I really have no credibility to be compensated, but the following admission will definitely guarantee my exile from any sort of "cool circle" for a long time: I'm looking forward to the next episode of MTV's "The Hills." I know, I'm disgusting, but I have my reasons. My appreciation for "The Hills" — and the program it spun off from, the wretchedly entertaining "Laguna Beach" — is 70 percent ironic, 30 percent sincere.
I love the accidental comic gold that spills from the mouths of the shows' blandly attractive casts. I love the fact that Casey — the "new girl" from season 2 of "Laguna Beach" — appeared to be a 50-year-old high school senior. I love talking about the show with my brother as if we actually know the stars and convincing our mom that we both aspire to be just like Stephen, Laguna's well-coiffed, all-around badass.
But I realized the startling sincerity of my appreciation the other day while watching the series premiere of "The Hills," and it all stems from this: "The Hills" and "Laguna Beach" have inadvertently shattered reality.
No, that doesn't mean that they've broken the mold of the reality television genre; they're far too stupid to be considered innovative. What it means is that these two TV shows have broken off from the collective reality of the rest of the world and established their own universe. At the risk of sounding like Christopher Lloyd, they've bored a hole in the space-time continuum.
A hole we'll call the Lagunaverse.
Most other reality shows will admit to some amount of self-consciousness; during the first episode of "The Hills", MTV aired several ads for "The Real World/Road Rules Challenge," a program which hinges on its cast acknowledging that they have been on television. The kids on "The Hills" and "Laguna Beach" never make that concession.
In "The Hills," former "Laguna Beach" protagonist Lauren "LC" Conrad leaves her cushy suburban confines for Los Angeles, where she gets an internship at Teen Vogue and a whole new supporting clique of Californian bozos. It's assumed that MTV set up the job with the magazine and had some say in who Conrad's new friends are, but this assumption is the kind of fourth-wall breaking that is glossed over in the Lagunaverse.
Another moment that really drives home the split between the Lagunaverse and our own is the end of the series premiere, in which Conrad works a party thrown by Teen Vogue. With Conrad assigned to monitor the party's V.I.P. area, several celebrities are shown strolling down the red carpet.
But you know what celebrities aren't shown? Conrad's former "Laguna" cast/classmates. Despite the fact that in our universe, they're starring in movies (mean-queen Kristin), having short-term engagements to Rod Stewart's daughter (surfing stoic Talan) and probably going to parties like the one on "The Hills" premiere, they can't show up as celebrities on the show because that would be a collision of worlds of Costanzian proportions.
Certainly other entertainment entities have created their own universe; most of these are sci-fi or fantasy franchises with cult followings like "The Lord of the Rings," "Star Wars" or Kiss. But none of these universes actually exists, and that's what makes MTV's sun-drenched reality-dramas remarkable. You can very easily visit Laguna Beach, the city, and while you're there you just might spot the yuppie spawn that populate "Laguna Beach," the TV show.
But I have a feeling that their existence in our universe is a lot less glitzy — and probably not soundtracked by Hilary Duff.
And that's probably a good thing.
Erik Adams is a State News entertainment reporter. Reach him at adamser9@msu.edu.
