Imagine that, as a couple planned their wedding, they were accidentally sent emails between their parents, questioning the suitability of the intended. Anticipation of such excruciation – with the added twist that the disparaging psychoanalysis is available to anyone who wants to see it – is the idea behind a gruesomely watchable new show.
Alone with the In-Laws extends the prenuptial sub-genre of dating TV that already includes Don’t Tell The Bride, in which the groom arranges a wedding ceremony without any bridal intervention, and Married at First Sight, where couples scarcely meet each other, never mind the in-laws, before their ceremony, having been matched by psychologists.
Chris and Stacey, a 30-something couple from the West Country, take a break from wedding preparations to spend time at the home of their other half’s folks. Stacey gets four days with her fiance’s mum and dad, but Chris, as his wife-to-be’s parents are divorced, splits his time between two mini-breaks.
Set-piece scenes of meals and shopping are intercut with solo feedback interviews, including one mum worrying that her child has made the wrong choice of partner. Goggling at what people will say on TV these days, you wonder if such a horrifying moment will become a joke in the best man’s speech. Although as Stephen Lambert, the guy behind the show, has form in the genre right back to Wife Swap, there’s probably already a spinoff in the works, Worst Man, in which Chris turns up on the day to find that the duties have been handed over to the bloke he hated most at school.
In reality TV, the selection of participants is everything. Alone with the In-Laws has relied on the industry standard in this genre: casting for contrast. Stacey, who intends to keep her career and her surname, spends 96 hours shadowing her love’s mum, a happily full-time home-maker: “It’s Friday today, so I do the ironing.” Stacey’s gabby dad Dave takes to TV like a duck to water, while Chris’s father James reacts to it like a duck to a l’orange.
During the shy, agonised silences at the dinner table, as Stacey tries to probe James about his day, the sound recordist must have worried that the mic had failed. The desired excruciating embarrassment is also delivered in the other half of the experiment, when Stacey’s mum takes Chris salsa dancing. Tears will have been on the commissioners’ wish-list as well, and drop more than once, sometimes unexpectedly.
Historically, the BBC has regarded reality TV as something that happens on vulgar channels with ad-breaks; BBC2’s closest flirtation has been feeding antique recipes to families in Victorian or Edwardian costume. In that case, a reality format is sanitised with a hint of education, and, similarly, Alone with the In-Laws takes the edge off with a bit of sociology – on their visits, the couple brandish a questionnaire about the division of chores, sex and finance – and, more weirdly, theology. Kate Bottley, the vicar from Gogglebox, sends the lovers off on their home visits and they report back to her.
It seems fitting that the BBC has chosen a vicar for this task, as her presence is intended to exorcise the demons of reality TV, but Bottley sometimes sits oddly with the voyeuristic enjoyment of the rest of the show, especially when she brings everyone together for a strange new-agey ceremony of familial commitment. And, checking out the mansion where Chris and Stacey plan to have their wedding party, Rev Kate describes it as “like something out of Henry VIII”, which seems tactless given the circumstances. Her involvement should be rethought if the appeal for willing participants at the end of tonight’s one-off brings enough responses to fill a series.
Most viewers will surely wish this show a happy future. Alone with the In-Laws seems likely to be the most-talked about TV of the week, having the feel of an instantly grabby format in the same way that First Dates and Gogglebox did when they first appeared.
The producers may be disappointed that, in the pilot, everyone was too middle-class to get to the sex bit of the questionnaire, so either that aspect of the show or the casting would need work. But the main problem for the show’s progress may be the difficulty of signing up subjects. Although sold as romance, dating and wedding shows are popular because of the darker possibility of the relationships not working out. Lurking not very deep under the premise of Alone with the In-Laws is the ratings-topping, Twitter-filling edition in which the pair, after their away trips, decide not to set up home together. That would be great for You Tube, but not so good if it were you.
And even if a large number of couples were crazy enough (either about each other, or just generally) to conclude that a TV “disturbance fee” would be a useful addition to the wedding budget, that is only the start of the casting. When all four future in-laws had divorced and remarried, a single show would require 10 people consenting to appear. Privacy pixillation of some faces would be even more distracting in this case than most, as it would have the feel of a relative turning their back on a wedding photo.
To fulfil its own potential, this programme will need to target prospective marriages involving families who either watch a great deal of reality TV and love it, or have never seen any at all and don’t know what would be coming their way. If such problems can be overcome, though, this feels like a show with which it would be easy to fall in love.
Alone with the In-Laws is on tonight at 8pm on BBC2.
