Australia’s newest reality show, Made in Bondi, follows the lives and loves of Sydney’s so-called “social elite” in one of the city’s most coveted suburbs. There are a lot of shirtless men reclining on a boat, young women sipping from Stanley cups, the promise of a love triangle and plenty of the indeterminate international accents of wealth. It is bright, glossy and beautiful.
It is also utterly boring. After reportedly failing to snag any of the actual socialites who live in Bondi, the producers resorted to casting a thrown-together group of twenty- and thirtysomethings from around the country who have seemingly nothing to say to one another. (“What’s your go-to food?” “Italian,” is some representative dialogue.) It doesn’t matter that only one of the cast is actually from Bondi but it does matter that, in the three episodes I have seen, it has no humour, no real drama and nothing going on upstairs. (Another example of the chat level in this show: “If you could be a goldfish or an eel, which would you choose?”)
I’m probably not alone in that assessment. It premiered to tepid ratings, pulling a viewership of just 206,000 nationally despite airing right after the hit program The Voice – which had 901,000 viewers, to give you a sense of the drop-off. It also lost in its time slot to the ABC, which can’t be a good sign.
If Made in Bondi ends up joining the pile of Australia’s one-season reality wonders, it will be a blow for Seven. Made in Bondi was set up for success, as a spin-off of Made in Chelsea, the British staple that has managed to sustain 26 seasons and counting. Made in Bondi feels as though it was built for that readymade global audience – instead of filming in actual Bondi, the show was shot a 30-minute drive away, on the far less glamorous shores of Brighton-Le-Sands. Which is fine if you’ve never been here and can’t tell the difference. “Our intention is to showcase a vibrant Australian beach lifestyle,” producers said when confronted about their deceit by a publication called Double Bay Today (give them a reality show!), saying: “Brighton-Le-Sands offered logistical benefits.”
But if Australia’s track record is anything to go by, it’s not the glitzy, glamorous and aspirational reality shows that people really want – it’s the feral ones. Australia’s reality hits include Married at First Sight, filmed largely inside a block of bleak serviced apartments, not at a beautiful beach. The series that became a runaway success in the UK saw two women stopped from physically fighting by their TV “husbands”, before one tipped red wine on the other’s head. Real Housewives of Melbourne, a show whose finest moments have included a fight over who called who a “wog bitch” and lines like “Go suck on your own fucking head”, reigns as a cult hit among fans of the Housewives franchise. Real Housewives of Sydney, admittedly, may have pushed the feral envelope too far – it was deemed too mean to export internationally in its first season – but was rebooted and has been renewed for a third season. These shows present the real Australia: undignified, expletive-ridden and prone to violence.
Made in Bondi, on the other hand, tried to sell a false and flat ideal of Australia; not unlike Netflix’s Byron Baes, which gave the glittering but ultimately dull Instagram influencers of that beachside enclave the reality treatment, then flopped and never returned.
If the sort of reality shows that have – and haven’t – succeeded abroad can teach us anything, it’s that maybe the most interesting Australia isn’t beautiful people strutting along the shores of Bondi-slash-Brighton-Le-Sands, but someone cleaning poo off the toilet bowl using their TV wife’s toothbrush (Mafs), or lines such as “I’m no gynaecologist but I know a cunt when I see one” (Real Housewives of Melbourne). That’s a lesson I pray our TV execs learn soon.
