The Suicide Of Russell Armstrong: Is Reality TV Ruining Lives?

Reality television is no longer the "next big thing", but it's been around longer than we realize. Reality TV was popular before it had themes, specific locations or even competitions. Long before it started airing during primetime hours, marketed as a drama. Before people "started getting real", there were actual people putting their lives (and sins) on display for the world every day. It was the midday talk show.

I remember growing up in the days of Jerry Springer, Montel Williams, Maury Povich and Ricki Lake. There was chair throwing and hair pulling and security on hand to make sure no one was seriously hurt during shocking discoveries of false parentage, cheating lovers and women who were really men. We thought it was hilarious, right? How funny and trashy these people were! How amusing their illicit affairs and racy secrets were to us normal folk! I mean, could you believe the way these people behaved? And to go on television to do it...well, damn. That was something.

Then an episode of The Jenny Jones Show was taped entitled "Same Sex Secret Crushes," where a man told his male friend that he harbored secret romantic and sexual feelings for him. This was 1995. Three days after taping, the object of his affection murdered him, unable to handle the embarrassment. Shit, as it were, actually started getting real.

Fast forward more than 15 years. A man's messy divorce is about to be displayed on national television. He is about to be villainized, humiliated, potentially ruined. There are allegations of abuse, about his sexuality. All his dirty laundry is ready to hit the Internet. And so, he hangs himself.  The suicide of Russell Armstrong, husband of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills star Taylor Armstrong was shocking to everyone - not excluding Bravo producers, who were ready to air the season starting Labor Day. The collapse of the Armstrongs' marriage was to be a main plot point of the season.

The question is, now what?  Do they air the show as scheduled? It is, after all, real. Or do they edit, refocus their footage? Do they postpone the season altogether and re-film at a later date? These questions are still up in the air.

But this is still not the heart of the matter. Sixteen years ago, a man was shot for his airing his personal life on national television. We clucked our tongues and shook our heads, but we moved on. We forgot. The afternoon talk show is all but dead, but let's face it: nothing has changed.  It's just on in the evening now. They aren't on a stage, they're in their houses. But the point remains the same: the tawdry personal lives of strangers fascinate us. Russell Armstrong and his family are certainly not the first to suffer irreparable damage from reality TV. So, do we go too far? Can we even take the blame when these people willingly sign on, accept money, shell out their products and promote their businesses? I don't have any answers, but sometimes it makes you think. Maybe we could use a little more fantasy and a little less "getting real."