"The Real Housewives" is officially reality TV's least exciting franchise

It seems like ancient history now, but once upon a time, there was a little backdoor pilot that dreamed of growing up to be a full-fledged reality television spectacle. Its name was “Vanderpump Rules” (you may have heard of the headline-making scandal it recently produced), and it was developed as a spinoff of “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills,” the lustrous crown jewel of the Bravo network’s most popular franchise. While “RHOBH” documented the glitzy lives of the women inhabiting one of America’s most famous zip codes, “Vanderpump Rules” focused on the working-class drama of the staff at SUR — one of “Beverly Hills” star Lisa Vanderpump’s handful of restaurants.

When a cheating scandal concerning a staff member at Vanderpump’s restaurant became fodder for a “RHOBH” storyline, Bravo execs made the brilliant decision to let an episode of the show’s third season bleed directly into the series premiere of “Vanderpump Rules.” For the first two seasons of “VPR,” the two shows would air back-to-back in a two-hour programming block that allowed viewers to traverse metropolitan California’s wealth spectrum. The Housewives let audiences immerse themselves in the 90210 fantasy before leaving through the golden gates of Beverly Hills to indulge in the familiar drama of real-life service workers. The pairing was an instant sensation.

Lisa Vanderpump in "Vanderpump Villa" (Disney/Andrea Miconi)

But for Vanderpump, having two shows on Bravo was about more than upping her profile; it was a shrewd business decision. “Vanderpump Rules” gave one of the breakout stars of “Beverly Hills” the chance to go it alone, and to prove that she is more than just an affected British accent and some stuffed — excuse me, very much “alive” — dogs: She’s an entrepreneur, an icon of the hospitality industry, whose name is powerful enough to draw customers no matter how many food poisoning lawsuits it’s named in. (Let the lesson be learned: Ordering an “orange fish with cream sauce” will cost you a lot more in hospital bills than what you planned to spend during an ironic night out with friends.)

Vanderpump left “Beverly Hills” some time ago, yet she still keeps a foot in “Vanderpump Rules,” even with the show overhauling its entire cast for its upcoming twelfth season. And it seems like she knows when it’s a good time to reorient. “Beverly Hills” has been struggling for years, and though it has occasional bright spots, the show is far from what it once was. The entire “Housewives” franchise is in a similar position. While the Salt Lake City and Potomac-based iterations have been doing well, the Dubai, New York City, New Jersey, Atlanta, Miami and Orange County-set series have stumbled. Even with “Vanderpump Rules” being retooled, Vanderpump herself has set her sights elsewhere, using old cast members to dredge up fresh, new flavor in Bravo’s “The Valley” and Hulu’s “Vanderpump Villa,” which have both entered their second season. Though they differ in watchability, these two spinoffs provide viewers suffering from “Housewives” fatigue with a messy, less-produced reality TV experience, one that Bravo’s star franchise hasn’t had in some time. Perhaps everything Lisa Vanderpump touches does turn to gold — or, at least, shiny, fake pyrite.

Stassi Schroeder and Lisa Vanderpump in "Vanderpump Villa" (Disney/Andrea Miconi). The artificiality of Vanderpump’s makeshift empire is most easily spotted in “Vanderpump Villa,” a show made of popsicle sticks and glue. The conceit is that Vanderpump is expanding her American-based hospitality dominion into a global brand with luxurious European destination getaways, and she needs a batch of fame-starved, wannabe influencers to help her do it. These men and women must put down their DJ careers and pick up the pressed cotton uniforms worn by the staff at Castello Rosato, the gorgeous Italian palace where Vanderpump has staged Season 2 — just a hop, skip and a jump from the French chateau where Season 1 was filmed.

“I need the staff to stay focused on helping me expand the Vanderpump brand,” Vanderpump says in a confessional in the season premiere. Of course, “brand” isn’t referring to her hospitality business; Vanderpump is talking about her television brand, which depends on keeping these aspiring reality stars drinking the liquor and feeling the pheromones to try to recreate some of the chaotic magic that’s been so memorably displayed in “Vanderpump Rules.”

(l-r) Jesse Lally and Jax Taylor in "The Valley" (Griffin Nagel/Bravo)

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Like the show’s first season, viewers won’t have to squint to make out the falsities in the “Vanderpump Villa” charade. As with the chateau in Season 1, Castello Rosato is not a Vanderpump property. Rather, the castle is Hotel La Badia di Orvieto, a semi-popular vacation spot anyone with enough money can rent out for events and lodging. The place has been decked out in Castello Rosato branding to make it look convincing to the untrained eye. But under scrutiny, the details fall apart. Luckily, Hulu and Vanderpump have lightened up on the subterfuge themselves, turning Season 2 into a competition show that doubles as an opportunity for cross-promotion. Last season, Vanderpump claimed the show was a “trial run.” Now, with “Vanderpump Villa” an established notch in its creator’s diamond belt, it’s the staff being trialed. Whoever proves themself the most competent among the housekeepers, chefs, waitstaff and concierges will be rewarded with “a job opportunity” and a $30,000 bonus. If you connect the dots, it’s not hard to imagine the highest performing staffer at Castello Rosato ending up as one of the fresh faces on the upcoming “Vanderpump Rules” reboot.

But there are familiar faces abound in the Vanderpump universe, too. Stassi Schroeder — a staple of “Vanderpump Rules” until she was fired in 2020 after Bravo learned she and castmate Kristen Doute called the police on a Black cast member for a crime she didn’t commit — makes her reality return in “Vanderpump Villa.” She is, however, left with nothing more to do than putz around the castle grounds with her husband and children as she mulls over a permanent move to Italy. It’s an anticlimactic return that feels more intended to scrub the remaining tarnish from her image than it does to induct her back into Vanderpump’s fold. But those who seek the antics of the “Vanderpump Rules” heyday need not worry. They’ll only have to look to Southern California for their fix.

Stassi Schroeder in "Vanderpump Villa" (Disney/Andrea Miconi). In Season 2 of “The Valley,” Schroeder’s one-time partner in amateur crime solving, Doute, is far messier (and, frankly, fun to watch) than her former castmate. “Vanderpump Villa” might make for decent background watching for “VPR” diehards — especially with incredible lines like, “The last thing we need is for any of this drama to affect the castle” — but “The Valley” is this summer’s best reality television getaway.

Set in the semi-suburban San Fernando Valley neighborhood of Los Angeles, “The Valley” is where “Vanderpump Rules” castoffs go to dry up (or dry out) in the sun. Alongside Doute sit previous “VPR” cast members Jax Taylor and his ex-wife, Brittany Cartwright. Cartwright and Taylor kick the show’s second season off with a bang as they duke it out in a battle of dim wits. Joining them in divorce hell are Jesse Lally and Michelle Saniei, who boast the most poisonous dynamic I’ve seen on reality television, which is a high bar for a format that has repeatedly redefined the word “toxic.” Their shared vitriol is palpable and terribly compelling, especially as they navigate this season in the arms of their respective new partners.

There’s also Danny Booko and his wife, Nia Sanchez. He’s a charming voice actor, and she pronounces every word through her nostrils, so they balance each other out better than any other couple on the show. Finally, there’s Janet and Jason Caperna, who have such a healthy marriage that they function as rainsticks for producers to prop up and make noise to fill out a scene. Despite their dreariness as a couple, Janet does come armed with a stare so blank it looks like she saw a ghost and never recovered. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking at any given moment. That is, until she pops up with a perfect insult out of nowhere, like when she says her friend Zack’s hair “still looks like a LEGO,” a thought I’d already had many times myself as I measured the distance between his hairline and his browline with two fingers. Janet may be impossible to read, but I know I would’ve walked the mile with her in middle school gym class, and casting an everywoman like her is the foundational key to success for any reality television show.

(l-r) Brittany Cartwright, Nia Booko and Michelle Lally in "The Valley" (Griffin Nagel/Bravo)While “Vanderpump Villa” manages to maintain some of the air of grace and refinement that its namesake is known for, “The Valley” — on which Vanderpump is an executive producer — has no such sophistication. Maybe that’s because the executive producer credit is one of the entertainment industry’s most opaque titles. Vanderpump could have some say in the episodes, or she might sit back and cash the checks the spinoff earns her. Whatever her role, “The Valley” is unquestionably marked by her influence; this brand of suburban chaos wouldn’t exist without Vanderpump. And though she’s tried to make elegant strides in other countries and on other streaming platforms, those attempts at branding feel far more hollow. “The Valley,” on the other hand, is as real as it gets. None of its cast seems to care about achieving fame or manufacturing their persona for the cameras. These are all people who are trying to sustain their marriages and families in the most absurd way possible. They are the new frontier of America, a strange return to some recognizable normalcy after years of being inundated with nothing but Kardashian clout-chasing. Ironically, not even the “Real Housewives” are this authentic.

That veracity is frighteningly exemplified by Taylor’s blowup in Season 2’s second episode. When Cartwright returns to the home they share to send Taylor off to a 30-day treatment center for anger and substance abuse issues, her ex stomps his feet and yells with all the petulance of his four-year-old son. Since filming wrapped last summer, Taylor has admitted to a decades-long cocaine problem, as well as a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. But when cameras capture Taylor in a semi-contained fit of anger before leaving for treatment, it’s both a disquieting sight and a far cry from the intervention so civilly depicted in the most recent season of “Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.” However, it’s undeniably real. And for a network that cut its teeth on reality so authentic it could be named in the show’s title, it’s a thrillingly candid return to form. For all of the horribly renovated condos and body fluid-strewn McMansions “The Valley” puts us through, it’s hard to imagine any “Housewives” property airing this summer will feel as underproduced. The disarray is real. And though it’s also perturbing, it’s nice to watch something where even the darkness isn’t synthetic.