Bachelor In Paradise is that overly served, boozed up trashy cousin from Tallahassee compared to the class act mess from Orlando that is The Bachelor/ette empire. But this year, it took a turn for the yikes when news surfaced former Bachelor contestant Corinne Olympios alleged that there was sexual assault by Bachelorette contestant DeMario Jackson. All they do on those sets is ply everyone with booze, so they go from being a bunch of boring hot people to human trains hurtling to the end of the rails while humping all over each other.
Only, claims were made that Corinne was too drunk to say yes or no to DeMario, and production shut down. Eventually, Warner Brothers decided the situation was not assault, and the mess of a show resumed filming.
People says the two-hour Monday premiere began with ABC’s resident bro-ski Chris Harrison luring in half of middle America with the words they fear most: the season that “looked like it might not happen.” Oh nooooooo! What are we supposed to do without new episodes of this shit?! Watch Megyn Kelly’s ca-ca news hour on DVR?! Nah, it would never get THAT bad.
Chris acknowledge the film shut-down and, with that, off to the races. Hoo boy. The dramatic irony was laid on so thick, I’m surprised they didn’t CGI a hologram of Rachel Lindsay to just Zorro snap and say “nuh uh!” when it came time for DeMario to introduce himself:
“I wanted to come here to set everything straight and hopefully find the next Mrs. Jackson. Because I’m a good guy. I swear, I’m like the sweetest guy in the world. I would love to ultimately fall in love. I can’t wait for that.”
Corinne appeared to suffer the wrath of post-production because they, well, made her seem like a booze bag who arrived with two glasses of champ and already wearing the “life of the party” label, which translates into “big personality” for those of you who only speak in America’s Next Top Model. It’s “alcoholic” for those of you who just speak English.
Basically, the show covers Corinne and DeMario getting to know each other while the rest of the boring shit goes on over day one. Day two arrives, and the two seem to be over it. Corinne was going to give the rose to another dude, and shit seemed cordial… until… cameras went flying, producers pulled them aside and…DUN DUN DUN… To Be Continued. I mean, we know what happens next. They’re going away, a bunch of boring white people with six-pack abs and/or crimped hair will bone, Chris Harrison will have annoying inflection to add drama when we all know that basic betch A will “find love” with basic boy B, and then it will be time for new episodes of 60 Minutes, so us Memaws can pretend to stop acting like we don’t watch the full CBS line-up. In short, summer TV sucks.