But even the most humdrum reality show must intersect, somehow, with the celebrity-industrial complex. So, at discrete intervals, “Terrace House” cuts to a panel of Japanese stars who watch the show from a remote location and provide commentary. Like Greek gods, they observe and remark on the mortals from the beige couch that is their Mount Olympus. This clever inversion of gaze suggests to the viewer that these young people’s lives are worthy of examination, however pedestrian they might be.

Take, for example, the situation that unfolded when Yusuke, an endearingly awkward ukulele prodigy, asked out Lauren, an aspiring artist and a model. Yusuke is cripplingly shy, humble to a fault, and completely inexperienced when it comes to the opposite sex. Lauren is beautiful, confident and mature for her 18 years. When he finally works up the courage to ask her out, she hesitantly accepts. There are no confessional interviews on “Terrace House,” but it’s clear from their exchange that she isn’t into Yusuke — only too kind to turn him down.

You watch in real time as Yusuke gets a haircut, barely containing his excitement when he tells the barber that he’s going on his very first date. He buys new boots and two different colored shirts, because in the store he “got confused and couldn’t decide.” All dressed up and wearing a bit too much product in his hair, Yusuke meets Lauren at the movies (“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”). On any other reality show their strained conversation in line to buy tickets would have been left on the cutting-room floor. But “Terrace House” lets it play out in its excruciating entirety:

YUSUKE: This isn’t a sequel or anything, right? It’s a new work? LAUREN: Yeah. YUSUKE: But it’s the same —— LAUREN: It’s a new work by J.K. Rowling. YUSUKE: So it’s by the same author as Harry Potter? LAUREN: It’s not Harry Potter, but it’s the same author. The feel will probably be similar. YUSUKE: Oh, the same author. I’m looking forward to it. LAUREN: I’m also looking forward to it. YUSUKE: It’ll be good, I’m sure.

In any other context, this would be unwatchable. But I’d completely succumbed to the trancelike effect of the show, which does so little to insert melodrama and tension where it doesn’t exist that it works on your consciousness like a sensory-deprivation chamber. In this state, even a hint of rejection can be hugely affecting — just like in real life.

After the movie, Yusuke invites Lauren to dinner. She demurs, citing a family commitment. And the date ends — almost. Yusuke, rather than return home defeated, stoically honors his reservation at an otherwise empty restaurant and eats a catfish dinner alone. Sitting on my own beige sofa, four hours already vanished into his world, I wept.