While scripted television has made enormous strides in queer representation, reality TV hasn’t. That’s why the existence of a show like The Boyfriend is a major win.
Everything about it, from the concept to the setting, is refreshing, beating other shows of a similar nature.
Reality dating shows are very popular worldwide and garner millions of fans. Stars have gone on to have successful marriages, families, and careers.
However, this writer has avoided reality TV like a plague because while it is easy to talk about fictional characters, dissecting real people’s lives is a moral gray area at best.
If shows like Interview with the Vampire and 9-1-1 can breed toxic fandoms where death threats and weaponized virtue signaling are a norm, The Boyfriend doesn’t stand a chance.
In the aforementioned shows, the cast members bear some of the vitriol, but some of it is redirected to crew members like writers and showrunners.
In reality TV, however, the cast carries all the weight. I hate to see Instagram comments flooded with hate and death threats over a show.
After watching The Boyfriend Season 1, my notions about reality TV, especially dating shows, have changed, but there are still some concerns.
‘The Boyfriend’ is Groundbreaking
The show’s existence is good. It diversifies a genre that is wildly dominated by heteronormative notions.
The common trope is that a boy (preferably not impotent) meets a girl (preferably a long way from menopause), and they go through a curated experience that makes them fall in love.
The end goal is to have little babies in a Bridgerton kind of style.
The Boyfriend deals with issues pertinent to queer men, including identity, love, and community.
When Netflix announced it, one selling point was that even if it was marketed as a dating show, the participants would form different connections.
The series excels at this, showcasing different relationships. From the swoon-worthy #DaiShun romance to the community rallying behind Taeheon, it is beautiful to see them develop.
Romance is the central theme, which educates the audience on healthy communication, consent, and self-esteem in relationships.
The Boyfriend is a perfect balance between a modern existence by queer men in Japan and the lag in queer rights in the country.
It touches on the uncertainty of same-sex relationships that the government doesn’t put much stock on, to the culture where parents lay heteronormative expectations on their children.
The show hails from the continent where a distinct genre of media rose in the 2010s. BL has almost become mainstream now.
One of the common criticisms of BL shows is how they exploit queer existence without acknowledging the challenges of existing as a queer person in many places in the world.
However, The Boyfriend doesn’t shy away from talking about these things. Even if Taeheon doesn’t leave the Green Room with a man, he leaves with something quite valuable.
Have you ever caught a promo video for the next episode of a reality show? It is “extra” added on “camp” and makes the head hurt.
The Boyfriend doesn’t rely on overperformance, opting for an honest exploration of human existence.
Shun’s behavior might be aggravating, but it remains consistent throughout as he learns and grows. While he might brood and sulk, he also remains honest about how he feels instead of taking people for loops.
The show succeeds in selling its cast to the viewer without weird edits for the sake of mining drama.
The Bad
Like many other “reality” shows, The Boyfriend feels heavily scripted at some points.
It’s not lost on me that producers are looking to make something entertaining. Curating the story’s direction is a necessary step, but it can be overdone.
In several instances, it feels like the cast is acting instead of reacting for the most part.
The episodes feature a classic concept in scripted television, where conflicts and resolutions occur in a very simple manner.
In trying to diversify their cast, the show comes off as being written to fit a certain agenda. The good thing is that the agenda is teaching queer men healthy communication.
A character like Shun feels like the classic ice queen. Dai feels like the hot love-whipped loser, while Ryota feels like the unrequited lover to whom you want to give a hug.
Curve balls and wild cards are common as members join and leave the Green Room when it is convenient for the narrative.
It felt frustrating to #DaiShun fans when everything seemed to be going well before something else happened, and we are back to square one.
The show delegates the role of the host to an iPad and instead features a panel of commentators.
They don’t feel like they add something to the narrative since they voice what the viewer is thinking. Even worse, they might influence what the viewer takes away from the show.
One particular panelist whose name I didn’t catch (in all fairness, I didn’t catch any of them) repeated what the cast members said without any commentary.
The cut from the cast to the panelists breaks the high of watching these men interact.
Stray Observations
- I’m walking a thin line here, but Usak and his chicken were so annoying. Not only was it ruining the cohesion in the house, but I couldn’t bear seeing someone chug blended chicken like that. Eeeew!
- Why is The Boyfriend rated 18 for sex by Netflix when there’s barely anything sexual? That affects its discoverability by teens who could use the message.
- I felt bad for the cast members when it looked like they felt that they’d accompanied #DaiShun to fall in love. Best wishes to them!
Verdict
The Boyfriend is groundbreaking, and we could use more seasons. Reducing the interference by production and panelists would make a new season epic.
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