TV Verdict

Harlan Ellison’s 1970 essay compendium The Glass Teat demonized television and foretold of its role in the downfall of civilization. Little did we know how right he was, as the proliferation of voyeuristic, empty-headed banality known as "reality television" continually enables us to vicariously live the scripted lives of celebrities and celebutards while flushing our own down the porcelein throne.

Competitive series like Survivor, The Apprentice, and The Bachelor are simply modern day, addictive extensions of the classic game shows from 1950s and ’60s. I get that. What eats at my soul are the sheer number of otherwise rational human beings who waste at least an hour a week on series like Jon & Kate Plus Eight, Paris Hilton’s My BFF, and the subject of this rhetorical smackdown — Denise Richards: It’s Complicated.

Since evolving (or devolving) into a 24/7 world where digital television offers up more than 700 channels of continuous programming, network executives have to find a way to fill their schedules. The cheapest and most efficient means of accomplishing this is through reality shows. It’s a business. I understand. But for every genius pop culture phenomenon with some redeeming entertainment value — The Osbournes, American Idol, The Amazing Race — there are 100 or more mind-numbing forays into the lives of people we would never socialize with on this or any other plane of existence — The Real Housewives of , The Hills, A Shot of Love with Tila Tequila.

Cue the spotlight for Denise Richards. You know may know her best from this season’s Dancing with the Stars; the brilliant and beautiful nuclear physicist Dr. Christmas Jones in James Bond’s The World is Not Enough; or the unstable and easily confused ex-wife of Two and a Half Men’s Charlie Sheen. The latter persona is most prevalent here.

“I just want to start this year fresh, with no drama.”

Enter Season 2. Having thankfully not subjected myself to the excruciating torture of Season One (as one can glean from the highlight reel), I step into this experience as a Denise Richards virgin. Sadly, that purity is quickly stolen from me, when I discover that basecamp for this insanity — The Fairmont Miramar Hotel — is mere blocks from the Verdict office in downtown Santa Monica. In her own words, “one of the best things about living by the beach is being able to go out with my friends and have some fun.” What’s a single mother with two little girls at home consider fun? Going out drinking at a high profile night club with a camera crew in tow. That’s low key and inconspicuous, right? What could possibly go wrong?

If the nightclub weren’t lesson enough, how about hosting a New Year’s Eve party for 1,500 inebriated revelers at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas? Did you know they have a Charlie Sheen suite? Neither did she. To make matters worse, her best friend thinks the dress she brought for the party makes her look like a PTA mom, so they go shopping at the extremely crowded Fashion Mall with less than three hours before showtime. Genius, right? Imagine our surprise when she’s swarmed by fans and can’t find anything her friend approves of.

“Sometimes you just need to put yourself out there. That’s going to be my mantra for this year.”

When her indie porn-comedy Finding Bliss gets picked up for SlamDance, it’s off to Utah for press interviews and photo shoots, festival gifting suites, a meeting of the minds with Paris Hilton, and partying with overly flirtatious snowboard instructors. Thankfully, a naked Jamie Kennedy is there to distract anyone from asking about her personal life.

“I try not to make plans but to live in the moment. Anything could happen in the future.”

Executive producer Ryan Seacrest makes sure there’s plenty more drama to come this season, like Denise’s widowed dad entering the dating game, and her personal trainer’s quest to make their relationship much more personal. This is the train wreck that is Denise’s life, sliced up into bite-sized 24 min, slickly edited installments. Sure they bring dad along for humanizing comic relief, but the ridiculous situations she agrees to put herself in and the incredibly poor choices she makes only complicate her already tenuous world. Hence the show’s title, Denise Richards: It’s Complicated.

If you’re suffering from insomnia and looking to escape your own personal circumstances, by all means tune in. You’ll feel infinitely better that you’re not Denise. For anyone else, there are a myriad of ways to better spend those precious and fleeting moments of your life.

As for Denise, I can’t stress this enough: If you want a normal life for you and your daughters, cancel the damn show and keep your private life private. There are other ways to make a living, other than whoring yourself out to a rabid media who wants nothing more than to see you self-destruct.

For episodes, clips, and more, visit the show’s official site.