The last time The Real World aired on primetime cable was in the year of our Lord 2016. The season was subtitled Bad Blood, featured a whopping 14 housemates (and uncountable number of beefs) and received dismal ratings. In an effort to rescue its long-running program from cultural obscurity, MTV signed a deal with Facebook Watch to broadcast the show’s 33rd season, which ultimately felt stilted and algorithmic in its presentation of hot-button political topics in the Trump era. Needless to say, old-school fans were not impressed, and the original show (Paramount+ has since released a successful spinoff) has not returned to our televisions since.
Netflix, of course, was eager to take advantage of this void in the reality-television ecosystem with the release of Twentysomethings: Austin last week (the second half of the show drops today). When the trailer first dropped, Twitter users were quick to point out the show’s familiar logline—(eight) strangers picked to live in a house, blah, blah, blah. Even I, a staunch Real World fan, was a little excited to see Netflix’s spin on this premise, considering MTV’s current preoccupation with airing Ridiculousness reruns. But after 12 episodes of minimal conflict and neat personal arcs, the series, much like Facebook’s Real World, proves that it takes more than utilizing the same, trusted ingredients to produce a compelling outcome.
It isn’t totally fair to evaluate Twentysomethings solely in the context of its source material. In 2021, the series now belongs to a family of reality shows about young, hot strangers shacking up in houses that have since created their own legacies detached from The Real World. However, Twentysomethings isn’t interested in adding a unique layer to this format. From its bland depiction of Austin as a purportedly vibrant cultural center to the mostly drama-free personalities they recruit, the show’s sanitized, aspirational quality doesn’t necessarily work for a series slated with capturing the difficulty of an inherently messy, mistake-ridden period in a person’s life. Instead, we get the usual “mindless viewing” Netflix fare that’s sure to help you through a sick day but won’t leave much of an impression afterwards.
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It’s kind of a relief in the beginning to find out that the titular Twentysomethings aren’t just a group of easily identifiable archetypes—well, at least not all of them. The cast includes Raquel Daniels, a recent college graduate who just moved out of her parents’ house; Kamari Bonds, a male model; Michael Fractor, an aspiring stand-up comedian; Abbey Humphreys, a new divorcee; Bruce Stephenson, a former insurance agent; Natalie Cabo, a sheltered Miami native; Keauno Perez, a self-described “gaybay”; and Isha Punja, an aspiring fashion designer. Despite the over-produced quality of the show, no one seems to be performing a designated persona, aside from Fractor, who annoyingly leans into the role of the “male bumbler” that Lili Loofbourow notably wrote about in The Week (without any obvious signs of toxicity, to be fair).
However, the traits and life experiences that differentiate them from each other feel flattened throughout the show. It’s not impossible for a random assortment of young adults to find common ground and build friendships. In this scenario, they’re all united by feelings of boredom and dissatisfaction with their current lives amidst the pandemic. But the level of cohesiveness within this hodgepodge of varying personalities, cultures and life experiences comes a little too easy and only magnifies as the show goes on. It’s not that altercations or disagreements need to be extreme or grounded in hate to compel today’s reality-viewing audience. Fights over cleaning and paying for drinks have made for more iconic, memorable moments in television history. However, the utopian world of Friends somehow portrays cohabiting with your buddies as a more complicated experience than this “reality” program.
When the roommates enter some sticky territory regarding hookups, particularly Kamari and Abbey, they handle their miscommunications and discomfort with a level of grace and maturity you don’t even see on reality shows depicting fortysomethings. Kamari, in particular, seems like he was designed and built in a factory by a woman, not just because of his beautiful face and perfect physique, but his respectful approach to the people he becomes sexually entangled with and his surprising lack of ego as the prime piece of meat in the house. Still, his short-lived romantic conundrums leave you wanting something more on the level of Love Island or The Bachelor. As attractive as Kamari’s whole demeanor may be, emotional competence isn’t fun to watch in this particular realm of TV.
Despite the severe lack of conflict, the roommates’ automatic acceptance of each other’s identities is a refreshing change from the more hostile Real World. On another show, it’s easy to imagine Perez, the only the gay man in the house, being iced out or interacted with from a distance by his straight, male peers. But his journey in embracing his sexuality doesn’t include making his roommates like him. The same goes for Cabo, whose size is not a point of ridicule (as if anyone would say something that’s not nice to anyone on this show) or even an acknowledged insecurity as she resides with a group of straight-sized, modelesque people.
Viewers who appreciate the travel-show aspect of programs like this that specify place will be disappointed in how indistinguishable restaurants, bars, coffee shops and the residential neighborhoods in Austin are made to look. Most scenes of the roommates exploring the city are shot indoors. And we hardly get views overlooking the city and its thriving downtown scene. The magnetic quality of Austin that somehow made it the prime place for a model, a fashion designer and individuals undecided about their careers to move to is spoken about vaguely. But as one can assume based on the specification of “Austin” in the show’s title, the producers will have other opportunities to create more of an escapist viewing experience.
Overall, Twentysomethings is maybe the tidiest portrayal of millennial ennui I’ve seen on television in a while. The kids are alright, but they’re not all that entertaining.
