Posted by
Michael Goodell on Tuesday, May 25, 2010 4:55:45 PM
http://www.mlgoodell.webs.com
Like most Americans, what I crave more than anything--more even than a big, thick, juicy hamburger smothered in cheese, bacon and onions, and a double order of fries, and a triple extra large coke–is celebrity. It doesn’t have to be permanent, just a fleeting brush with the paparazzi would be enough. Now when I say celebrity, I don’t mean fame. At least, not the kind of fame which comes from mastery of a particular art or craft. Rather, speaking as a typical American, the celebrity I seek is the kind of unearned celebrity which comes from television.
Unfortunately, having not been blessed with the gift of enthusiastic self-abasement, the venue best suited to celebrity formation, that of Reality TV, is beyond my means. As much as I’d like to eat bugs on a desert island, get verbally abused by Donald Trump, or dance with Hollywood chefs, I just can’t bring myself to jump up and down and shout “Me, me, me!”
So it was that I turned from appearing on Reality TV shows to developing them. I’ve kicked around a few ideas, but none of them really got any traction until I came up with P*mp My Bride (c2010 by Michael Goodell). This is the real deal. It is a virtual montage of all the most offensive, off-putting and demeaning shows on TV, in other words, to borrow the Hollywood lexicon, it is All New, TV Land’s next smash hit!
The idea works like this: recruit ten repulsive couples willing to expose their marriage planning to public ridicule. While not mandatory, sporting mullets can’t hurt candidates’ chances, especially for the brides-to-be. Being grossly overweight is a plus, as are bad skin, bad teeth, and fashion felonies stretched over generally grotesque body shapes. Over the course of the season the women will be reshaped, reformed, run through the wringer, totally made over and forced into shape. Get the idea? You take the best parts of Biggest Loser, Total Make Over, Bridezilla, True Housewives of Wherever, and pack them into one show.
Add to this derivative mishmash a sinister touch of The Bachelor. The entire proceedings are watched over by a shadowy underworld figure, maybe a Mexican drug lord, a Goldman Sachs Derivatives Trader, or even a Greek Public Employee Benefits Manager, who sits in a booth high above the stage, a la Deal or no Deal.
Unlike most Reality TV shows, no one gets “voted off the island.” For the big finale, all ten couples are still in the running. In fact, they all get married in a group ceremony, maybe with the United Nations General Secretary officiating. Afterward, the ten brides present themselves to the shadowy underworld figure. He selects his favorite, and after paying the lucky groom $1,000,000 for the privilege, spends the wedding night with her.
It’s a great idea. It has hit written all over it. Any producers interested in discussing Rights and Licenses, please email michaellgoodell@gmail.com.