Reality Show Strikes a Racial Nerve

Unprotected by the conventions of Hollywood, CBS’ new hit reality series, “Big Brother,” has quickly moved from a voyeuristic view of the expected mini-dramas of secret crushes and dashed dreams to a significant culture clash over race.

Anchored amid the summer TV rerun doldrums, the show--which is sequestering 10 strangers in a house for 100 days to see what happens--was designed as an inexpensive way to entertain viewers. Instead, what CBS and the roughly 10 million viewers who tune in have gotten is real life players in the “Big Brother” game locked in fierce confrontations over issues ranging from class to interracial friendships.

Though it was never a part of the show’s design, “Big Brother” is broadcasting in prime time many of the unresolved fears that stretch across the nation’s racial divide. The series already is being labeled groundbreaking television, with the raw footage captured by the cameras that film around the clock generating heated discussions in cafes and Internet chat rooms across the country.

Tonight, Day 16, “Big Brother” enters a crucial juncture with viewers deciding whether William Collins--a 27-year-old African American youth counselor from Philadelphia and the housemate who is driving the discussion--will stay or go.

Collins certainly has made others in the house uncomfortable. Cassandra, an African American communications officer with the United Nations and the only other African American in the house, has tried to persuade him to ease up. But Collins told her, and everyone watching that particular night, that his purpose is to make the other “Big Brother” participants “face their fears.”

Whether or not Collins is booted out, observers inside and outside the entertainment industry suggest that “Big Brother” has unwittingly already made its mark.

“Television basically really doesn’t deal well with race at all,” said Gina Prince-Bythewood, the African American director of the recent sleeper movie hit, “Love and Basketball.” “If there’s a black character on a white show, that is not addressed at all. People in the community now are talking about this show. It raises the question--is this a matter of a black man feeling so alone that he had to make his presence felt, not let anything slide?”

USC cinema professor Todd Boyd views “Big Brother” as “fascinating from a sociological standpoint. There are no actors or scripts. If TV were to show a realistic African American character, they would have to create him. But here we have him.”

The show, part of a stream of reality programming invading the major networks, has been attracting younger viewers--more of an MTV crowd--and boosting ratings enough that next week the network will increase the number of episodes from five to six a week. To encourage an intimate connection with viewers, “Big Brother” identifies participants only by their first names. (Collins’ identity became public when reports surfaced linking him to a militant black organization. CBS has said there was nothing in an extensive background check that would have kept him off the show.)

Fans of “Big Brother” are largely split on Collins, who displays a cocky bravado, a coarse vocabulary and a handsome face. To some he’s a cultural role model who should be admired for his bravery. To others, he’s an obnoxious, racist egomaniac who is out of line.

At the Starbucks cafe in Ladera Heights, Collins, who has insisted that he wants to be addressed by his nickname, “Mega,” is the main topic of conversation.

Race Issue Bound to Turn Up

Bruce McClain, 47, a black cartoonist who pondered “Big Brother” over coffee, believes the white housemates on the series “were intimidated and threatened by a brother who was articulate, intellectual, sharp and clear with his thoughts. He exposed their weaknesses.”

Kim Pitts, a shift supervisor for the cafe, couldn’t disagree more. “Mega? He’s nice to look at, but he’s a pain in the butt,” said Pitts, who is black. “Everything has to come down to race for him. It doesn’t have to be the first thing that comes up. But it also shows that white people can’t handle confrontation.”

Douglas Ross, one of the show’s executive producers, expected that Collins would introduce the element of race in some way. “William is passionate about his views on race and class in America. He has said several times that he would feel it would be a waste if those issues were not addressed,” Ross said. “He’s very comfortable saying exactly what he thinks.”

Still, the producers can’t predict day to day what shape the show will take as a large team scrambles to edit at least 24 hours of footage from 28 cameras down to a 30-minute show. Since the show is constructed as a game that will award the last person in the house $500,000, the episodes have to capture a range of personalities and interactions. Though the producers agree that conflict certainly provides one of the dramatic components of the show, the aim, they say, is to tell everyone’s story.

From Day 1, Collins has positioned himself as an outspoken black man, and has aggressively challenged his predominantly white co-contestants. In an early episode, he accused Brittany, a 25-year-old sales representative, in an intense, expletive-laced exchange of having token black friends, a charge that drove her to tears.

“I hate him,” said Laurie Hefler, 23, a recent graduate of Hunter College in New York City who is white and will start teaching nursery school in the fall. “At first, I thought he was truthful and very down to earth. Then his true colors came out. He accused other people of having racist views when he’s the most racist of any of them. It’s just not fair to the other people. They’ve given up enough already not to give up their sanity and comfort too.”

However, Neil Paborski, 44, a white records clerk for a New Jersey law firm who watches regularly, believes the intense discussions of racial issues are just entertainment for Collins. Paborski argues that Collins has brought racial divisiveness into a situation that should have thrived without it: “He would be obnoxious no matter what color he was.”

Now the issue has expanded to include more than race. It’s also about Collins’ survival on the show. As part of the competition side of “Big Brother,” every two weeks the group chooses two occupants for “banishment.” The final decision on which of the two is kicked off the show is determined by viewers who call in and vote. Tonight the first poll will be complete and either Collins or Jordan, a 26-year-old college student and stripper, will be required to immediately vacate the premises. Inside the house, the majority want Collins to go.

Collins’ differences with the group inside the house have gone beyond talking about race. He has also played a mischievous prank on his housemates and on another episode intentionally blew a contest that would have increased the occupants’ grocery allowance.

The 10 “Big Brother” participants were picked from more than 1,000 applicants. They entered the house on July 4. The winner will have no contact with the outside world for about three months, with the losers departing one by one as the series unfolds.

In addition to Collins and Cassandra, the group includes Curtis, an Asian American attorney from New York City. There are also four other women and three other men, all white, with ages ranging from 21 to 43.

“With this diverse group of people, we wanted discussions about racial issues and topics with sociopolitical ramifications,” Ross said. “We did not cast around for conflict. We are proud of the fact that we’re showcasing real people and letting them speak as real Americans.”

Referring to Collins, Ross stressed that the youth counselor had never exhibited “hate speech,” either in the broadcast shows or in footage left on the cutting room floor. “We knew he was a member of the Rise Foundation, which is a community organization that is generally well thought of. He has never been arrested or convicted of a crime. He has a clean slate. We wouldn’t discriminate against anyone because of their political beliefs.”

A Method to His Madness

However, the other two minorities in the house--Cassandra and Curtis--have not focused on race in their interactions with the group.

Filmmaker Prince-Bythewood, who has just finished directing an HBO adaptation of Terry McMillan’s novel, “Disappearing Acts,” said, “There is frustration when you feel you have to be the spokesman for the black race. It’s saying a lot. Hopefully people are paying attention.”

During one confessional moment--each of the residents spends some time each day talking privately to the unseen “Big Brother”--Collins said of the reasoning behind his actions: “Those who know don’t say, and those who say don’t know. A wise general would never reveal his plans to a potential enemy.”

Nancy Birnes, 53, a Venice-based novelist, said there was definitely a method to Collins’ madness.

“It’s obvious he’s playing to the cameras,” said Birnes, who is white. “He’s aware of his mikes. He’s grandstanding.”

Kimberly Sizemore, 45, of Los Angeles, who works in the entertainment industry as a first assistant director, disagreed.

“What Mega is doing is how black people survive,” said Sizemore, who is black. “You survive by not being like every other knucklehead on Earth. Most people in that kind of situation are not shy and retiring.”

Critics have argued that so-called “reality TV” has little to do with the experiences of ordinary people and everyday life--where the sensational has overtaken the meaningful. Within that vacuous landscape, “Big Brother” is proving a surprising exception. As USC’s Boyd puts it: “It’s very rare that you see in TV a situation you would find in real life.”

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Times staff writer Michele Botwin contributed to this story.