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As readers of this column know, I have gone on the record many times as a lover of reality TV. I skip right past the “prestige” stuff that garners breathless think pieces and amateur dissection on Twitter in favor of watching predominantly good-looking people feud and have sex in a controlled environment (albeit dosed with plenty of alcohol). I have been hooked on this formula ever since Puck first stuck his finger in the peanut butter jar in a giant house on Russian Hill on The Real World: San Francisco in 1994. With that show, Bunim/Murray Productions set a blueprint for countless other thought-free reality hits that have kept me entertained for three decades.
Over the years, executives have, naturally, tried to update or even reinvent the formula, but in my opinion it hasn’t worked—until now. My How Long Gone cohost Jason Stewart recently sent our group chat an intense clip that feels more real than anything I have seen on a reality show in ages. It shows the comedian Jerrod Carmichael sitting cross-legged across from Tyler, the Creator in a Beverly Hills hotel room. Carmichael, his face in his hands, confronts Tyler over how he dodged his profession of love. Tyler laughs and then, in a pivotal moment, invites a waiter in to deliver their room service dinner.
This is, of course, a scene from the cleverly titled Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show, which my friend David Cho describes as Carmichael’s take on Keeping Up With the Kardashians. I see what David means, but to me, Carmichael’s eight-part HBO series, the second episode of which drops on Sunday, is much more compelling (it doesn’t hurt that it features 100 percent less Travis Barker). Carmichael is a bit of a provocateur, and the reality format is the perfect vehicle for his behavior. Nothing seems to be off limits: His mom's religious beliefs and how his coming out has affected their relationship, Grindr (to which there are several references), even toe-sucking. The first episode features him trying on several outfits for the Emmys while a one-night stand looks on from the couch. Later, a figure disguised in black clothes and ski goggles—clearly Carmichael's friend and collaborator Bo Burnham—reminds the viewer that what’s being depicted isn’t true. It is narrative.
In talking about the series, Carmichael has referenced The Truman Show, the 1998 movie that’s famously about a guy who discovers that the life he knows is an elaborately staged entertainment. But he’s actually working in a much more zeitgeist-y mode pioneered by Burnham, with his deeply meta pandemic-era Netflix special Bo Burnham: Inside, and more recently Nathan Fielder, whose own HBO show, The Rehearsal, bent reality to the breaking point. Carmichael is doing something more naturalistic here, integrating his stand-up with scenes from what appears to be his daily life. He plays a voice note from his mom onstage. Their relationship is strained, but she is congratulatory, complimentary, and sweet. You can feel her getting closer to acceptance.
A celebrity trying to be “real” is almost always a tough pill to swallow, but Carmichael succeeds in being funny, vulnerable, and honest. This isn’t Survivor, Love Island, or Below Deck, but it’s also not Succession or Game of Thrones. It’s prestige reality TV, and I can’t wait to watch the rest of the season.