Welcome to the world of My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiancé. This is the Fox Network’s latest attempt to pull civilization into the sewer. It’s a Big, Fat, Obnoxious Idea.
Joe Millionaire 2 was not enough. Average Joe 2 is insufficiently belittling to humans. Now, as a species, we must reach lower. Trust Fox. They reach into the depths of idiocy, where we no longer allow reality show contestants to be actually real. It has come to this: We must manufacture reality show contestants in order to achieve a more perfect reality. So Fox could not find a real Big Fat Obnoxious guy who was, chiefly Big, Fat, and Obnoxious enough. They have to create one. Sort of Steve Austin, the six-dollar man.
And this guy is not just lowercase “o” obnoxious. He is full-bore over the top OBNOXIOUS. This guy is so Obnoxious that only a complete idjit, or a first-grade teacher, would be unable to detect that the man is acting. Yes, acting. Is there anyone in the viewing audience who could not see through this sham in an instant?
Before the show opens, we are provided with a promo that covers all the main points of the show, from the first meeting to the wedding. We see the bride’s family leave, we see the bride in tears. We know this will not turn out well. In fact, you could have watched this two-minute version of the show, and be spared the remaining episodes. But you would have missed the “back fat.” And really, what’s a television season without the back fat?
So, because you are souls in search of torture, here’s what happened when America met My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé…
When the show opens, we see a fabulous mansion, similar to all the other fabulous reality mansions that have popped up all over TV land. This one is apparently in the center of the drizzle belt because every time we see the front of this house the front walk is a shimmering puddle. Other than that it is unremarkable, except to point out that it is decorated with detritus left behind when the gargantuan Kirstie Alley chewed through a string of Pier One stores.
Our hostess Claudia DiFolco sets up the premise for us. And yes, it is stupid.
We meet Randi Koi, a clueless first grade schoolteacher from Arizona who has be sequestered for two weeks waiting for her cue to participate in some unnamed and undefined reality show. She’s hoping it’s one of those romance shows, like “Who Wants to Marry a Bimbo Schoolteacher” or “Average-Looking Blonde 1 + 1 = 2”.
I should point out here that a koi is an ornamental carp, those monstrous gold fish people keep in ponds. And Randi is, of course, a code word for sexual hunger.
So remember, Randi Koi = lusty ornamental carp.
Fish woman arrives at the mansion, stepping out of a long black limo in a sleek and silk white dress. As she moves into the house, she accumulates all the traditional bridal accoutrements: the bouquet of flowers, the long train, the veil, the hickey from the best man after the rehearsal dinner.
Eventually she reaches the end of the white carpet thingy. Claudia meets her and says Randi will be getting engaged tonight. Suddenly, our ornamental carp looks like she’s been beached. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes roll around her head. It’s so cartoonish I want to fillet her on the spot.
Claudia tells Randi she’s about to be paired up with a complete stranger, and gestures wistfully at a phalanx of tuxedoed Adonises assembled nearby. Randi’s interest is now piqued.
Claudia now sets the hook. She explains that Randi, and the chosen partner, must con her friends and family into believing this cockamamie tale: The couple met on a still-filming and yet-unseen reality show. The couple has fallen in love, and plan to be married in three days. And the camera crews are just part of the romantic reality show we are on. Yes, this is true love in the reality age.
Randi agrees to this idiotic scheme, and sells her dignity for a half-million, probably because she’s willing to spend a few days fantasizing about any one of the stud muffins across the room. In order to collect the cash, she has to get all her family to sit through the entire wedding. If someone boycotts the wedding, or objects to the marriage, nobody wins a penny.
Review with me here. The promo shows her family walking out on the wedding. So we know they get there, we know they leave. For your own sanity, cut here to the final episode, please.
But no. You are still here. So we continue.
The 10 stud muffins introduce themselves. They are all named Biff. They are all wealthy investors from Tampa who mentor underprivileged kids, and they all drive a Maserati. They are all scenery for Randi’s Big Fat Vibrator Fantasy.
And none of them stick around for another 3 minutes. Blah blah blah, pick three, blah blah go home, blah blah blah oh yeah one more twist… we picked one for you.
Enter Steve. Big. Fat. Obnoxious. Stuffed in a too-small tux. Wearing white socks. Hair askew. Watery eyes spinning around the room. Central Casting has done a fine job. This guy’s just too geeky to be real.
Randi’s eyes bulge. Her lips flap open and quiver. And the soundtrack gives us slasher-movie “Ai-Ai-Ai-Ai-Ai…” violins. This is NOT a subtle show.
We cut away to commercials, which I’ll tell you about some other time.