Another title in search of a show, “Roseanne’s Nuts” pretty much exhausts any semblance of creativity after the built-in pun in its title. Roseanne Barr, looking tan but wacky as ever, has retired to a nut farm in Hawaii, where she spends the first half-hour bantering with her longtime boyfriend, trying to convince her son to move there and wresting with what to do about feral pigs gnawing on her crop. Somebody probably should have provided the participants with a little more direction, but as she notes, it’s hard to reason with a pig.
“The solution to all the world’s problems starts with my nuts,” Barr announces at the outset, after explaining the disgust with L.A. that drove her to buy a farm, sight unseen, and relocate to the Big Island with b.f. Johnny Argent, who she claims to have met online.
Other than the pleasure of her company, though, there’s simply no “there” here. In fact, beyond bumper shots around the commercial breaks, the show doesn’t even take advantage of the scenic island setting. For all its visual flair, the farm could be situated in Fresno. (There is one blurred shot of Barr’s crotch — as she sits in a chair wearing a short skirt — that’s inexplicably used several times.)
Like so many former primetime titans, it’s perplexing to see Barr reduced to this, for reasons that make sense for Lifetime — which will launch the show with back-to-back episodes, leading into the premiere with another new reality offering, “Dance Moms” — simply for the residual value in the name.
Why Barr wanted to participate in this sort of “celebreality” unscripted sitcom — especially if she hates Hollywood as much as she says — is a little less obvious, especially since she professes not to need the money and, given her syndication bounty, shouldn’t.
Either way, if only the producers had thought to outfit her for the occasion a little better; forget underwear. How about an actual show?
“I can’t act like I’m interested in somebody who’s boring the f–k out of me, and I don’t have to because I’m too g–damn rich,” Roseanne says in the heavily bleeped direct-to-camera address that opens the show.
Even without being rich, much of the audience will likely relate to those sentiments, although the irony of the remarks — given the show’s yawn factor — doesn’t seem to register.