Channel Nine is keen to assert that Married at First Sight is not a tacky reality-TV dating game.

The network's director of programming and production, Andrew Backwell, describes the series, in which four couples meet for the first time as they tie the knot, as "a fascinating social experiment. It's not The Bachelor or Beauty and the Geek. It's all about the tone of the show and it's more like an SBS documentary".

Nine wants the six-part series to be seen as something akin to a worthwhile social service. Its focus is on people looking for love and fulfilling long-term relationships, and the tone that he's referring to is one of hopefulness. It's not about competition, humiliation or elimination.

To the skeptics, though, the idea of two people meeting for the first time as they exchange marriage vows in front of family, friends and TV cameras might seem nothing short of offensive. It could reasonably be seen as yet another objectionable step for the genre, one that again ignites the 'How low can it go?' discussions about the depths to which reality-TV will sink in order to hook viewers.

In a move designed to invest the enterprise with some credibility, a trio of relationship experts has been engaged to act as matchmakers. Psychologist Sabina Read, clinical neuro-psychotherapist  Dr Trisha Stratford and clinical psychologist John Aiken sifted through more than 1000 applications to select four men and four women and construct couples that they reckoned had a good shot at survival.

"We weren't looking for Big Brother contestants," explains Aiken. "We wanted genuine participants, not reality show regulars." And on the basis of the first two episodes, Married at First Sight appears happily free of the familiar reality TV attention-seekers intent on igniting media careers or promoting their brands.

Among the chosen are 36-year-old farmer Lachlan, 32-year-old "pocket rocket" Roni, who's been through a difficult divorce, and 37-year-old marketing manager Clare, who wants to have children and is keenly aware of her biological clock ticking.

Given Clare's dating history, she reckons that she's "clearly not the best person to make decisions for myself" and could benefit from some expert guidance.

Michael, a 31-year-old event manager, says he didn't want to be the lonely, single guy hanging 'round as all his mates paired off and settled down.

What unites the participants is a feeling that, for a range of reasons, they've failed to find a suitable partner. They hope that by submitting themselves to this kind of arranged marriage, their fortunes might change.

Picture-perfect commitment ceremonies are staged with all the socially desirable accoutrements: brides primped to perfection and outfitted in beautiful gowns; waterside venues festooned with flowers. Then it's on to plush hotel suites for the first nights together.

But this is a TV construct and there is one complicating technicality that's been assiduously glossed over for the purposes of the "social experiment". In Australia, a Notice of Intended Marriage must be lodged at least one month and one day before a wedding. Here, no applications have been lodged. The ceremonies are staged for the production and, after 30 days, the participants must decide if they want to remain together. If they do, they'll sign the papers necessary to formalise their union.

So what happens after they say "I do"? And beyond the 'Will-they-or won't-they?' suspense of their first nights together, how will these strangers cope with trying to merge and share their lives?

That's the hook that Nine is hoping will land viewers and keep them watching for weeks. People get together in all sorts of ways: could this approach to coupling actually work?

Based on a Dutch format that's become a global success, Married at First Sight has sold to more than 60 countries. If the first season proves popular here, Nine imagines a second that could include gay and older couples.

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