’Sup, bros and lady-bros. Nathan is off teaching the rest of the critics at Sundance how to beat up the beat, so I’m stepping in to help say goodbye to our favorite crew of shellacked, marble-mouthed guidos and guidettes.
I’m glad I get a chance to weigh in on Jersey Shore now, because I believe the past seven weeks have been a really remarkable moment in reality-show history. (For the record, a really remarkable moment in reality show history, in the scope of all history, falls somewhere between the sixth season of The Dukes Of Hazzard and me stubbing my toe last week.) The show will almost certainly be back for a second season, possibly with the same cast, and while it might still be fun to laugh at their mixed metaphors and inability to properly present their breasts in public, the innocence will be gone. The Jersey Shore cast were the best kind of reality show stars: the kind who don’t know how to be reality show stars. Or rather, they have some naive, outsider’s idea of what it means to be a reality show star, which basically boils down to, “I’m awesome, so if I just go on TV and be awesome, people will think I’m awesome!” At a time when society has become so well-versed in the language of reality shows, it’s nice to see a bunch of fresh, leathery faces coming in with no preconception about their “character,” their “arc,” or becoming the next “Speidi.” Not that these kids didn’t do this for the fame; hell, they came into the show with premeditated nicknames. But the manner in which they achieved that fame was so back-asswards and bumbling that it’s actually sort of endearing.
Of course, now the Jersey Shore kids are famous, and worse than that, they’ve achieved self-awareness. There’s no way these same seven people could return to this house and not be playing characters; before you know it, Jersey Shore will have become The Hills, but with punching instead of blank stares. Similarly, if a new cast is brought in a la The Real World, we’re going to get a Situation type or a Snookie type—the organic, natural douchebaggery will give way to calculated assholism, and the magic will be gone. Though as long as there’s still a duck phone, I’ll tune in.
I think the final moments of tonight’s episode, in which Snookie reflects on the way she began and ended her time at the shore house, provide a nice parallel to what I think is most fans’ relationship with this show: She barreled into the house and acted the fool, and we tuned in for the trainwreck; she got punched in the face, and we dissected the show as pop-cultural anthropologists, picking apart guido culture and what it says about violence, masculinity, Italian-American culture, wankwankwank; and, finally, she was embraced by the housemates who once mocked her, and we admitted to ourselves that despite their frequent stupidity, violent outbursts, and terrible taste, there’s something endearing and ultimately familiar about these people. Who hasn’t made some mistakes after a night of drinking? Who hasn’t made questionable fashion choices in their youth? Who hasn’t spent a night in the tank after flying into a ’roid rage and concussing some dude? This is familiar human drama dressed in rhinestones and injected with a huge dose of human growth hormone. Our guidos, ourselves.
“That was deep. Fuckin’ deep.”
Thank you, Pauly D.
Or maybe y’all just like laughing at the orange-faced assholes. That’s cool too. Unfortunately, tonight’s finale focused much more on reminiscing than on their usual monkeyshines. Granted, we picked up where we left off with Ronnie’s act of unprovoked, incredibly violent self-defense, as the rest of the roommates try to figure out how long they should act concerned about him before passing out (except Sammi, who’s just sad that she won’t have anyone to smoosh with that night). And then there was everyone’s failed attempts to get “dates” for Labor Day weekend, which I assume just means someone you can sloppily make out with for 48 hours, no strings attached. The Situation unsuccessfully tried to order up three girls for him, Pauly D., and Vinny, who then had to act like they really wanted to have a sad bros night at the arcade the whole time. (Who needs pussy when you have AIR HOCKEY!?)