Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Oops!...I Did it Again

Like a wine-soaked drifter who can't kick the sauce even as each drunken belt leads inexorably down the path to an excruciating and pathetic death, I tuned in to Britney and Kevin: Chaotic again this week.

Cletus and Brandine have made an astonishing train wreck of a series so far. First off, it is filmed so poorly that all other reality shows look like Orson Welles masterpieces in comparison, and this is far and away the least of its problems.

The biggest problem with Chaotic is that it shows Brit as she (presumably) really is—acne, psychosis and all. And who exactly is this Mrs. Federline? None other than the female Michael Jackson; a child trapped in an adult's body. In the first episode she displayed her propensity for making silly faces and offensive noises. Episode two finds her glassy-eyed and stoned in the back seat of a car in Copenhagen cracking up over fart jokes. In her relationship with Kevin, she carries on like an infatuated junior high schooler, making grand, naive pronouncements about the nature of love and chewing gum and making out at the same time.

For his part, Kevin, who shocked audiences in the first episode by taking not one, but two showers, acts like a man who knows he's struck gold. He seems adept at exploiting Britney's insecurities while simultaneously satisfying her egomaniacal need to always be on camera. (On a related note: Based on Britney's narcissism and the levels of inebriation attained by the couple, there's a very good chance that there's some slack-jawed yokel porn out there waiting to be unleashed on the market. When this will happen, right up there with the identity of Deep Throat, is one of the great questions of the 21st Century.)

But as I sat immobile, stunned that a show could actually make me long to watch anything else on UPN, a thought occurred to me. What if Britney isn't a mega-moron after all? Maybe Chaotic is really a crafty attempt to make herself seem so unattractive and worthless that the tabloids and the general public will lose interest and will leave her and her beau alone to a life of peace, tranquility and Cheetos. That would be a brilliant idea, using the full weight of the publicity machine in a ploy to escape from its clutches. Can there really be any other explanation for all those night vision shots of Britney without make-up?

Oh Britney, you're stupid alright—stupid like a fox!
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