There's a lot of talk of redemption in reality television right now. And "accountability". And even, according to former "supermodel" and now beleaguered ex-reality tv producer, Tyra Banks, a whole lot of chatter about "owning your own shit".

They're big concepts for a genre of entertainment that has been singular in its lack of shame, decorum or self-awareness — but, when the wheel of time turns and your lifework is now seen to have aged as well as a bag of chicken bones left in a hot car … then needs must.

The contestants of this season of Australian Survivor are after "Redemption" for previous stumbles; the more unhinged contestants on the biggest TV show of the year, Married at First Sight (MAFS), are regularly showing up to apology sessions, mascara running down their untextured faces, pleading for forgiveness and that they now understand it's not the best idea to scream abuse at the other contestants with white-wine spittle gathering in the corners of their impossibly plump mouths.

And Tyra Banks, who created the most exploitative reality show of them all, America's Next Top Model (ANTM), is having a red-hot go at sliding away from responsibility for psychological damage to vulnerable young women, all while she purrs with gratitude at the opportunity to "own my shit".

The documentary Reality Check: Inside America's Next Top Model is the brainchild of Mor Loushy and Daniel Sivan, who made American Manhunt: Osama bin Laden.

For those who missed it, ANTM, which debuted in 2003, really was at the leading edge of exploitation reality shows. Very young women, often with quite troubled backgrounds, were selected to be trained as models by Tyra Banks and savaged by a bitchy bunch of "judges", lured by the prize of a cover shoot and a modelling contract. In each show, they were set increasingly bizarre challenges like posing with tarantulas or walking a runway while dodging swinging pendulums. At the end of each episode, one model was voted off.

Tyra always proclaimed her desire to elevate diverse women and women of colour whose backgrounds could prevent them from finding success, and to her credit she did. But her desire to make addictive, car-crash TV seemed to be stronger.

I was smack in the middle of the show's key demographic: old enough to care about the idea of fashion and modelling, and young enough to want to tune in to see the horror. I survived four seasons, but the ratings-smashing show ran for 24. It was, without question, a juggernaut and a huge cultural moment.

This documentary is a perfectly timed flag for the content of that era that has aged so badly.

Firstly — to the now grown women who were the contestants on ANTM: none of the winners became a top model. In fact, barely any of them modelled at all — they were told quite plainly that the stigma of being on this nasty show was indelible. "We can't book you for anything," series 5 winner, Lisa D'Amato was told and series 24 winner, Gina Turner, was told that agencies don't associate themselves with anyone from the show.

The real horror of the show was that it was perfectly plain from the start, even for someone with a passing interest in the world of fashion, that these often very sweet and trusting young women would never get work in that brutal world. They were attractive and slim, but not as vanishingly skinny as the fashion world required then — and now. They were gangly and unconfident and could not for the life of them walk a runway: they were just ripe for being torn apart by the panel for maximum laughs.

Which brings us to Tyra, and her self-serving contribution to the documentary. She's the author of the show's success, but when it comes to model complaints, this executive producer of the show says she had nothing to do with production.

The revelation of the documentary is the seething anger and sorrow of many exploited contestants. When asked about one contestant, Shandi, who bravely turns up for the documentary, Tyra appears to only faintly remember her. Her confused response is not credible: Shandi's was the most exploited and replayed section of the entire franchise. Tyra even got Shandi back on her midday talk show to hash the whole thing again. Shandi has now been implored by fans to reactivate her GoFundMe so they can support her.

When confronted by the contestants' criticisms in the documentary — and there are many — Tyra spins on her heel like the champion catwalker she was, proclaims gratitude for the chance to take account and then, quite brilliantly, shoves it back on the viewer.

"I appreciate all of you for calling me out on my shit, but I want you to be ready and take heed — because eventually, someone will call you out on your shit and when they do, you will be ready just like I'm ready."

It's fascinating watching this documentary while MAFS goes to air, and to see how the producers of this local show now have an eye to the kind of ANTM content that would otherwise get them dragged ; because the only thing that allows MAFS to get away with similarly exploitative content, is the shiny veneer of "accountability" that the "experts" sweep across the show each week when they admonish the contestants for the exact behaviour they were set up to exhibit.

No one of course, gets to ask these experts why they selected chaotic, or unkind, or fragile people in the first place whose personalities or frailties would create the high-rating mess they're after. That's the funny thing about accountability: because despite what Tyra insists, in TV-land it only runs one way.

This weekend meet the breakthrough Australian Bridgerton star, Yerin Ha, who has scored the lead every young actor dreams of — and there's a lesson in there for the Australian filmmaking scene about how diverse actors feel unseen here. Take heed, indeed.

Have a safe and happy weekend, and some more great Tassie music for you this week, from Andrew Swayze and the Ghosts. I love this propulsive song — if you're in the car, whack it up high. Stay Right. Go well.