Much like the Electoral College, the Supreme Court, and the parking problem at every single Trader Joe’s, The Bachelor franchise is a storied American institution desperately in need of reform. It’s been years since the series performed at its peak, and this week, the Bachelor-verse introduced its latest attempt at franchise resuscitation: The Golden Bachelor. Gerry Turner is a 72-year-old widower with a lovely family story, an earnest smile, and a miraculous hairline. Gerry and his group of appropriately mature contestants can seek love, but the not-so-hidden hope is that they can bring a new energy to the increasingly dormant franchise. These are not flighty physical therapists who long for substantial Instagram followings; these are grown-ups. Their desires and their dramas are nuanced, sincere, and meaningful. The great hope of The Golden Bachelor is that it can find love for Gerry, and simultaneously, give The Bachelor franchise the key to something it’s been missing for a very, very long time: a kernel of authenticity.
In the first few sequences, the premiere does try. Gerry speaks movingly about his wife, who died just weeks after they purchased their dream retirement home. He hugs his daughters and granddaughters. He talks about how ready he is to embrace this new period in his life. And then The Golden Bachelor cuts to Gerry, standing next to host Jesse Palmer on the slicked-down driveway of the Bachelor mansion, and everything goes to shit.
The Golden Bachelor may want to be a new chapter for this franchise, but in every frame, in every structural story choice and high-gloss jewel-toned gown, this series cannot stop screaming “I am The Bachelor.” All of the usual mechanisms are back in place: the first impression rose, the gimmicky limo exit strategies, the prominent Jimmy Kimmel insertion. When one woman instantly stands up to snag Gerry into a conversation, everyone laughs with more than a little shock in their eyes. So many of them really do want to find love, but it’s all been turned into silly games … and so quickly! Who gets time with him? Who’s kissing him already? Who’s been gently steered into a “she’s unhinged” edit?
In every talking head interview and every speech in front of the women, Gerry is full of sincerity and sweetness. He wants to see the light in their eyes, he says. He wants a connection. But all around him, the Bachelor mansion sweats decades of high-proof tomfoolery into the air. The women start to grow desperate. The final rose wilts next to Jesse Palmer’s meaty sheen. The night that begins with such hope ends with women trying their damnedest to be gracious even though they’ve been up all night. Already, the nakedness of this ridiculous set-up feels like the villain.
By the time the full-season promo reel starts to play, The Golden Bachelor’s slump back into the tired, depressing regular Bachelor is complete. Shaky footage of a camera follows Gerry down a hallway as he strides away overwrought. Women comfort one another as they sob in exhaustion and frustration. When Gerry explains in a talking head that he’s falling in love with two people, the rapidly descending boooooom of a sound effect screams “This is great prime-time mess!” Moments later, a woman sobs about the anniversary of her husband’s death.
To be clear: Older people have every right to be as messy and melodramatic and opportunistic and manipulative as younger contestants on a dating reality show. More reality franchises should cast much wider nets in the ages of their contestant pools, and age does not make people less prone to shenanigans. (Lisa Vanderpump is 63!) But the explicit text here, from Gerry, from the women, and from the unsubtle edit of The Golden Bachelor, is that these people very sincerely want to find new love. They want a fairytale. There’s no way to ignore or forget that what they’re getting instead is The Bachelor.
If this franchise had really wanted to reinvigorate itself, to shake off the history of what came before and make Gerry Turner a new model for what this show can be, it could have actually tried to do that. It could have ditched Bachelor aesthetics and Bachelor reality structure entirely! Close your eyes and picture it: Gerry’s wearing a casual suit (maybe even no jacket!) and the entire set is Nancy Meyers-core — beautiful beach house, lots of windows, afternoon light, furniture that says, “We love children but are no longer in the stage of our lives where we have to deal with them every day.” The women could come and greet him, they’d all sit on a deck and talk, and an elimination ceremony could take place at the reasonable hour of 10 p.m., allowing everyone to go home and have a nice glass of wine.
Sure, fine, there could still be rose ceremonies. But instead of Jesse Palmer, one of Gerry’s best friends would give out all the roses, and he and Gerry could have real conversations about how he’s feeling. The women could wear high-shine, low-neckline dresses if they want, but they could also wear comfortable shoes! Hats with ample sun protection! Everybody gets together and has a great meal and gets a little drunk and starts yelling about things they really care about! This would be fantastic TV!
This show could have been reality Grace and Frankie. It could’ve been an actual innovation in how broadcast TV imagines the future of reality dating shows. It could’ve been great! Instead, The Golden Bachelor appears determined to be something audiences already know all too well: more of The Bachelor.
