With that experience, he and Max know what they're doing (basically just reverse image and phone number searches), and they tend to get super paternal when their investigation heats up. I mean, come on.) The concept originated from a 2010 documentary made by Nev, also called Catfish, when he was caught up in an online relationship in the early days of Facebook. On Catfish, hosts Nev Schulman and Max Joseph intend to finally get those kinds of couples to meet IRL, and debunk whether the particularly hesitant, sketchy one who refuses to video chat is a "catfish," or luring their partner in with a fake profile and lying about their identity. It's why Taffer has sincerely said, "It almost could be called People Rescue, you know?" MTVĮverybody’s just looking for love! Many of us are doing online, which has increasingly become the norm-but some of us are going beyond just swiping right and instead chatting for years on end with relative strangers who live across the country and may or may not be who they say they are.
Most of the bars find their way out of the muck, but the people are forever changed. The opening credits remind viewers that Taffer bases his decisions on "bar science," which usually involves scientifically demanding an owner fire an employee and putting a hapless staff through a "stress test" when the bar is overrun with people until Taffer screams another of his catchphrases above the havoc: "SHUT IT DOWN!" Don't worry. It's the purified id of American consumer capitalism, existing in a world where a seat at the bar is quantifiable as a dollar amount per year, and attracting "desirable" customers (i.e. So what makes Bar Rescue such an enjoyable watch? Like all great reality television, it's a fascinating window into the soul of mainstream America.
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Taffer is the sort of person whose success is measurable as a series of sales and consumer data points his renovations basically turn disgusting health hazards into a TGI Fridays-like "homage" to some actual history, like remaking a Louisiana bar based on a "Second Line concept" which symbolizes "fun."
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Paramount Networkĭo you embrace excuses, or do you embrace solutions? It's one of the many binary questions/screamed accusations host and Official Bar Rescuer Jon Taffer asks of flailing bar and restaurant owners, who are invariably the kinds of people who EMBRACE EXCUSES, but over the course of a week learn how to embrace solutions. ABC also knows that the one thing we really want is the crying. For the rest of us, it's a brilliantly designed character study, every episode cajoled and needled and edited into narratives that run the gamut from villain origin stories (usually followed by riveting downfalls) to resurfaced beauty pageant feuds to dramatic backstory reveals to marriage proposals that end up in dismal failure. For some deranged individuals, The Bach' is a show about finding love and risking it all and opening up and lots of other vague things the writers found inside a plateful of fortune cookies. Now that The Bachelor, the male-fronted half of the duo, is in its 26th season, it's hit its stride, expertly engineering dramas, betrayals, and shocking moments that look really exciting in the weekly commercials and then end up being pretty mundane when you see them in the actual episode.
There are a few different ways to watch ABC's The Bachelor/Bachelorette, the reality dating and relationship show that's been inflicting itself on us for more than 20 years.
These shows, all of which are currently airing, have elevated trash to an art, and will satisfy you in the best-worst way possible. "Trashy," in this case, is a term of endearment, a qualifier for shows that capture the raw human emotion that makes compelling viewing, without demanding all your brainpower to decipher plot, motivation, or fan theories. But a rare few have mastered the art of trashy reality TV, which is no easy feat. Most of these shows are actual trash, leaving you feeling empty and listless on your couch. As cable channels multiplied, the allure of producing cheaper shows that could air on endless loops meant that you didn't have to channel surf long before stumbling on one of them. In 1992, MTV's The Real World started a slow-moving revolution that turned into an all-out blitz when Survivor premiered eight years later: Look at all these regular people starting drama! They are not polite at all! Watching unscripted lives unfold may have felt dirty early on, but no one could stop watching.
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