By Robin Givhan
Sunday, November 23, 2008

Sexism and consumerism are the twin pathologies driving two current television obsessions: the boy bonding of "Entourage," and the girl fights on "The Real Housewives of Atlanta."

There has been no joy on "Entourage" this season. The HBO series, about a quartet of childhood friends who luck out in Hollywood and indulge in big houses, velvet-rope access and much favor from the ladies, has taken a sobering turn.

Vincent Chase, the heartthrob action star who served as the boys' meal ticket, has been crossed off the A-list. Not even his splendidly combative, expletive-spewing agent -- Ari Gold, played by Jeremy Piven -- has been able to put him back together.

When we last saw Vince, played by Adrian Grenier, he had been thrown off the big-budget film that was supposed to serve as his comeback vehicle. He was derided as untalented and unemployable. So he gathered his fellas and fled Hollywood, headed home to Queens. They even flew coach, for heaven's sake.

If his best friend Eric winds up managing a food court Sbarro again, just put the show -- and us -- out of our misery.

One would like to applaud "Entourage" for keeping the storyline as honest as possible by underscoring the tenuous nature of fame and wealth in Hollywood. But we cannot. The result is too painful. It is like watching someone win the lottery only to have the tax man show up and take half the windfall, and have the rest get seized for overdue child support.

Hollywood is impatient, unforgiving and virtually soulless. And as if to drive the point home -- to taunt us, really -- Piven is currently on Broadway in "Speed-the-Plow," the David Mamet play about the lack of moral intentions in Hollywood. In the stage production, he portrays a studio executive done in by his own ambivalence. Agent Ari is never ambivalent but doesn't seem to fare much better with single-minded intensity. So what's essential for success? Luck, it would seem. And relationships.

And we were fine with that. After all, we never really knew if Vince could act. It's not as if we ever saw his star-making film, "Aquaman," or even the career-killing "Medellin." We loved our boys and we begrudged them nothing. It didn't bother us that they're endearing moochers. We didn't even care about some of their callous behavior with the ladies. Turtle wasn't abusive with women as much as he just couldn't understand why they didn't want to have as much fun -- in bed, in a bar, on a film set -- as he did. The pleasure of "Entourage" has always been that the boys were beating the system with the help of Ari, who relished his position as sage, kingmaker and pit bull.

Failure was always just one misstep away, not so much because Hollywood is that way but because life is. We enjoyed watching the characters accumulate wealth and become unhinged consumers of limited-edition sneakers and matching sports cars. There was something defiant in their conspicuous consumption. They were collecting toys, and not because they needed them for self-validation or to prove something to other people. Not really. They were buying stuff because it was fun to do together.

They never seemed deeply invested in what all those material goods represented. It might seem treacly to say so, but the show was always about friendships and loyalties and how they enhance the pleasures of wealth.

The show always managed to turn avarice into a symbol of camaraderie and kinship. "Entourage" made conspicuous consumption -- as practiced by men -- seem righteous.

It stands in stark contrast to the many shows about wealth and success that are dominated by women. Any serious aficionado of trash television will be familiar with Sheree, Kim, Lisa, DeShawn and NeNe, who are the "Real Housewives of Atlanta." Lisa is a real estate agent and DeShawn seems like a sweet goofball. Sheree wants to be a designer but doesn't know how to pick out fabric. Kim wants to be a country singer but can't carry a tune. And NeNe gleefully stirs up trouble when she's not "taking a DNA" to find out the identity of her real father.

The women on the show appear to spend all their time shopping, preening or figuring out ways to make someone else feel less successful.

They spend money competitively and with tremendous self-absorption. Sheree, for example, blows a gasket when she suspects someone else might have purchased the same dress she plans to wear to a party. And she suggests to a sales representative that there will be dire repercussions if anyone else in Atlanta manages to buy the same handbag she has her eyes on.

The show is a train wreck of pettiness, delusions of grandness and rabid consumption. The stars gleefully play into the stereotypes of women as catty, shallow and materialistic. Indeed, it requires the calming intervention of one of the husbands to get the feuding, backbiting women to engage in a little civility.

We can't get enough of the Atlanta housewives, not because we are cheering for the insatiable quintet but because we're waiting for them to finally go too far. We don't think of them as girls, which would suggest that their actions are charming or delightful. Instead, uglier words come to mind.

The cars, clothes and estates are distractions. And in the long tradition of "Dynasty," "Dirty Sexy Money" and almost every daytime soap opera, we are meant to conclude that wealth doesn't protect them from bad marriages or broken friendships. The wealthy get their comeuppance.

Perhaps that is the kind of "reality" we've become accustomed to. That's the way popular culture has taught us to imagine a group of rich women treating one another when they mostly don't work and have staff for cooking, cleaning and child-rearing. Men will be boys, but women will be cruising for a catfight.