If the complete and utter destruction of my marriage with RHOA was eminent (it is), and I was asked to think pros and cons about the show (sure, why not), and was able to think of countless cons (the amount of breasts being strangled within an inch of their lives in interview outfits, “accu-lades,” contractually obligated group dinners, “textses,” Peter), but only one pro, that pro would be these women’s shameless ability to just decide to reinvent themselves and their social circumstances whenever the script calls for it. I’m no Steinbeck, but I know a bit about structuring a narrative, and never before on television have I seen such a complete disregard for it. It’s impressive.
Both the cast and the producers of RHOA have absolutely no shame in forgetting, for example, that Nene once took the lead on calling Phaedra “The Head Doctor” and claiming she never knew her in Athens in the name of Nene now being a wonderfully supportive friend to Phaedra, better than that jerk, Kandi. And with the end of tonight’s episode, it looks like we’re throwing every limp piece of story line noodle against the wall and calling it a fresh start. There’s no animosity we can’t get past here! Pack your bags for Manila, we’re all getting massages!
Everyone involved in RHOA is just telling whatever the hell story they want to tell, whenever they want to tell it, in whatever structure they think makes them look the best (thank goodness everyone has exactly zero self-awareness on that last front). That’s why the marriages born of RHO-pick-your-poison never work out: They’re the only story line anyone is legally bound to stick with. In tonight’s episode alone, we went from raging bull in a flapper wig berating a grown man for doing his job, to a therapy session montage about bullying, to a table read for a television show that involves Cynthia doing accents and me acquiring the evolutionary skill to turn my ears off, to a Skype therapy session, to the announcement that the group of women we’ve spent the past 10 episodes establishing would rather eat Porsha’s Hamburger Helper off of Peter’s bald head than spend a single second around one another ever again are now taking “healing their relationships” inter-continental.
And that is where we find our nonsensical league of Atlanta housewives, in their finest bedazzled jumpsuits and true-to-scale cross earrings, attempting to make up from fights that happened two years ago. Well… that’s what Porsha, Kenya, Claudia, and Cynthia are trying to do; Kandi is talking maaaaad smack under her breath about how useless this all is in between sneaking nuggets from the Chick-fil-A platter in her lap; and Nene has completely left the building because people were trying to tell her that she had done something wrong when she’s clearly never been wrong a day in her life, why can’t they see that?
But she doesn’t quite make it out of there before telling Dr. Jeff, the man who she hired to try and help everyone to work out their differences, that he should be worried about losing his license, because clearly, everyone was not supposed to include her. She says a good counselor “wouldn’t allow everyone to just dump their garbage in one person’s lap,” but Dr. Jeff can’t really control how much garbage is available for dumping. Maybe he thought at one point, one of those other women would have been like, “Oh no, Nene’s never done anything shady to me,” but no…it was Dumptown, Party of Five. I’m making Dr. Jeff’s final, defeated utterance of, “Nene, don’t do it,” my ringtone.
NEXT: Forgive, forget, and video message…