#28 The Price of Everything
02/09/20 16:43
Harlots last week; this week it’s Selling Sunset… From a couple of shillings in an alleyway to top dollar on the terrace. Is it worth it, though?
SS was all over my twitter timeline because everyone was going on about one of the cast wanting a zebra at her wedding. I am all for zebras at weddings, so this made me think it would be my kind of show. Plus, as you know, I love a bit of property porn, so was keen to gawp at multi-million pound LA houses with infinity pools and a gazillion bathrooms.
This Netflix sensation is set in an ultra-luxe estate agent, focusing on the all-female team as they try to flog homes in the Hollywood Hills. Because it’s a ‘reality’ series, we also get to see them dating and squabbling, planning equine weddings etc. The first thing that struck me is that, much like their identical twin bosses, the women are interchangeable. They’re all eleven feet tall, with butterscotch hair, St Tropezed Rhinoceros hide buried under several feet of make-up, trussed in the kind of unforgiving bandage dress that shrieks constant Keto diet. I found it impossible to distinguish between them, so am just going to call them all Krishaya. There’s Bitch Krishaya, Sidekick Bitch Krishaya, Preppy New Girl Krishaya, and Verging On Normal Krishaya. There might be some more of them, it’s hard to tell. The agency is run by the Oppenheimer twins, playing Charlie Townsend to the Krishaya Angels. All I can tell you about Jason and Brett is they’d have to stand on top of each other to be as tall as any of their employees.
New Girl Krishaya is met with fake smiles and barely-veiled hostility when she joins the firm, so she has lunch with her ‘friend’ to share her ‘feelings’. They order gem lettuce salad but don’t eat it. No one in SS eats, but everyone drinks white wine from bucket-sized glasses, which made me think it must be some sort of weight-loss aid. I’d always thought my pinot grigio habit contributed to my lard-arse, but maybe they add laxatives or something. Anyway, the booze brings on more ‘feelings’ for New Girl Krish, who manages to squeeze a tear or two out of her Stepford eyes. Meanwhile, Bitch and Sidekick Krish carry their dogs on a walk together as they snark about New Girl. The only one actually doing any work is Normal Krishaya, busy showing a house to a playboy who keeps pestering her for a drink to seal the deal, the implication being that she should be thrown in as a perk along with the property. Harlots’ Margaret Wells would have shown him the door with a flea in his ear, but Normal K just has to smile because she still wants the commission.
Yes, remember this is a show about selling houses. As an avid Rightmover, I was expecting to mentally relocate to Laurel Canyon and embrace the California lifestyle, but, like the silly little pooches the Bitch Ks cart around, these glam-pads are overpriced diamanté-clad versions of the real thing. There’s no heart or soul to any of the properties, much like there’s no heart or soul to this show. It’s just veneers and Shellac claws. During the first episode, one of the Krishayas mentioned that she was 37, and I did a double take. Not because I’d assumed she was any younger or older, just that it struck me as surprising she was any age at all. Like, this was a real person? Born in the 80s? Not bolted together in a West World factory?
Don’t get me wrong, I understand that American reality shows aren’t real. I don’t mind if something’s not real, as long as it gives me something to buy into. Harlots isn’t real, but I was fully engaged all the same, gripped by the characters and storylines, persuaded by creators who believed in it. Selling Sunset just isn’t selling hard enough - no one cares, and it shows.
Feeling deflated, I tuned into another Netflix series, Million Dollar Beach House, to see if it was any better. It’s the same premise, set in the Hamptons, with marginally more diversity in the cast. Initially, I quite liked it, at least tempted by the beachside homes and the emphasis on property market over petty squabbles. But there were some fairly dodgy undertones to the team’s remarks about Noel, the show’s one Black character, and I was unconvinced/bored by his ruckus with Peggy, which seemed contrived. I did prefer her maxi-dresses to those bodycons, though – so much more forgiving.
As far as I am concerned, the sun has set for shows like this. It just made me want to watch old episodes of Grand Designs, a programme bursting with heart and soul, genuine drama and jeopardy – not to mention properties with true value, whatever their price. And on that ponderous, Kevin McCloud closing reflection, let the camera pan away, as the last rays fade over the horizon…
SS was all over my twitter timeline because everyone was going on about one of the cast wanting a zebra at her wedding. I am all for zebras at weddings, so this made me think it would be my kind of show. Plus, as you know, I love a bit of property porn, so was keen to gawp at multi-million pound LA houses with infinity pools and a gazillion bathrooms.
This Netflix sensation is set in an ultra-luxe estate agent, focusing on the all-female team as they try to flog homes in the Hollywood Hills. Because it’s a ‘reality’ series, we also get to see them dating and squabbling, planning equine weddings etc. The first thing that struck me is that, much like their identical twin bosses, the women are interchangeable. They’re all eleven feet tall, with butterscotch hair, St Tropezed Rhinoceros hide buried under several feet of make-up, trussed in the kind of unforgiving bandage dress that shrieks constant Keto diet. I found it impossible to distinguish between them, so am just going to call them all Krishaya. There’s Bitch Krishaya, Sidekick Bitch Krishaya, Preppy New Girl Krishaya, and Verging On Normal Krishaya. There might be some more of them, it’s hard to tell. The agency is run by the Oppenheimer twins, playing Charlie Townsend to the Krishaya Angels. All I can tell you about Jason and Brett is they’d have to stand on top of each other to be as tall as any of their employees.
New Girl Krishaya is met with fake smiles and barely-veiled hostility when she joins the firm, so she has lunch with her ‘friend’ to share her ‘feelings’. They order gem lettuce salad but don’t eat it. No one in SS eats, but everyone drinks white wine from bucket-sized glasses, which made me think it must be some sort of weight-loss aid. I’d always thought my pinot grigio habit contributed to my lard-arse, but maybe they add laxatives or something. Anyway, the booze brings on more ‘feelings’ for New Girl Krish, who manages to squeeze a tear or two out of her Stepford eyes. Meanwhile, Bitch and Sidekick Krish carry their dogs on a walk together as they snark about New Girl. The only one actually doing any work is Normal Krishaya, busy showing a house to a playboy who keeps pestering her for a drink to seal the deal, the implication being that she should be thrown in as a perk along with the property. Harlots’ Margaret Wells would have shown him the door with a flea in his ear, but Normal K just has to smile because she still wants the commission.
Yes, remember this is a show about selling houses. As an avid Rightmover, I was expecting to mentally relocate to Laurel Canyon and embrace the California lifestyle, but, like the silly little pooches the Bitch Ks cart around, these glam-pads are overpriced diamanté-clad versions of the real thing. There’s no heart or soul to any of the properties, much like there’s no heart or soul to this show. It’s just veneers and Shellac claws. During the first episode, one of the Krishayas mentioned that she was 37, and I did a double take. Not because I’d assumed she was any younger or older, just that it struck me as surprising she was any age at all. Like, this was a real person? Born in the 80s? Not bolted together in a West World factory?
Don’t get me wrong, I understand that American reality shows aren’t real. I don’t mind if something’s not real, as long as it gives me something to buy into. Harlots isn’t real, but I was fully engaged all the same, gripped by the characters and storylines, persuaded by creators who believed in it. Selling Sunset just isn’t selling hard enough - no one cares, and it shows.
Feeling deflated, I tuned into another Netflix series, Million Dollar Beach House, to see if it was any better. It’s the same premise, set in the Hamptons, with marginally more diversity in the cast. Initially, I quite liked it, at least tempted by the beachside homes and the emphasis on property market over petty squabbles. But there were some fairly dodgy undertones to the team’s remarks about Noel, the show’s one Black character, and I was unconvinced/bored by his ruckus with Peggy, which seemed contrived. I did prefer her maxi-dresses to those bodycons, though – so much more forgiving.
As far as I am concerned, the sun has set for shows like this. It just made me want to watch old episodes of Grand Designs, a programme bursting with heart and soul, genuine drama and jeopardy – not to mention properties with true value, whatever their price. And on that ponderous, Kevin McCloud closing reflection, let the camera pan away, as the last rays fade over the horizon…
- Selling Sunset – Netflix
- Million Dollar Beach House – Netflix
- Harlots – BBC Two
- Grand Designs – More4
