Anika Begay
Recently, while stuck at home sick with the new FLiRT variant of Covid-19, I honored its ridiculous name with a marathon viewing of Island of Love USA. I enjoy reality TV, especially when I’m sick; one season alone has graciously provided 36 hours of entertainment without the need for brain cells. It was my first time watching the show, and one moment has stuck with me more than any other: a group of contestants huddled around a phone, their eyes glued to a compilation video of their partners on the screen with other women. Here are the tears and howls of betrayal.
As television goes, it’s a prime moment of voyeuristic entertainment, a combination of actions colliding head-on with consequences, real-time reactions to the taboo of cheating, a moment typically reserved for private moments between partners. It’s also a tactic on the part of producers so manipulative it feels like psychological torture. This It’s a good reality show.
When Nerial announced Crush Housea video game about a reality TV show, it seemed like a fun and goofy take on a genre that many people don’t take seriously. Players take on the role of a producer named Jae who has just started working on the biggest reality TV show of 1999. Jae selects four cast members for each new season and aims to capture them as they bicker, flirt, and scheme to stay in the spotlight.
Much like the grim realities of reality TV, however, Crush House is something far more sinister than its colorful, cupcake-like aesthetic would have you believe. If reality TV is a pact between the artist and the audience, a person who craves fame at any cost and viewers willing to give it to him mafia-style, is the relationship truly symbiotic or something worse? Viewers will get their pound of flesh, whether the reality stars want it or not.
At the start, Crush HouseThe goal is simple: keep the show on the air Monday through Saturday, while garnering high enough ratings to avoid cancellation.
It sounds easier than it is. The difficulty increases rapidly as players must juggle new daily audiences, from fans craving drama or wholesome moments, to those who just want to see a lighthouse, or maybe some feet, in the frame. Each new season is harder to beat than the last thanks to increasing audience demands and network pressure, delivered in-game via a faceless superior on a walkie-talkie. The only way to succeed is to get smart with the camera, figuring out how to fulfill multiple demands in one shot before the day is out. Playing ads during the show will help you earn money to buy helpful props; these can be anything from a statue that gets everyone excited about kissing, to a saxophone for a specific character to play as.
There’s no shortage of drama among the cast members either, of course. They all want their influence to be felt. Each has a different request for Jae: some want their most dramatic moments captured from their best angles or extra airtime, while others seek the opportunity to showcase their musical talents. Fulfilling these requests is crucial to advancing the story behind the show. There’s something disturbing happening at Crush House off-screen, a mystery so dramatic that it seems perfectly in line with the dystopian premise of modern reality TV.
The mix-and-match aspect of casting, along with the game’s procedurally generated dialogue, works well to make the seasons feel unpredictable, though some characters have strong enough personalities that I planned out the casts for maximum drama. Ayo, a brash personal trainer, was constantly the bomb I threw into the house to start fights. French casanova Emile was sure to capture the hearts of the audience and the housemates.
While the game does offer a mode that lets you play through its story without fear of failing the ratings, it’s best experienced without that protective barrier. Figuring out how to please six viewers at once while also avoiding filming someone’s butt, for example, becomes a game of charade where you run after characters, the camera bouncing, to get a Dutch-angle shot of a fight breaking out in front of a garden light, while occasionally flipping the camera skyward because you’ve lingered too long on someone’s butt.
Crush House It’s a mad rush, a game where every minute counts. It’s frenetic in a way that feels similar to shooting a beer: silly, silly, but deadly serious in that specific moment.
