If there’s a way to refine trash, then the Real Housewives of… franchise has figured out a way to do it. We all have a guilty pleasure, something that we’re not entirely proud to claim as viewed but something off of which we scopophilic addicts can’t peel our eyes. When viewing or listening to or reading any form of media — film, television, music, books, etc. — my analytical cap is snug on my head. So, when I first stumbled upon this cult franchise a year ago with the Real Housewives of New York City series, I labeled it a wonderful sociological study of perceptions of middle-aged, upper-class, mostly white women, but also their thought processes in social relationships and situations, all over the U.S.A. Well, NYC‘s season had to end sometime, which is when New Jersey premiered.
Each franchise is fascinating because (1) each has an ensemble cast that, much to the cast members’ approval, sheds light onto all in the exclusive members of the Housewives club, and (2) each has a unique tone (the polished but b**chy banter of NYC, the southern faux-hospitable aggression of Atlanta, etc.). So far, the only series I have been unable to bear is Orange County. There’s a difference between watching refined trash and losing brain cells: in the former, one willingly accepts the lack of “high culture” immediately and abandons it, allowing the overwhelming stink of the show to pull out the attachment (or desire not to be a part of the chaos); in the latter, the plot is too simple and the “characters” too static to care about or bother following (when the botox seems to be blocking sparks between neurons, it’s too much). Orange County is basically the latter. New Jersey, though, walks a very fine line between NYC and Orange County. Thankfully, it leans slightly closer to the “Big Apple” than the “Plastic Orange.”
In its first season, New Jersey, more or less, provided 5 characters — older sister Caroline Manzo, younger sister Dina Manzo, sister-in-law Jaqueline Laurita-Manzo, Teresa Giudice, the Manzo family’s close friend, and Danielle Staub, the “outsider” of the series — with overdoses and combos of passionately protective, calmly logical, fun-loving and passive, idiotically unaware, and creepily possessive. After a season of familial pressures, shouting matches, and infamous table-flipping drama, I thought it couldn’t get any more fascinatingly dramatic or more (un)realistic a presentation of Italian-American women. Astoundingly, it seems to be changing my mind. Continue reading