Patrick Freyne: If these men don't get a pat on the back, they accidentally have sex

Patrick Freyne: If these men don’t get a pat on the back, they accidentally have sex

Here are some excerpts from the Netflix series Buying Beverly Hills soundtrack, songs that all sound vaguely like chart-topping hits, but actually aren’t.

Some are obsessed with productivity: “More money, more money, more money,” gurgles a materialistic crooner. “Everything I do, I do like a boss!” insist on another. “Keep busy and let’s get to work!”

These singers are usually only enthusiastic about themselves. “This is my time!” screams a singer. “Now’s my time!” they keep yelling in case we missed it. “We are… we are… the new generation!” grumbles another. “We are… we are… a genius sensation!”

Some are melodically gluttonous: “Go ahead and eat the whole damn pie,” moans an anonymous singer, who sounds like they ate a whole damn pie. “Hators hate, but I don’t get it,” they add, perhaps unable to find the energy to hate because their cholesterol is through the roof.

And some just want your feedback: “Do you feel that? Say ‘Yes!’” they demand. (“Yes,” I say). “Do you feel that? Say ‘What?’” they ask. (I’m not answering this time because I’ve stopped feeling “this”.)

The Buying Beverly Hills soundtrack is about the up-and-coming pop music of working sociopaths. My guess is that these songs were developed by a Netflix employee in a hazmat suit feeding third-hand descriptions of Destiny’s Child songs, synthesizer presets, pages from Atlas Shrugged, and cocaine into the Netflix algorithm with a dirty tin funnel.

Look, I’m not saying that my darker generation was better off. Our party bangers had titles like Loser or Creep or Freakscene or Shit Sandwich (My Life Is a) or Sad Man Cry Party (Millennium Remix) or I Think with Our Combined Salaries We Can Live in Drogheda, Mairead. (I wrote the last three myself.)

But it’s entirely possible that we’ve overcorrected past mistakes, and so will the next generation a lot of Self-esteem. So be it. Things will even out when they see what our lot has done to the planet and the economy. In other words: “Do you feel that? Say what?'”

Speaking of what we’ve done to the planet and the economy, these songs usually play over montages of the sun-scorched hills of Los Angeles, where the American rich hoard their ill-gotten resources and a hunk who hates “drama” says something saucy.

The general premise of Buying Beverly Hills: A silver-haired real estate agent named Mauricio Umansky owns a stable of house men to tend to his land-hungry whims. If that sounds familiar, that’s because Mauricio does for the word “buy” what those wee-wee Oppenheim twins did for “sell.” Because in the similarly alliterative Selling Sunset, the Oppenheims also have a gang of hot-headed beauties scurrying home.

But there is one crucial difference. Mauricio must also decide which of his daughters should inherit his methane-producing Brocken herd. And so everyone has to live for their love from episode to episode. It’s basically Selling Sunset meets King Lear. Although I assume Mauricio hasn’t read King Lear, otherwise he wouldn’t have decided to tempt fate by hiring so many fools. It’s only a matter of episodes before he’s found wandering the heath with an Adonis in a fool’s cap.

In short, he lays out his business philosophy Lear-like. “Rule number one: No assholes,” he says, speaking figuratively, not literally, because we literally need our assholes to live. (I checked with Health Editor.)

He also says that “the agency really is a family,” although only two of his employees are literally family, and they clearly get preferential treatment while the independent hunks throw the old stinky eyes at them.

My favorite character is Alexia (Goneril), the daughter who is bad at being a real estate agent, so will probably inherit everything. In one episode, she fills a house she’s selling with kittens and puppies, which I now assume are infesting the walls. At one point, Mauricio simply hands her over a valuable and coveted estate to sell before her amazed, more competent sister, Farrah (Cordelia). “I love you daddy!” says Alexia in response, which I also happen to say to my editor when I get assignments.

Farrah expresses some reservations about Alexia’s ability to get the job done, and Mauricio responds with a complicated sports metaphor. “If the father cannot give [his child] Best chance to be a quarterback, I don’t know how you get a chance,” he says, apparently under the illusion that professional quarterbacks are usually the coach’s children. Look, I know nothing about sports. Maybe that’s true.

But I understand why he supports his own family. He’s surrounded by scheming guys of all stripes. They generally resemble disgraceful Bratz dolls. A man’s eyebrows are defined enough to have his own passport, social security number, and spin-off show. The hunks don’t have a human resources department, so they all have chaotic relationships with each other.

And they have great customs. In greeting, the women throw out their arms wide and dramatically, like a goalie, and then clasp the other while kissing the empty air nearby. They love this empty air. When the manly dudes meet, they high-five before doing that combination hug and back pat that straight American men do to make sure they’re not accidentally having sex. (If you Whose do pat the back, they will accidentally having sex.)

The guys love to tell the camera things that they try to hide from their co-workers. “I have feelings for Alexia,” a clueless young hunk named Joey says to the camera shortly after trying to convince Alexia that he has no feelings for her. Luckily I don’t think Alexia knows they’re doing a TV show.

All guys have jobs to do, but they seem to prefer sipping champagne and sipping hors d’oeuvres while gazing out at the cursed LA landscape and recounting at length a conversation we’re all watching in its full moments have witnessed before. “Farrah told me you told Alexia what I told you,” is a phrase said by a woman named Melissa to a woman named Sonika. We already know this because we just saw Farrah tell Melissa that Sonika told Alexia what Melissa told Sonika. And now I’m telling you – and I want you to tell someone else while I film you. But only if that’s your thing.

If the popularity of shows like this has taught me one thing, it’s that a lot of people have this weakness. Ah, what am I complaining about? Sure, that’s just the best foppery in the world.

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