Boy in the bubble
For more proof of that, tune in to "Flipping Out" (10 p.m. on Bravo), a reality show that follows the spirited life of Jeff Lewis, a sad little boy who's allergic to the big, wide world, so he has to live in a protected cocoon, surrounded by an army of loyal pets, dedicated assistants and spiritual healers.
No, Jeff isn't a child with a rare immune disorder, he's a real estate mogul who buys expensive properties and fixes them up so that rich people can move into them without being kept up at night by tacky wallpaper or unattractive wall-to-wall carpeting.
Jeff, like Duchovny's Hank Moody, is a character who could exist only in the rarefied air of the Southland. He has that expressionless face -- smooth, wrinkle-free forehead, puffy lips -- common to a new herd of ageless clones, roaming the streets of Los Angeles, searching for their souls!
Immediately, we learn that Jeff likes stuff to be... just so. In the first scene of the series, Lewis gives his assistants Jenni and Brant his lunch order:
Jeff: I want to change my drink order.
Jenni: What would you like?
Jeff: Ideally, 70 percent lemonade, 20 percent punch, 10 percent Sprite. If they don't have fruit punch, do like 85 percent lemonade, and 15 percent Sprite.
Brant: All right.
Jeff: If they don't have lemonade, do 85 percent punch and 15 percent Sprite... or 7UP.
It's charitable of Bravo, really, to introduce us to the Worst Possible Boss in the World, so we can never imagine that we've ever, in our lives, had to tolerate anyone half as sadistic.
"Jeff is unique because he's crazy," says Jenni. "He has five psychics, a pet integrator, a staff of employees that really don't do that much. He's obsessive-compulsive. He's neurotic. He's a loose cannon, but a lot of geniuses are crazy, bottom line."
"I'm very fortunate, because I've found a business that validates and celebrates my disorders," Jeff tells the camera. I know how he feels, but... I wouldn't necessary call it a turn of good fortune to be paid for your worst flaws.
Jeff certainly behaves like a person whose flaws are being encouraged by his circumstances, a sad scenario that might someday be named Spears-Lohan Syndrome. When Jeff discovers Brant talking on the phone in his car outside one of Jeff's properties, he goes ballistic because he feels that his employees should never talk on the phone while they're on the clock unless they're driving somewhere. In other words, go ahead and endanger the lives of others -- just don't waste my time at any cost.
Brant is unrepentant. This could get nasty. The cameras are rolling, and Jeff is getting steamed. There's no way this won't end badly. And then -- it does!
Jeff: You're fired!
Brant: No, I'm quitting!
Jeff: No, you're fired. I fired you before you quit, so you're fired!
Brant explains that no, he's quitting because Jeff is being ridiculous, to which Jeff responds, "OK, good luck. Good luck bartending." Then he counts out a pile of cash, preparing to demean Brant even more by throwing some bills at him before he leaves.
"You can mail me a check," Brant says as he walks out.
"I'm having a tough time dealing with stress and anxiety," Jeff tells his spiritual healer in the next scene. "It seems like people are irritating me more than they normally do." The healer responds by covering him with a Navajo blanket and encouraging him to yell loudly into a rolled-up blanket. Wait a minute. Even at his healer's house, he's forced to yell into a blanket? What kind of pillow-biting nonsense is that?
Instead of visiting a self-conscious healer, maybe he should stop imbibing so much high-fructose corn syrup. I'm thinking a switch to 55 percent lemonade and 45 percent sparkling water might do this guy a world of good.
Soon we see that Jeff's life is just one purchased scenario after another: He's built his whole world around buying things. But whether he's buying a house, a person or an arbitrary solution to his emotional challenges, he always seems the same: high strung, controlling, manic and unable to relax.
The whole spectacle would be unspeakably sad, if it weren't so -- you guessed it -- wildly entertaining. You may doubt Jeff's sanity, but there's no doubt that he belongs in front of the camera. My only beef with "Flipping Out" is that it's an hour long. All of the shows in the Insane Mogul reality genre are an hour long, of course, but given the great comedy here, why not trim it down and make it a half-hour reality comedy instead? Do we really care about his renovations, or how his inspections go? No. We just want to see him meet with his psychic, act like a supreme tool, and fire people for no good reason.
Next page: "Big Brother's" ticking time bomb