Survivor: Palau
February 28, 2005
Based on the first two episodes, the new edition of “Survivor”, the tenth in the reality show’s long run, could be one of the better seasons. Granted, the islands of Palau, strewn with the ghosts and machinery of WWII Pacific battles, looks pretty much like every other installment of Mark Burnett’s ratings giant, and the half serious, half mocking antics of host Jeff Probst were tiresome six editions ago, the series still has some juice left. Last year’s volcano friendly, personality devoid “Vanuatu” edition, was arguably the weakest of the first nine seasons, and apparently Burnett took the criticisms to heart, loading Palau with twenty castaways, some of whom actually stand a chance at being memorable, even if the format of rewards challenges, fishing, exhibitionism, bickering, immunity challenges, and predictable tribal councils is getting repetitive and strains for originality. But isn’t the draw of reality TV, or its more sophisticated grandfather, Cinema Verite documentary filmmaking, the allure of human interaction and clashing, differing personalities? The challenges can be fun, and watching strangers starve on an exotic island, and freeze during a nighttime rainstorm under a poorly constructed hut, is a guilty pleasure, but what makes “Survivor” more of an anthropological study is how the twenty contestants interact and adapt to their unusual surroundings, and to each other. So far this year, there are already a handful of notable castaways, some of which, naturally, have already failed the communal “Survivor” test of staying below the radar and coasting to the final four, like so many previous contestants in the past.
Immediately, the person who sticks out the most, indeed, like a badly bruised big toe, is Angie, a 24-year-old New Orleans bartender with piercings galore, ungodly tattoos, and a body that looks none too flattering in her black thong and bra outfit. At the onset, Angie even said she felt like the outsider, but her team-player smarts has let her blend into her tribe, even if her careless getup, and pasty body, makes her the least attractive of a generally less-than-pretty bunch. Still, in an odd way, she reminds me of 60’s British comedienne Rita Tushingham, from “A Taste of Honey” and “The Knack”, and when I start reminiscing about great British kitchen sink cinema, the inspiration is usually good for something. If she was booted in episode three, forgive this statement, but I think she may make it far in this game, even if my eyes, and her sense of island fashion, will suffer the consequences.
Angie may be this season’s standout personality, but there are a few others in the Palau group that could be major players. Janu, a 39-year-old Vegas showgirl with the body of a lamppost, and the eyes of Peter O’Toole, has the kind of shy-yet-exotic mystique to make a few friends, and 57-year-old lawyer Willard is the sentimental old-guy favorite. James, a 33-year-old redneck from Alabama, who looks like Dominic Hasek and talks like Cletus the slack jawed yokel, looks to be this season’s comic relief, while Ibrehem and Jeff are the token black and white muscle men of the bunch. I would think the producers of “Survivor” generally choose women with shapely forms to please the male viewing contingency, and oddly, Ashlee, a 22-year-old student, the girl with, shall we say, the best bodily assets, was one of the first to get the book, simply because she went to sleep earlier than her tribe mates. In a year that sees the sexiest participant ousted first, and the homeliest participant fitting in best, we might be in for an interesting study in “Survivor” politics, where the dog-eat-dog mentality to win a million bucks is refreshingly not only about vanities looks, yet invariably all about perceiving looks; skeptical, evil, sideways, and primarily, out for Numero Uno.
by Adam Suraf