| Before the mournful, bluesy theme song even kicked in, we were cringing at Being Bobby Brown. The show opens with Brown approaching a couple of guys having lunch in what looks like a mall. He asks if they know who he is; they don't. He jokes about how nobody recognizes him without an orange jumpsuit on, then puts his hands behind his back. "How about now?" he asks. "Oh, Bobby, no," we fretted. Why, we wondered, would anybody---especially a singer with at least 10 years between him and his latest hit---put himself under the microscope?
Brown's open nature means that just about every aspect of his life (including his wife Whitney Houston and their 11-year-old daughter Bobbi Kristina) is on display. We hear Houston and Brown talking about sex a lot and frequently see a door being closed, presumably so they can get it on. We see them visibly drunk, arguing crankily and illogically about each other's shortcomings. We even get a description---with illustrative gestures---of how Brown manually relieved a bout of Houston's constipation: "I pulled a dootie bubble out of your ass!" Was this Bravo series truly a wise move?
Ultimately, yes, because of how Brown appears compared to Houston. Next to her, he appears to be a grounded paterfamilias, to relate well with others, to have his personal thing together. Because Whitney Houston is a skillet-fried mess. She's not even a train wreck; she's so out of control she's a damn shipwreck. We half-expected to see grizzled old deck hands singing sea chanties about the wreck of the HMS Whitney.
If you're the same age as we are, you might remember how Houston could do no wrong in the mid-to-late '80s. We recall a Newsweek profile that gushed: "Everybody wants to escort, adopt or be Whitney Houston." She was the ultimate black Barbie doll, a teen model with an incredible voice and a squeaky-clean image. A Whitney Houston impersonation was a tall order for the most talented singer back in the day. Now? Her voice is a husk of its former self, based on the bits of singing she injects into regular conversation. She tends to leave the house sporting one of a collection of unfortunate weaves and wigs---and often, no eyebrows (which people truly need, Whoopi Goldberg notwithstanding). And for a current Houston impersonation, all you have to do is snap imperiously, "Bobby? Bobby!"
In fairness, Houston entered drug rehab not long after the footage for "Being Bobby Brown" was shot. And not a moment too soon, from the looks of her erratic behavior. Brown should probably get some kind of treatment for enabling her---and perhaps for his own possible chemical troubles. Because honestly, would a sober, sane person join his wife in a sudden song-and-dance number while shopping for sunglasses? And a significant course of therapy should be arranged for Bobbi Kristina; besides the insanity inherent in the Houston-Brown household, she's had to listen to her parents publicly discuss which side of the family is to blame for her pudgy build---right in front of her. Seems only natural to us that a kid with these two for parents would seek solace in the arms of chocolates and cheese fries.
Despite the cringes brought on by Brown's need to be surrounded by an adoring---or at least an approving---group of folks whenever and wherever he can, the squirms brought on by poor Bobbi Kristina's utter lack of competent or consistent parenting and the dropped jaws brought on by Houston's random brays of laughter and quick use of her smacking hand, we can't look away from Being Bobby Brown. We've TiVo'ed all the episodes thus far and plan to keep them on the hard drive until this sucker comes out on DVD. We're completely hooked.
They had us at "dootie bubble."
Gadgetgirl
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