The “Voice” of Reality TV
With reality TV shows still quite popular — The Traitors has taken the TV landscape by storm in the past few years, not to mention Netflix hits like Single’s Inferno — it’s as good a time as any to remind ourselves of the fact that what we see is very much scripted, despite the misleading label of “reality TV”. That, of course, has many implications, and there are plenty of topics of discussion that I could bring to your attention based on this fact alone. But my focus today will be on the concept of the “voice”. No, not The Voice, the singing competition that’s a staple of many countries’ reality TV roll-out, but the “voice” that one thinks of when reading a book (in this case called narrator) or an article (aka the author. Hi!). Apart from the lines of dialogue that give characters their own voice, there is that voice of authority (sometimes coinciding with that of a character) that guides the reader, telling them what they should know and, at times, how they should feel. In a fiction film, that label could be attributed to the director — the auteur –, the screenwriter or even the editor, all merging into one entity that has the same role of guiding us through the world of the story. But in reality TV, where the goal is to create the impression of life as-is, of un-staged conflicts and unfiltered personalities, what is left of this “voice”? Where does it come from and why should we even care about it?
To reiterate: by now we’ve all gathered that some formats of reality TV are heavily scripted. From the selection of the contestants, to the challenges they have to take on and even the outcome of each elimination, there is a certain narrative that is being constructed. For example, now that the latest The Traitors US season is over, I can admit to having predicted that Rob and Maura would be the last two, because there is no way in which the producers would have missed out on the opportunity to create “peak reality TV”. The moment of her finding out about his betrayal is what many viewers had been waiting for. It was climactic, but the set-up feels almost too perfect. I believe the producers knew they had a good dynamic that they could profit off of and if they had to pull some strings for some contestants to be eliminated earlier than they normally would’ve just to get to that perfect finale, well, that’s just showbiz. Obviously, that’s only a theory, but the point is for us to examine the moments that do feel too perfect and ask if perhaps there is some sort of voice of authority controlling everything from start to finish.
We already know this to be the case. Whether there is an actual writer credited or just a producer, there is someone behind the scenes pulling the strings. Making the participants yell even louder, fight even dirtier or cry even harder, they take something that’s already there — usually creating interesting dynamics based on the participants’ established typologies — and amplify it so it becomes entertainment. But surely, they cannot control everything, right? Especially when some moments do feel genuine. The illusion of “wait, maybe this really wasn’t staged” comes from our not knowing exactly how often the puppeteers have intervened or in which specific moments. Reality TV editors have went on record to reveal the techniques behind the scenes that perhaps we’ve all intuited: using B-roll footage of random reactions to make a contestant look like they’re angry with another, putting shots together that happened at different times to make a whole new scene, using music to create a dramatic atmosphere and so on and so forth. Also easy to guess is the purpose of the testimonial (sometimes actually accompanied by a voice that asks the questions or adds some commentary), which is meant to extract a specific confession that solidifies the story we’re presented with.
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Usually, however, we can tune out the occasional contribution from the producers or stop our brains from trying to analyze each shot for clues of tampering with “reality”. We know deep down that some things are not genuine, but why should we care when we get good TV? However, what if that “voice” becomes something you cannot ignore, a part of the experience?
This may be an entirely foreign concept to those who only watch Western reality shows. For those who do dabble in the occasional Korean content landscape or are even avid fans of it (*and not just Korean, but we’ll use this as our case study), the presence of this entity will not come as a surprise. Reality shows — whether connected to a Kpop group (most of them have their own variety show) or not — will often have lines of text suddenly appear on screen. Translations will reveal that those are often explicative interventions (Contestant X is shocked), affective responses that reflect what the fans probably already think (Idol Y has prince-like visuals) or a number of other inclusions. If this sounds entirely foreign to you, then you may be more familiar with the Netflix show Singles’ Inferno — South Korea’s take on a dating show in the same vein as Love Island. If so, then you probably noticed the presence of commentators talking about what’s happening between the contestants as if they were a group of friends just casually watching the show together like most viewers do. If you don’t have someone to watch it and share your live opinions with, then they’re there, giving their own two cents. That’s not something I associate with Western reality TV. It’s also not something that distracts from the experience. In Western reality shows, the cuts have to be unidentifiable and the interviewer’s leading questions must usually be edited out, all for the illusion of authenticity to hold just enough for the viewers to leave the cynicism behind and get absorbed into the drama. You’d think then that a “voice”, whether belonging to a person on-screen, in the flesh or not, would take away from that, reminding you that somebody is actually writing, producing and editing the footage you see. But that’s what actually makes it fun.
Reality TV is meant to be light entertainment, something that doesn’t demand much concentration from the viewer. In the era of “quality TV”, where shows like Severance ask viewers to tune in with a focused mind, some mindless banter between a Housewife and a Love Island heartthrob like in The Traitors makes for good content, especially on days when work or school leaves us with no will or power to play detectives. The presence of a “voice” that acknowledges the artifice, but takes time to explain the rules of the game once more after the host does (this time through text) or to tell us what we’re already thinking yet cannot articulate lightens even more the “duty” of the modern viewer to keep up and pay attention to what’s important. Whether you see a group of Kpop idols playing games on a retreat or 100 fit people competing to see whose physique is the best, that voice already warns you: pay attention, this is a tense challenge, you should keep watching. You don’t need to look too much into it, to question the artifice, you can just enjoy the show as if you were watching it with your friend.
Some critics might suggest that this device further dumbs down reality TV, a form that has already been criticized pretty much from its inception for providing mindless content. I see it instead as: 1. A way of creating engagement through the introduction of a “messenger” of sorts, a fictional entity that’s still on-screen, but directly addresses us as if it were a viewer, too, and 2. A more obvious method of guiding the viewer down the “right” path in terms of understanding and consuming the story. The writer/producer/editor comes up front and tell us “this is how this person feels”. We don’t know the truth. We can only guess or theorize, just like we already do in Western shows. If sad music plays during a testimonial, then we’re pretty much told the same thing: “this is how this person feels”. The “manipulation” is merely more transparent, because it is put into words and, therefore, harder to refute. The viewer is already cynical and knowledgeable. The voice doesn’t fool anyone that doesn’t want to be fooled. And if you want to be told “this is how it is” and just go along for the ride, then that is perfectly fine, too. There is nothing shameful in just sitting back, watching something in the background while eating and letting your brain unwind from a day of working or engaging with content on social media that requires our full concentration (especially in the age of AI where truth becomes harder to distinguish). This is why we should pay attention to this voice and, perhaps inevitably, when it crosses oceans onto Western TV screens, simply welcome it for what it is.
