"The Hills", or How Reality Television Killed the Writer

MTV's The Hills: reality show, soap opera, pop culture phenomenon. Starring Lauren Conrad, Heidi Montag, Audrina Patridge, Whitney Port and company, the show has refined the love of beautiful and expensive things while hiding under the guise of societal productivity. Having premiered in 2006, The Hills acted as a spin-off of MTV's Laguna Beach, an "experiment" of sorts with cameras and rich youth living in Southern California by the ocean (how Sunset Beach of them).

Laguna Beach launched the pseudo-career of Lauren Conrad, followed her all the way to her high school graduation, to her first year of college, all the while capitalizing on her tumultuous unrequited love triangle that contributed to one of the show's running storylines - for two seasons. The Hills picked up where Conrad had left Laguna Beach - driving down the freeway in her Mercedes en route to Los Angeles, "the city where dreams come true". As an intern at TEEN Vogue and full-time student at the Fashion Institude of Design and Merchandising (FIDM), Conrad had a lot on her plate to chew through and digest. Good thing her partner in crime - Heidi Montag, also to attend FIDM - was present to greet her poolside of their $3,000-a-month West Hollywood apartment complex.

Understanding the natural tendency to find other people's lives more interesting, The Hills has been successful to the Nth degree, having resulted in various spin-offs of its own (The City, starring Whitney Port working PR for Diane von Furstenburg in New York City, and soon, The Audrina Show - no guesses there). The more remarkable fact that remains is that none of this has consistently involved the continuous presence of a writer.

The situation comedy has been made obsolete by the reality and dating show format. Situation comedies considered to be hot stuff (ie Friends) weren't necessarily overly brilliant; however, despite the greed that infects any situation involving money, when things were good they were mutual between writers and actors. The experimental The Real World, on the heels or perhaps ankles of the universally-watched sitcom, was perhaps the first of its kind - a situation, comedic or otherwise, without the aid of a writer. It was with The Real World that shows like Laguna Beach - and eventually The Hills - were able to be inseminated into the womb of our subconscious.

As a teenager (albeit nineteen) I watched Laguna Beach, fascinated that the cameras could capture such drama and cattiness between blondes and brunettes alike. The dollar sign sheen on the BMWs, the Chanel shoes, and the unsupervised parties at suites overlooking the beach was brilliant as much as it was coveted. However, realizing that this money didn't belong to the onscreen participants themselves made the show in itself tolerable to watch. However, with what spin-offs such as The Hills have become - from relaxed somewhat contrived dinners at Luna Park then to "business meetings" at Salades De Provence now - it is clear that at least to an extent, much more than a release form has been signed. Something smells of lawyers present at various contract agreements ("her best angle") and salary negotiations (to the tune of, say $65K an episode for the lead).

Monsters are born, but they don't stay babies forever. Like the humans that bear them, eventually they learn to crawl, walk, talk, and feed themselves, always at their hosts' expense. There is no way to misunderstand something so much like ourselves when it is we the audience who keeps making it fat. Like the child of a loving parent, we will feed our children before we feed ourselves. The stars of The Hills seem to think that we forget certain things like times of day and when photos are taken along the timeline of the show's progression that contradict it continuously. Again, like the loving parents that we are, we realize that it would do no good to just kill the kid. Instead, we continue to indulge it, at least for one more season.

The Hills will air the second half of its fifth season later this month, and will now star Laguna Beach alum Kristin Cavallari, as Lauren Conrad has rather wisely decided to capitalize on more than her blonde hair and amazing wardrobe. Yes, even with all the broadcast trips to Mexico and Hawaii on private planes, and the numerous trips to the Warren Tricomi Salon, I still think give her props for doing so. Conrad has milked the teat for as long as she could latch onto it and now works relatively behind the scenes on a fashion line. While not the most inspiring gig, however, in the name of the monster who has led the way out of its controlled environment, others have come out of the woodwork - naturally, her replacement, Cavallari, and the most blatant of all, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt (aka Speidi).

Whores carry and conceal disease. Need I say more?

Outside of the television realm (executed and in production), there have been books, blogs, albums, TV appearances, even fitness plans have been made available to satiate admitted gluttony. As of Thursday night last week, my video iPod has made friendly with the fourth of The Hills' five seasons. There appears to be no stopping these young, rich, and "untalented". My purchase alone is proof in that our fascination isn't helping them. We're enabling them. And yet it seems as if they're the ones that are doing something right.

Are we that inclined to let the madness remain?