, at the altar for a wedding (read: commitment ceremony). Matched up by three relationship experts, the participants got gussied up, uttered some carefully thought-out vows and were “married” to a complete stranger in front of their family and friends.
Then they went on an exotic all-expenses-paid honeymoon before returning to move in together, hopefully forever.
Yes, I know it’s ludicrous. Yes, some of the players have ulterior motives: Anthony is clearly angling for a spot on Nine’s racing coverage desk, and corporate publicists across the country should already be competing to host Cheryl, Sharon and Michelle at their Melbourne Cup tents. And yes, of course I’m being manipulated by the provocative setups and strategic editing.
And yet, week after week, I, along with many others, am tuning in to watch the twists and turns of these couples’ much-vaunted “journeys”. The show is different to, say, The Bachelor, with its stilettos-at-dawn ruthlessness, or Bride and Prejudice with its exploitative edge. There is no competition, there can be more than one winner and the only thing they walk away with is more of the same – albeit without the lure of the soundstage lights.
Perhaps the show is so compelling because it’s offering something unusual: a close-up of a developing relationship from both sides. When we watch a close friend’s relationship unfurl, we only hear one side of the story. Watching Married at First Sight though, we’re shown every eye roll, every strop, every clueless love declaration from both sides of the gender divide. (Yep, even fake marriages aren’t on offer for same-sex couples in Australia.)
As couch-bound experts, we are privy to the fact that Michelle has indeed “friend-zoned” Jesse, despite his convictions that there really is “a connection”. We know that when former soldier Andy tells Vanessa she’s seen all there is to him, he’s telling the truth. We can confirm that Cheryl’s Spidey senses were spot on, after we watched her sleazy sort-of partner, fireman Andrew, bagging her out to the boys. And we unanimously agree with truck driver Susan that horse farmer Sean is an all-round nice guy, after he stood up for Cheryl during that boys’ night party.
How do other people navigate the many hurdles of a partnership? How do you fall in love with someone who still lives with his mum, like Jesse? What if, like Susan, your “soulmate” lives on the other side of the country and you’ll have to leave your entire life behind to be with him? Or what if, deep down, you suspect your partner is a control freak who will make your life a misery – which I suspect is what is finally dawning on Nadia about her “husband” Anthony?
Anthony has held the mantle of resident villain since the very first episode, when he mistook Nadia’s mother for her grandmother. His offensiveness hasn’t been limited to his “wife”: he harangued Cheryl at one of the dinner parties, he repeatedly insulted a call centre worker and, using twisted logic, he cast judgment on everyone’s favourite couple, Sean and Susan, declaring they just wouldn’t work. He’s that guy who sees himself as a “straight-talker”, while everyone else knows he’s just plain rude. After every episode, Twitter lit up with those calling him a bully – and, until last night’s episode, Nadia was the only person who didn’t seem to see it.
Navigating the dating game requires a callous-hardened heart, more resilience than extreme elastic and sometimes gallons of Dutch courage – so perhaps it’s not surprising that these ordinary, optimistic people have ceded their control over it. They are braving a judgmental audience and placing full hope in the experts’ ability to discover their soulmate amid hundreds of applications. This may explain why some are continuing so doggedly, even though it’s abundantly clear that the match is wrong: they have faith that someone else could know them better than themselves. Could this be what the rest of us are doing wrong?
Everyone on the show is constantly examining their feelings, men included: it’s refreshing to watch so many men so contentedly consider issues such as fidelity, commitment and the amount of effort they’re putting in, without being locked in a bedroom and blackmailed with tears. All the blokes happily sitting on the couch, ‘fessing up to the experts how they really truly feel about their relationships – it’s astonishing stuff.
On Tuesday night, after seven weeks together, we watched the couples go on their very last dates, “leaving nothing left unsaid”, before they decided whether they would be committing to a life beyond the orchestrated dates and ever-present cameras. There was a hot air balloon, there was a trip to Luna Park, there was a schmaltzy picnic in the forest – and there was an out-of-the-blue serenade by Thirsty Merc frontman Rai Thistlethwayte.
Yes, it’s cheesy, yes, it’s manipulative, but, beneath all the slick set-ups, there’s a tiny flicker of hope in a cynical world. Most of the participants are just hoping to survive the perils of dating and perhaps make it as a couple. I guess what I’m saying is – Susan and Sean, please don’t break up.
Published in Guardian Australia on 15 March 2017 as Married at First Sight: ludicrous reality show offers flicker of hope in a cynical world
