I don’t watch reality TV. Rather, I’ve seen enough to not really want to watch more.

My compulsion to write about it springs from reading Nietzsche’s characterization of the ancient Greek Dionysian theater in The Birth of Tragedy. He describes how the line between the audience and the performance was blurred to such a degree that a spectator could imagine running onto the stage, entering the drama and “seeing oneself transformed and acting as though one had truly entered another body, another character.” This was possible because of the partici­pant’s spellbinding illusion of being “surrounded by a host of spirits with which it knows itself to be profoundly united.”

It sounds a lot like a description of reality TV, with the “spirits” being the antiquated version of celebrities. In reality TV, the line between artifice and reality is blurred, and the distinction between the audience and the performers is broken down.

A crucial distinction, however, between ancient and contem­porary thinking is that the allure of Dionysian theater was founded on the return to a state of nature—a more intense world of pleasure. In contrast, today, by pursuing fame on reality tv, participants seek the same intense experience that is anchored in illusion, without being freed of their identities. Instead, they desire an escape from anonymity by having the public fall in love with them. This seems tied to the ascendancy of subjectivity in our opinion-dominated culture, where every possible thing is measured and counted to ascertain its popularity.

In her book Reality TV, Annette Hill elaborates on the draw of fame, saying, “Celebrity is the realm of legitimized personality. One of the key characteristics of celebrities is that their private lives and doings are taken to be interesting and treated as public property. This is often denounced as an intolerable intrusion, but in fact it is the highest reward that can be bestowed under capitalism. Unlike the mass of the population, the celebrity is someone whose individuality is taken seriously. The idea of an individual magical escape into the world of celebrity is an attractive one.”

In other words, a fame-seeking reality TV applicant might think, “I’m stuck in my boring job, in my boring town, with my boring friends. If I could just become rich and famous, and start hanging out with stars, life would be amazing. I think I’ll go try out for Survivor.”

According to Nietzsche, “Action depends on a veil of illusion.” So long as you believe that getting on TV can change your life, you’re ready to run on stage. A desperate attempt at recognition fueled by the belief that life will never be the same again.

Reality TV is making it harder to perceive reality. British artist Phil Collins (no relation to the pop star) recorded interviews with people whose lives were changed by appearing on TV. Aptly titled “The Return of the Real,” this video installation was commissioned for the Istanbul Biennial and got him nominated for Britain’s prestigious Turner Prize.

The interview with Meral, a middle-aged woman, captures her experience of Nietzsche’s veil of illusion descending—only to have it dissipate. Entranced by a man she saw on the marriage program A Woman’s Voice, she rushed to the station, “was thrilled to meet him” and within the week they were married on live TV. Finally alone, off camera and living together, she was confronted with a person she felt she had never met. His behavior and even the way he spoke was unrecog­nizable. After a few weeks, she realized she would have to get rid of her unemployed, penniless and aggressive new husband.

In comparison, Sabret, a celebrity look-alike, professes to love the star he resembles, “almost as much as my father, more than my brother.” His illusion, his dream of fame and celebrity, is replacing his sense of reality.

It is easy to deride reality TV, as many do, for being base, superficial and morally bankrupt. While that may or may not be true, what is true is that the way it mixes the public and the private, the artificial and the real, introduces complex indicators of where our culture is and where it’s headed. It has become so pervasive so quickly that it’s hard to keep up with, even if you try.

I may not want to watch reality TV, but there’s too much to learn from it to ignore it altogether. CA

Editor’s note: See Phil Collins’s work in the exhibition “The Cinema Effect” at the Hirshhorn Museum through September 7, 2008. —Wendy Richmond

© 2008 Tim Gilman-Sevcik