With Bravo’s Summer House stuck in a weird, infuriating rut, there’s never been a more urgent time to introduce a new spinoff—vitally, one that doesn’t include the men of Southern Charm or that mustachioed villain Tom Sandoval.
Enter Summer House: Martha’s Vineyard. Or, as I casually refer to it, Black Summer House.
Set in Massachusetts’ premiere vacation spot, the show follows a group of young, African American professionals—from screenwriters to Playboy bunnies to finance dudes— living in a swanky summer rental. Aside from the natural discord that comes from sharing a living space, the show gives Bravo viewers a rare peek into Martha’s Vineyard’s renowned Black community. Historically, the island has been considered a safe haven and summer enclave for Black travelers, dating back to the 19th century, when it was a part of the Underground Railroad. Famously, Martha’s Vineyard is a getaway for Barack and Michelle Obama.
Like most reality shows centered on non-white people, Summer House: MV spends much of its premiere explaining the identities of its cast to the network’s predominantly white audience. (In case you didn’t know, Black people go on vacation!)
That said, the constant mentioning of “Black excellence” in the beginning of the episode gets to be grating. In its comprehensible uses—and how it seems to be said among this bougie group—the phrase reeks of respectability politics and elitism. In other instances, it means absolutely nothing. People who cringe at it (like me) get an unexpected moment of catharsis, though, when one of the housemates, Preston Mitchum, decries the slogan during a group dinner. The show’s editors turn this into a moment to lampoon Mitchum for being preachy, but from then on, the show is ultimately allowed to breathe.
That brings us to the vibrant cast, led by Jasmine Ellis Cooper, a former Playboy Bunny and budding screenwriter, and her new husband, Silas Cooper, who works in finance. Other friends include Nick Arrington, a stylish sports brand manager, and Jordan Emanuel, a former Playboy Playmate and multihyphenate of sorts. Alex Tyree is a health-conscious creative director and may be the first person on this franchise to forgo alcohol. Amir Lancaster works in real estate and wants to get in touch with his Black roots after being raised by the Lebanese side of his family. Bria Fleming is a fashion entrepreneur who moved to Germany after meeting her husband in Europe. Mariah Torres is a nurse and screenwriter. And Mitchum is an attorney, professor, and cable news contributor. Everyone knows each other through work, fraternities, or mutual friends.
Somehow, there are even more cast members, including Summer Marie Thomas and Jason Lyke, who have yet to arrive in this first episode. But the initial crew is already a lot to work with.
Not that Summer House is known to be a super plotty show, but the premiere is mostly just the cast introducing themselves in confessionals, greeting one another, and fighting over rooms—though we do manage to see glimpses of their personalities and friend dynamics in those mundane moments. The funniest conflict involves Fleming’s dog, Milo, who she brings without any prior warning. The way the cast, specifically Jasmine, reacts to the dog’s uninvited presence is very, well… Black. Her and Fleming’s confrontation over the dog’s trail of fur leads to a deeper discussion about Jasmine’s dismissal of Fleming’s relationship; according to Jasmine, Fleming has a new boo she’s infatuated with every other month.
In terms of romantic drama, half the guys in the house are attracted to Emanuel, with Lancaster and Tyree sticking their necks out the most. However, the former Playmate is reasonably wary about their intentions beyond being attracted to her looks—and it seems like we may be in for a love triangle of some sorts later on.
Funnily enough, the episode concludes with an argument about “going out.” Given that the premise of this franchise is debauchery, this seems ridiculous. And yet, Silas is openly uncomfortable with Jasmine going to the club with her bestie, Emanuel, mostly because Emanuel has been known to bring Jasmine home late.
On a show like Married to Medicine, with an older, more conservative cast, the Bible would’ve been evoked during this kind of argument. But not here; thankfully, maybe because the cast is younger, no one agrees with Silas’ grievances about his wife having an occasional girls night out. Mitchum has another funny soapbox moment about men being overprotective of women, but the other guys seem to think his concerns are stupid. Ultimately, as soon as the discussion heats up, we’re left on a cliffhanger.
Summer House: MV already seems to have a lot going for it, and it’s a refreshing pivot from Bravo’s recent attempts to integrate its white shows with people of color. While these efforts are technically “progressive,” the results have not been great, particularly on shows like Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, New York, and Salt Lake City. A rare exception is the original Summer House, where the show’s white cast members have been open and receptive to racial discussions. (Though there’s still a level of cringe in having the Black and Brown housemates talk about their experiences in these produced kumbaya moments, like last week’s designated “Latino” dinner.)
Likewise, it’s nice that Summer House: MV can fill a void in Bravo’s reality content geared toward younger people. Shows like Southern Charm, Vanderpump Rules, and Summer House have catapulted a lot of young, white reality stars into household-name status. It’s time that some Black millennials got their turn.
