New Netflix doc. on Jerry Springer reveals the ups and downs of reality TV

On By Littum

Jerry Springer achieved fame and fortune in the 1990s by presiding over what became as much a three-ring circus as a daytime television show at one point ahead of reigning queen Oprah Winfrey in some ratings. While Oprah remains a cultural icon that needs no last name, I would argue that Springer casts a longer, albeit more silent, shadow over the current state of media, public discourse, and even politics.

The kind of feud that ensued between Springer’s show and Winfrey’s is among the most fascinating aspects of “Jerry Springer: Fights, Camera, Action,” a two-part Netflix documentary that takes a deep dive into the original us that made “The Jerry Springer Show” a viewing sensation, with enthusiastic audiences chanting “Jerry! Jerry!” every time the titular host strolled onto the stage.

“The Jerry Springer Show” anticipated a culture that would package outlandish, boorish and violent behavior as “reality” entertainment.

In what has become an attention-driven media environment, these grainy “Jerry Springer Show” highlights (or rather, lowlights) also echo into the present. Members of Congress pick fights to create the viral moments that will earn them appearances on Fox News. Reality TV Casts Throw Wine and Fight During Reunion Proposal (think “The Real Housewives” franchise).

Debuting in 1991, years before “Survivor” or “Big Brother” reached America’s shores, “The Jerry Springer Show” anticipated a culture that would package outlandish, arrogant and violent behavior as “reality” entertainment. Over three decades later, the president-elect of the United States has built a massive fan base — and earned a ton of free media — by playing into a cartoonish and often antagonistic persona.

As “Fights, Camera, Action” reminds us, Springer’s not-so-secret sauce was modern gladiatorial combat. His favorite themes included infidelity of all stripes, incestuous relationships and oddities such as man who “married” his Shetland pony. In interviews for the documentary, the producers acknowledge encouraging guests to be as confrontational as possible, and encourage it, which regularly results in wild brawls in front of a cheerfully cheering (or jeering) audience.

As “The Jerry Springer Show” climbed to the top of the syndicated television ratings, Winfrey called the show “shaking,” an assessment few among the media intelligentsia, then or now, would argue with. Seam The Hollywood Reporter’s Frank Scheck wrote that when Springer died in 2023 (an event that drew more laments than the usual appreciations): “The show’s subjects were a veritable smorgasbord of incest, pedophilia, infidelity, hate groups, perversion, and humanity’s worst instincts in general. Violence and nudity were common occurrences.”

The year before he died, Springer apologized for what his show had unleashed, saying on a podcast that he had “destroyed the culture” and then joking, “I just hope hell isn’t that hot, because I burn really easily.”

Granted, like most TV talent, Springer took too much credit — or in this case, blame — for how his show degraded the public square. The documentary suggests that executive producer Richard Dominick’s win-at-all-costs mentality was also a massive motivator. Dominick once told an interviewer that there was “no line” he would not cross. “If I could kill someone on television, I would execute them on television,” he said at the time, according to the documentary.

Like most TV talent, Springer took too much credit — or in this case, blame — for how his show degraded the public square.

But while there were no executions, the genre of reality television popularized and perfected by Springer was marred by the death. The documentary tells about the murder of Nancy Campbell-Panitz, who was killed by her ex-husband after their appearance on the show in 2000. Another high-profile killing was linked to “The Jenny Jones Show,” one of many Springer-lite series that would populate the daytime television landscape. In 1995, Jonathan Schmitz killed his acquaintance Scott Amedure days after the latter revealed his “secret crush” on Schmitz during the program. (Schmitz told police he shot his friend after being embarrassed on TV; he was eventually paroled in 2017.)

Springer may have genuine regrets after his incredibly lucrative 27-season television run. But Dominick’s indifference to questions of collateral damage feels more representative of the show’s ethos. Nor should we overlook the participation of the audience. The show’s high ratings—limited by its Oprah milestone—sent a message: Forget our better angels, appealing to our worst instincts was an equally acceptable winning formula.

Today Jerry Springer is gone. But the remnants of “Jerry Springer” persist in our media and political ecosystems — the reverberations of a hit, at least symbolically, we can still feel to this day.