BIGGER THAN EVER

With CBS having washed its hands of "Two and a Half Men" star Charlie Sheen, the network has moved on to Plan B. The episodes that were supposed to be getting made now will be replaced with extra episodes of other shows, including TV's top-rated new sitcom, "Mike & Molly."

It's kind of perverse when you think about it: One show is penalized because Sheen desperately needs help with his problem. The other show is rewarded because its stars aren't dealing with theirs.

This turn of events neatly underscores a harsh truth about obesity in America. We all depend on food, and this, it seems, has muddled our view toward those who depend on it too much.

These days, that's most of us. More than half the country is overweight, and about 72 million Americans meet the definition of obesity. What's worse, the obesity rate keeps inching upward despite years of doctors' warnings and the media's growing attention to the problem.

There are, in fact, more TV shows about obesity than ever. Most are reality shows centered on weight loss. Given the copycat nature of reality TV, it's not surprising that all of these shows, to some degree, imitate the granddaddy and gold standard of weight-loss shows, NBC's "The Biggest Loser."

All borrow a basic set of assumptions from "The Biggest Loser": Obesity is largely a product of inertia, of spending too much time sitting around eating terrible food. The cure, therefore, is activity -- lots of it, with occasional breaks to make healthy meals and visits to the confession-cam.

The knockoffs add a few elements from other reality shows. The CW's "Shedding for the Wedding," for instance, pits couples as teams against each other, "Amazing Race"-style, as they compete to win aspects of their dream ceremony. (See "Whose Wedding Is It, Anyway?") MTV's "I Used to Be Fat" is done verite-style, like "Teen Mom" and "True Life." A&E's "Heavy" is "Hoarders" for the morbidly obese.

The fiercely committed trainer is a trope in all these shows. "Shedding," the most slavish of the "Biggest Loser" imitators, has two trainers obviously chosen for their ability to get on the contestants' nerves. One of them, a Brit named Nicky, sees one bride-to-be enjoying her workout and snarls, "I'll wipe that smile off."

Unfortunately, much of the show's energy is invested in the challenges for wedding bling, and this lack of focus cost the contestants dearly at a recent weigh-in. More than half the couples had lost 6 pounds or less -- that's two people combined. "Biggest Loser" trainer Jillian Michaels would've thrown a fit.

"Heavy" is the show that comes the closest to equating food with any other substance that people abuse. The title speaks to its tone. And yet, it also is strangely unsatisfying, for the same reasons "Hoarders" is. The camera spends way too much time establishing that something is wrong, without really dwelling on what. "Heavy" is mostly about people using exercise equipment in much the same way that guests of the Spanish Inquisition once used the rack.

You'd never know from these shows that the role of intensive exercise in weight loss is actually controversial. Studies in peer-reviewed journals question whether a lifestyle full of little motions might not do a better job at curbing obesity. Yes, taking the stairs might be better than a StairMaster. That way, the metabolism doesn't get all fired up and demand a caloric reward.

Speaking of calories, menus definitely take a back seat to workouts in the editing of these shows. Perhaps that's because food remains such a personal choice, influenced by family, culture and -- dare we say it? -- one's private demons.

On this matter, the weight-loss shows fall largely silent. And that is probably because our culture is still struggling to talk frankly about why so many of us are killing ourselves with food. It's interesting to contrast cultural depictions of food abuse with those of alcohol abuse. You see a few fun drunks on TV these days, but not many. As a society we understand that people who drink to excess are battling demons. But not even "The Biggest Loser" has figured out a way to go there with food addictions.

"Huge," a teen drama on ABC Family last year, tried to go there. Set at a summer "fat camp," it explored the coming-of-age trials of kids who, in many cases, were reacting to troubles at home. "Huge" was almost defiantly not about losing weight, although it did lose viewers, precipitously, and the network pulled the plug after only 10 episodes, but a DVD has just been released.

Authentic portrait

The show that has come the closest to taking the full measure of this problem is "Ruby," which just returned for another season on Style.

Ruby Gettinger, who lives in Savannah, Ga., is a woman with personality to match her expansive dresses. She is kind-hearted, socially active and self-aware. She has lots of normal friends, in size and friendship. At one point she weighed more than 700 pounds, although when "Ruby" began filming in 2008, she had gotten below 500 pounds. The show has no trouble striking inspirational notes -- you immediately like Ruby and want her to succeed.

Yet clearly something had gone terribly wrong for her, and you want to know what. Unlike other shows that reboot with new cast members every season, Gettinger returned for a second season, and a third, and just kept digging deeper. She took a tour of the homes around Savannah where she had lived as a child. It was the idea of her psychiatrist, who thought it might stir memories of what could have caused a skinny 6-year-old girl to start stuffing her face. Gettinger was consumed with fear at the thought of entering these old houses, yet eerily, each visit produced no flashbacks, no anguish, nothing.

Since then she has fired her trainer, lost her father, been tormented by nightmares and -- most recently -- put 60 pounds back on, mostly eating "fat-free" products.

"That stuff makes you gain weight," she told NBC's Matt Lauer recently.

Most people with weight issues aren't carrying around as much tonnage, or baggage, as Gettinger. But by resisting the "Biggest Loser" formula, "Ruby" offers the most authentic portrait of the American overweight: someone we know and love who has work to do in the gym, in the kitchen and, yes, in her head.