Celebrity Fat Club
Let me start by distancing myself from the show I’m about to discuss. I do not like Celebrity Fit Club. I do not like the way the show buys into our culture’s unhealthy obsession with conforming to what is, for most people, an unreachable ideal. I happen to believe that obesity is a disease. It wouldn’t surprise me if, within the next decade or so, medical researchers discover that obesity is caused by some infectious agent, a virus maybe, much the same way medicine thought — for thousands of years — stomach ulcers were caused by stress when they’re actually caused by bacteria and can be treated with antibiotics. I firmly believe that obesity is a currently untreatable disease and that it’s not the fault of the fat person that they are fat. I firmly believe this for anyone my size or smaller. Anyone fatter is a disgusting pig with no self-control.
So I do not like Celebrity Fit Club, now in its third incarnation on VH1. Yet I must admit to some familiarity with it. In this show, presumably washed-up and putatively entertaining actors and other Hollywood detritus decide to lose weight and get in shape on national TV while a large, scary, hairless man berates them. I know about this show because, I admit, I have watched it a few times: I watch it when it’s on and my TiVo is empty and I don’t feel like putting on a DVD. But I won’t say I like it — I firmly agree with Heather Havrilesky in Salon when she writes that we need to differentiate between shows we watch because we get sucked in and those we actually enjoy. Celebrity Fit Club 3 sucked me in, and I have some observations.
As is the case on all of VH1’s celebreality offerings the cast is a mix of people you’ve heard of and throwaways you don’t care about. This season is led by Jeff Conaway, the beloved Kenickie of “Grease” and also one of the stars of some sitcom from the late 1970s, I forget the name. Jeff is here in the Gary Busey role of the complete nutjob. I can’t imagine why he’s doing this; if raking in residuals from his two giant niches in pop culture isn’t enough, he can always make his living on the science fiction convention circuit telling everyone how he once stood next to J. Michael Straczynski at the craft services table. But then it’s clear that rationality isn’t high on Conaway’s list of virtues. The promos for the second episode show him leaving the set shouting, “I’ll walk off! I’ve done it before!” Yes, Jeff — and shows have gone on without you before, too.
Heading up the team opposing Conaway’s team is none other than Chastity Bono, daughter of Sonny and Cher. I can say this about Chastity: The show aired some footage of her frolicking in her bra, or maybe a bikini top, and while she clearly is not a skinny woman, she is one seriously hot fat chick. I understand we don’t play for the same team — you might remember her from her days as an ’80s babe but she traded in the Bon Jovi fan look for an off-the-rack dyke thing — I know we don’t play for the same team, but she makes me think I might convert; I’ve long said I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body.
Jeff’s second in command — she’s bound to take over once he wigs out entirely — is Tempestt Bledsoe, another refugee from some sitcom I can’t remember. I have only one thing to say to Tempestt: Run! You don’t need this show! You’re beautiful! Adorable! Perfect! You say you think you haven’t been getting all the work you should and it’s because you’re overweight? Don’t you think it could have a little something to do with The Cosby Show? We can all name exceptions, but really, you only get one super popular TV role. Very few actors get a second shot, unless they want to do voice work. You’re not failing to get work because you’re fat. Paging Malcolm-Jamal… paging Lisa Bonet. Last we checked, Lisa was still as staggeringly hot as she’s always been, and yet her career high point remains “Angel Heart” and that was almost twenty years ago. The only Cosby Kid still visible these days is Raven Symone and she’s on a tweener show on Disney — and have you seen her butt? She ain’t been laying off the Twinkies, I’ll tell you that. No, Tempestt — if there’s still time, you go, girl. Pull a Conaway.
Chastity’s teammate Young MC wouldn’t even rate a mention — his big claim to fame is “Bust a Move” from back when songs were recorded in cuneiform — except seeing him makes me so happy. First, I’m happy because, hey, who doesn’t like “Bust a Move”? And second, I’m really happy, because here we can see what happens to the young and ridiculously fit. Here’s a guy who put Chippendales dancers to shame, who used to clean between his abdominal muscles with a toothpick. And here he is now, on national TV, saying in order to look that good he was literally starving himself. On a show devoted to weight loss! Argh, my brain hurt!
Back on Jeff’s team there’s another example of what happens to youth and fitness, but this one is potentially more painful: Kelly LeBrock. Is there a male who went through puberty in the 1980s who doesn’t owe some small part of his soul to Kelly and Weird Science? I was prepared to be devastated. They showed clips from the movie and we could see how incredible Kelly once looked. And here she is on basic cable, older, of course, and wearing these oh-my-god-I’m-a-fat-lady clothes, and it was all very depressing, until they showed her in her workout outfit. And she still has one hell of an ass. It’s bigger, yes. Kelly is definitely not the very thin young woman she once was. She is now heavier and older and still far more beautiful than almost anyone on the planet. I really don’t know why LeBrock is on this show. The host even asked her, and she answered, and I still don’t get it.
And then, finally — I’ve skipped a couple of very uninteresting supposed celebrities, but anyway finally — there is, on Chastity’s team, Bruce Vilanch. Bruce is one guy who sure could use some fitness. He’s five feet, ten inches tall and weighs in during the first episode at 315 pounds. He’s enormous. He’s gigantic. He’s…
HOLY CRAP I’M AS OBESE AS BRUCE MOTHERFUCKING VILANCH!
You know, looking at yourself in the mirror, even nude, you can make excuses. Find reasons. Say to yourself, “Well, okay, you’re not so bad. Pretty all right! Could be worse.” You can ignore things. Gloss over details. Fool yourself.
But when you hear you’re the same size as Bruce Vilanch, there’s no place left to hide. Good goddamn.
Good thing I think obesity is a disease.