Recently, while stuck at home sick with the new FLiRT variant of Covid-19, I honored its ridiculous name with a marathon of TV shows and movies. Island of love USAI entertain myself by watching reality TV, especially when I’m sick; a single season offered me 36 hours of brain-neutral entertainment. It was my first time watching the show, and one moment stuck with me above all others: a group of contestants gathered around a phone, their eyes glued to a compilation video of their on-screen couplings with other women. Cue the tears and howls of betrayal.
As a television show, it’s a peak moment of voyeuristic entertainment: a combination of actions that collide head-on with consequences, real-time reactions to the taboo of cheating, a moment typically reserved for private moments between couples. It’s also a tactic on the part of the producers so manipulative that it seems like psychological torture. This It’s a good reality show.
When Nerial announced Crushed houseA video game about a reality show, it seemed like a fun, silly take on a genre that many people don’t take seriously. Players take on the role of a producer named Jae who has just started working on the biggest reality show of 1999. Jae selects four cast members for each new season and aims to catch them bickering, flirting, and plotting to remain the center of attention.
However, just like the grim realities of reality TV shows, Crushed house It’s something far more sinister than its colorful, cupcake aesthetic would have you believe. If reality TV is a pact between performer and audience (one person craving fame at any cost and viewers willing to give it to them mob-style), is the relationship truly symbiotic or something worse? Viewers will have their share, whether reality stars are willing or not.
At first, Crushed houseThe goal is simple: keep the show on the air, Monday through Saturday, drawing high enough ratings to avoid cancellation.
It sounds easier than it is. The difficulty quickly escalates as players have to juggle new audiences daily, from fans craving drama or wholesome moments, to those who just want to see a beacon – or maybe some feet – in the shot. Each new season is harder to get through than the last thanks to increasing audience demands and network pressure, delivered in-game via a faceless superior over a walkie-talkie. The only way to succeed is to be clever with the camera, figuring out how to satisfy multiple demands in one frame before the day is over. Running ads during the show will help you earn money to buy useful props – these can be anything from a statue that gets everyone horny enough to kiss, to a saxophone for a specific character to play.
Of course, there’s no shortage of drama between the cast members either. They all want their influence to be felt. Each has a different request for Jae: some want their most dramatic moments captured from their best angles or extra airtime, while others are looking for the chance to showcase their musical talents. Fulfilling those requests is crucial to advancing the story behind the show. Something disturbing is going on in the Crushed house off-camera, a mystery so dramatic that it seems to fit perfectly with the dystopian premise of modern reality TV.
The mix-and-match aspect of the cast, along with the game’s procedurally generated dialogue, works well to keep the seasons unpredictable, though certain characters have strong enough personalities that I could plan casts to generate maximum drama. Ayo, a hot-headed personal trainer, was constantly the bomb to drop in the house to start fights. French casanova Emile made sure to capture the hearts of the audience and housemates alike.
While the game does offer a mode that lets you play through its story without fear of failing the ratings, it’s best experienced without that barrier. Figuring out how to satisfy six audiences at once — while also avoiding filming someone’s butt, for example — becomes a slapstick game where you run after characters, bouncing the camera, to get a score. Dutch angle shot of the fight breaking out in front of a garden light, while occasionally turning the camera skyward because you stayed on someone’s ass for too long.
Crushed house It’s a mad dash, a game where every minute counts. It’s frenetic, in a way that’s like chugging a beer: stupid, silly, but deadly serious at that specific moment.
