Oh wait, no there isn’t. It’s all and only about how hawt the one that got away is.
Let’s go back to Beaverman James, as he celebrates the choice he’s made in hooking up with Alexis the leopard (and I am absolutely not going to apologise for any spoilers here; if you invest in this “journey” you have only yourself to blame).
“This experience has taught me don’t look at an arse and a face and automatically think, ‘She’s about to have a great personality’,” he says. He may have some regrets about having ditched pixie-girl Amber and zombie Tamiko, but he’s absolutely committed to trying to make it work with Alexis, because that’s what these reality dating shows are all about, right, the search for true and everlasting love.
“But if that doesn’t work out, I definitely am going to hit up Tamiko.”
All the usual rituals of the reality dating genre are here – awkward first dates, “romantic” second dates where the couple get to know each other a little better, a mansion, a ceremony of rejection, a garden with flower-covered trellises where troths are pledged (for the night anyway). It’s performative romance, the heart-shaped equivalent of pornography.
Shallow though this antidote to shallowness is, it does have some saving graces. The make-up is quite spectacular, and the narration – by Catastrophe’s Rob Delaney – is often very funny.
“This might be grossing you out,” he says over footage of a couple getting an oily foot massage. “But there are a bunch of foot fetishists out there who are losing our mi … their minds right now. This one’s for you, feet freaks.”
Maybe that’s the best way to approach Sexy Beasts – as a comedy about the ridiculousness of reality dating shows, the pointlessness of looking for love in front of a camera, the empty claim that looks don’t matter on a medium that depends entirely on visuals.