Meta: Breathe Normally (Sex House)-- DFvQ

[xandromedovna]

CW: unreality, sexual exploitation, implied domestic violence, abuse

When I was in elementary school, there was a horror reality competition show called Murder in Small Town X (FOX, 2001), which, being ten, I didn’t realize was fictional until I was older. It didn’t occur to me that they couldn’t simply sign people up to get murdered, but my lack of surprise at this illustrates something about reality TV: it is structured around cruelty. Similar to my experience, comments on the videos for Sex House indicate that some, especially younger, viewers were initially unaware that Sex House was not an actual reality show (though some of these could be comments from trolls). While it does become clear throughout the later episodes, the pilot is so seamlessly in keeping with reality TV conventions that the existence of such a show might not strike an audience as a parody except that it’s produced by The Onion. The viewership numbers are an exercise in irony: as of 17 July 2022, over 30 million viewers have watched the first two episodes, whereas all later episodes, which are much more clearly horror, have less than 10 million views, most much lower than that. The audience’s demand for the type of content represented by the first episode and unfulfilled in the second is part of the problem.

 

Besides the absolute takedown of hypersexualized mass culture and compulsory sexuality (which I’ll talk about in the diss proper), what makes Sex House so effective is that it accomplishes its goals by combining two usually unrelated genres: reality TV and horror. There is of course a rich body of work combining these genres (e.g. Black Mirror, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Hunger Games, Squid Game, etc.), but few of these are comedies. By playing up the natural horror elements of reality TV, SH is able to create an incisive satire of mass culture that still “points its finger at the real villains—reality show producers who’ll do anything to provoke TV-friendly drama” (Solomon). Gavin Mueller has already done an excellent analysis of the class conflict in SH, wherein he argues that “[The Onion’s] story takes the side of the workers, the reality show contestants themselves, in their battle against their oppressive working conditions”. But it does so by embracing the conventions of both reality TV and Gothic horror, which it melds even from the first episode.

 According to Ann McCarthy, “reality TV is less a genre than a mode of production” (98), which dovetails nicely with Mueller’s argument. “At the expense of the sitcom,” McCarthy continues, “the networks increasingly invest in reality TV because the absence of writers, directors, and actors allows them to bypass the powerful labor guilds, minimizing up-front investment while maximizing short-term revenues from advertising” (98). As Mueller points out, in the case of SH this is specifically sexual labour, a point Derek brings up in the first episode: “I think the fact that we’re getting a stipend to have sex with each other might violate state law” (1x1). Given the centrality of labour disputes to the plot of SH, this already shows its deep understanding of the logics of reality TV, but even if we do consider reality TV as a genre, it has the expected stock characters, controlled setting, loose plot structure, and tense but upbeat mood one would expect from a reality TV show.

The primary hallmarks of the horror genre are also present in the first episode, such as a secluded and mysterious space, claustrophobia, the uncanny, foreshadowing of conflict with the rules of reality, foregrounding of sexuality and boundary-crossing, and mysterious unseen presences. The first shot of the series is the empty house as Jay walks through the front door calling “what up?” (1x1) As he’s the first one in the house, no one responds, and his casually violent interactions with the space (tossing his bag, kicking a punching bag, etc.) both establish his characterization and subtly present the central conflict of the series as human vs. environment. As more Housemates arrive and they explore their new home, the space presents itself as more and more unnerving; Erin finds a drawer of dildos, while Tara and Jay try to find the bedrooms. Jay taps a flickering lightbulb with curiosity and Erin pulls a handle off of a cabinet. Derek jokes “there is so much alcohol they barely left any room for the food,” foreshadowing the later food scarcity in the House (1x1) . As the series progresses, the living space becomes more and more hostile, with false windows, TVs that only play porn, mold colonizing the entire upstairs, a flamethrowing heater burning several people, and a chronic lack of food.

Partially this is due to producer neglect stemming from cost-cutting measures and little care for details or participant safety. However, their miserable living experience is also imposed on them as a punishment from the Producers because of their refusal to have sex. Between Derek’s incompatibility with the other Housemates (as the only mlm) and the fallout of Frank and Erin’s drunken hook-up the first night, the Housemates are at first reticent to have sex and later consciously decide to band together and withhold sex. This strategy is a direct product of the Housemates’ intra-actions with the Producers; the more the Producers try to entice and later coerce them to have sex, the more the Housemates resist by insisting on remaining celibate. The retaliations by the Producers (poisonous drinks, gassing, withholding food, “shackl[ing] the house’s only Black guy” (1x5), etc.) only serve to galvanize their refusal to engage with the terms of the show.

These Producers are unseen until episode 4, when the Host is first introduced with zero explanation, a fact noted by the Housemates. The unsettling nature of his arrival points out the lack of previous producer presence. All previous communications from staff were done via Sex House Sext on a tablet or indirectly through guests. While this lack of contact is a staple of the reality TV production mode—where cameras are politely ignored, instructions are indirectly delivered, and hosts are held at a distance—the absence pulls double duty by leaving the characters controlled by an unseen, unknowable force. The disturbing nature of this only becomes more prominent as the show progresses, through disembodied voices, strange alarms and hand-signals, and of course the locked door.

While cameras are frequently pointed out and referenced, camera people aren’t really addressed until the final episodes. The camera crew present an interesting intermediate state, simultaneously part of Production yet trapped in the house just like the others, which is reflected in the varying levels of solidarity they have with the Housemates. At first during “Orgy Scheming” (1x8), there is an opposition between the camera crew, who wander through the house seeing no one, and the Housemates, who break up their ‘sex meetings’ (strike action planning meetings) as soon as the cameras approach. But when the masked man breaks through the door and brutally beats Frank, the Houseguests and the camera crew hide together in one of the rooms, Derek ushering the crew to safety. This is one of the only times the camera people are shown instead of implied, in keeping with the reality formula but also adding a layer of horror due to the fact that these previously unacknowledged workers are also in this frightening situation. By the next episode, after Production has left them all to die in the house, Frank points out that “we have made a life here, as the abandoned camera crew has made a life here. We do not speak to them, nor they to us. It is a tenuous peace” (1x9).

Importantly, the problem is presented as structural instead of the result of individual malice or vindictiveness on the part of Production: “to call this place evil implies a clarity of purpose that I do not want to attribute to anyone involved” (1x7). Producers are presented as negligent, bumbling cheapskates instead of sadistic villains (the Host excepted), but their power over the Housemates and unconcern for their lives makes the distinction materially inconsequential. The callousness of entertainment executives is the primary target of the show and true source of the horror; in the in-universe finale’s ‘previously on Sex House’ teaser (the only episode to feature one), Production is depicted with blurred out faces and disguised voices talking about the Housemates as marketing points instead of people. The very first point brought up is not the labour dispute or appalling conditions, but that “our sponsors dropped” (1x9). Of the Housemates, they say only “the cast are all duds, they won’t cooperate, won’t respond to threats” before the lead executive says, in a line that summarizes their entire approach throughout the process, “I refuse to think about this anymore. Shut down Sex House” (1x9).

Disturbingly, when they decide to shut down production, instead of releasing the Housemates, they simply abandon them in a locked building with zero support or contact with the outside world. It is unclear how long a ‘Cryst’ is, but there have been at least 12 Crysts since they were abandoned, spurring them to start their own post-apocalyptic society, complete with idiosyncratic dialect (e.g. Cryst, ‘drama’ as a verb), disputes over resources with hostile others (i.e. the camera crew), and agrarian concerns (such as whether to kill and eat the frogs). In perhaps the most chilling moment of the show, Jay and Tara accidentally knock down a panel, revealing a window to the outside world. The Housemates silently gaze out the window in wonder for a long while before Alex says, “we should put it back up” (1x9). And they do. They are so traumatized by this experience that they make no attempt to leave when the opportunity arises, fearing reprisal from the capricious, unknowable force of Production—who’s to say they’ve really left?

The final episode, the reunion, is a hallmark of the reality TV genre, showing a where-are-they-now of the cast, but the implausibility of the characters being so unaffected and the “bizarrely, jarringly chipper” tonal contrast between it and the previous episode retains the horror aspect (Read). As Mueller notes, “carrying the parody to its end, Sex House’s final reunion show is, as such shows always are, an exercise in revisionism, and the show’s darkest moment.” The Housemates are still beholden to the network, still just as invested in the entertainment world—and still just as traumatized. The Housemates laugh off events in the House like they were silly antics and not dire abuse. Alex’s new boyfriend Paul is revealed to be the voice over the PA system in the House, which he demonstrates by repeating his line, “breathe normally—prepare for mist” (1x10). Lea Pascal’s acting in this moment is heartbreaking; the undiminished smile juxtaposed with the sheer panic behind her eyes followed by shoving her tongue down his throat tell us the Housemates haven’t actually left.

Of course, juxtaposition is the heart of comedy, and in that regard, SH is very successful as a comedy—the ridiculously criminal actions of Production allow us to laugh without fearing for the Housemates actual safety as we might in an actual reality TV program. But it is also effective reality TV, if assumptions of its veracity can be believed, and it’s also very effective horror, poignantly demonstrating the consequences of a cultural obsession with sex and poor labour standards. Comedy has the last word with the teaser for (fictional) season 2, where it’s the same premise, but the new batch of Housemates are all frogs from the previous season. Cheap, popular with fans, not beholden to labour laws, and sure to feature mating, it’s the perfect compromise (just don’t give them Cloudy Drink).

 

Works Cited

McCarthy, Ann. “Crab People from the Center of the Earth.” GLQ—A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, vol. 11, no. 1, 2005, pp. 97-101.

Mueller, Gavin. “Sex House and the Refusal to Fuck.” Jacobin, 16 Oct. 2012.

Read, Max. “Goodbye to Sex House, the Best Show of the Summer.” Gawker, 13 Sep. 2012.

Solomon, Matt. “The Onion’s Sex House at 10, Still a Dark Miracle.” Cracked, 31 May 2022.