It's Greek To Me: The Paternity Test

November 17, 2006

In an age of manipulated, polished reality television where even the most boring folk seem positively witty, and the most benign situations appear action packed, I long for the old days. The simplicity of unfettered, unedited emotion, the kind that can't be doctored in post-production.

These days I can only find drama like that in one place: in the pure horror of the Paternity Test a la "Maury Povich." It is gruesome, and yet I cannot resist. Call it television rubbernecking.

It's a modern day Greek tragedy in two minute segments, complete with the wronged ladies splaying themselves on the ground in a pool of tears -- microphone packs be damned -- as the blood-thirsty spectators cheer from the amphitheater seats.

Our friends at Maury Povich (among many many others) have preempted their guests' futile attempts to escape the arena when the game goes awry (and let's be honest, when do they go well?). Talk show set designers are no fools, they’ve built elaborate backstage labyrinths without an escape, fully lit for the cameras and furnished just enough so that the wronged party (or parties) can fling themselves onto a couch.

The props masters on these shows have clearly been careful to remove anything from these areas, so that nothing can be flung at the baby-daddy. Or newly cleared non-baby-daddy. Or the new fiance of the baby-daddy. Or the best man of the wedding-that-will-never-be-now-that-the-baby-isn't-his-daddy.

The drama, make no mistake, is very, very real, and completely gripping. The mommy is either heartbroken about cheating on her boyfriend/fiance/husband, and has to reveal both that she's been cheating, and also that the new young person around the house may be nothing more than an acquaintance to the man in her life. Or she's absolutely furious with the suspected baby-daddy for denying the child is his. These are the only two options for the mother.

There are many variables for the father: If they are a boyfriend/fiance/husband, they are usually as clueless as Oedipus. Why have they been brought onto a television show? Is it boot camp? The girl they used to bully in high school is now a stripper? If they're not involved with the baby-mommy, they usually have their own mother, or some new girlfriend. Better yet, often there will be a new fiance to act as a sort of Helen of Troy, adding insult to injury to our hapless single mother.

And all this happens under the blank stare of the child in question, looming large on a screen, somewhat above and behind the proceedings, as he or she fixates on something in the distance. (Presumably an off-screen PA shaking an Elmo doll to keep the soon-to-be-possible-bastard still.)

And then, the moment of truth, because that's exactly what it is. The envelope is handed off, the crowd moves to the edge of their seats, the word is spoken ... and we're off to the races. Mount Olympus has spoken, there's no turning back -- the tragedy is complete. Someone sinks to the ground, someone shoots out of their seat, and the gleeful spectators cheer for these familial gladiators to fight to the death.

Like news from Troy, fists will be shaken at the gods, and the earth at their feet will be pounded. And it'll all be cleaned up during a few car insurance commercials, when we can begin again.

Beautiful. Amazing. Sick. I love it!