TV's first reality show teaches Loud lesson

Richard Noble, AP/PBS Before the Osbournes ... there were the Louds. Lance is at the top left. One more thing: I chat live at 1 p.m. ET. Feel free to join the party. As much as I enjoy making New Year's resolutions, nothing competes with the mischievous glee that comes from breaking them every year. Just days into 2003, I'd already thrown two out the window. The first, "Spend less money," ended with Sunday's bulk-item shopping spree at Costco. Another, "Watch less TV," suffered a devastating blow on Monday when I devoured an evening of reality programming. Fortunately, I won't live to regret either act. Not only do I now own enough Charmin to wallpaper the White House, but I happened to catch a re-airing of the best (and first) reality series ever produced: PBS' An American Family. Before this week, I'd only heard about the show, an exercise in cinema verité  and obvious predecessor to MTV's The Real World  that debuted in 1973. The series followed the Loud family, which consisted of a middle-age Santa Barbara, Calif., couple and their five teenage children. Although the 12-episode series captured many hours on camera, the show became infamous for two particular instances: One, when wife Pat demanded a divorce from her husband; and two, when son Lance came out to his family and the world, effectively making him the first openly gay person on television. Unlike today's wave of reality TV, there was no million-dollar prize on American Family, no B-list celebrity catfights or gross-out eating competitions. It consisted of merely a household and a camera, and it left a lasting impression on millions of viewers. Before airing a classic episode from the series, PBS debuted a documentary about the free-spirited son, Lance Loud! A Death in An American Family. Sadly, Lance's death in 2001 was what prompted this final episode of sorts. The documentary showed clips of him through the years: performing with his moderately successful punk band, The Mumps; writing pop-culture articles for Interview and The Advocate; and finally, lying in a hospice, dying from hepatitis C and HIV co-infection. Lance, the world's first reality TV star, was a true free spirit, a wide-eyed, lanky fellow comfortable with wearing blue lipstick and a silk scarf on national television. He was so enamored with Andy Warhol that he dyed his hair silver at age 13; a well-known scene from An American Family depicts Lance, his long hair billowing in the wind, riding his bike on the street while simultaneously jiving to the music in his head. Needless to say, he was quite a refreshing contrast from the hot tub-loving Bachelor or that Joe Millionaire guy. As for the 30-year-old episode I saw, it also put our current batch of reality shows to shame. It depicted Pat's weeklong visit with Lance, who was living in (where else?) New York's Chelsea Hotel. Although he never actually says the word "gay," little is left in question after Lance takes his mother to a play featuring a troupe of singing transvestites and introduces her to his cross-dressing friend Holly Woodlawn. A touching, piercingly real conversation on a city sidewalk is widely regarded as Lance's "coming out" moment to his mother. After experiencing the inevitable sudden fame and harsh criticism that accompanied An American Family, Lance Loud delivered his most famous line: "Television ate my family." Thirty years later, it's still feasting. An American Family showed me that reality television, as despicable as it may seem now, can serve a meaningful purpose when it's used to uncover truth, not exploit. But I'm not sure if it would make sense to call for a return to an American Family-type of series  in this age, it might be nearly impossible to find people who wouldn't perform in front of the camera. Instead, maybe what we need is for PBS to re-air the entire series. (The last time the network did this was in 1990, by the way. A little more than a year later, The Real World made its debut.) In just the hourlong episode I saw, I felt I was watching something honest, encouraging and important  and I haven't had that feeling in front of the tube in a long while. It's a shame Lance Loud is no longer around to enlighten us with his vibrant outlook and turns of phrase. With him in mind, I now vow to break as many resolutions as possible while I still have the time. Pop Question: What's your New Year's resolution? In addition to saving money and downsizing TV time, I'm hoping to read 50 books this year  so far I'm halfway through No. 1, Life of Pi. E-mail me your resolutions by Jan. 10 (with your city and daytime number), and I'll publish some of them next week. Don't be ashamed if you've already broken them!

Pop Candy is a weekly column about popular culture. Click here to visit the archive. E-mail Whitney Matheson at wmatheson@usatoday.com.