Paul DelVecchio, a k a Pauly D of MTV’s “Jersey Shore,” belongs to a select category of performers who have turned their haircuts into careers. (He’s in the great tradition of Jennifer Aniston, before she became more famous for her breakups.)


With that accomplished — his Lisa Simpson blowout is the most notable thing about his presence on “Jersey Shore” — Pauly D has taken the logical next step and turned his spare time into a reality show. The “Pauly D Project” begins Thursday night on MTV after the premiere of the new “Punk’d,” a twofer that symbolizes that cable channel’s self-contained, self-perpetuating nature: a revival of one of its signature shows of the previous decade followed by a spinoff of its biggest current hit.


The two shows also represent the least interesting segment of MTV’s programming, celebrity voyeurism, in which the new American dream — hanging with your friends, playing pranks, partying, sex, sleep, repeat — is staged and filmed for the education of 18-to-34-year-old viewers who can then act it out without the B- and C-list personalities. It’s as if the channel is slightly embarrassed by the worthwhile shows on its schedule — from documentary series like “True Life” and “16 and Pregnant” to scripted series like “Awkward” and “Teen Wolf” — and occasionally feels the need to pull down its pants.


The more watchable of the two is “The Pauly D Project,” which is shaped as a Horatio Alger story — a young D.J. from Rhode Island leaves his tight-knit family and heads west for his shot at the big time. The cameras capture some quiet, mildly depressing scenes at home in Providence, where Mr. DelVecchio says goodbye to his father, who is recovering from a stroke, and a former girlfriend, an apparently reserved and sensible woman who, in the context of the show, stands out like some exotic sea creature.


Then it’s off to Las Vegas, where Mr. DelVecchio auditions for a gig as resident D.J. at the Palms casino. On the evidence of the show, there isn’t that much difference between the Palms and Ultra the Nightclub (its actual name) in Providence, where he got his start. There’s just more of the same: more thrashing women, more thuggish men, more cosmetic surgery. Future episodes promise greater horizons, though, including a recording contract and a tour with Britney Spears.


In the meantime Mr. DelVecchio and his entourage — Ryan, the good-looking, hard-drinking wingman, and Biggie and Big Jerry, the oversize, cuddly bodyguards-managers-factotums — dance around like kids in a porno-candy store, taking pictures in front of a Palms marquee welcoming Pauly D and delighting that their suite has its own pool and elevator.


Biggie and Big Jerry, who are the white, less cool analogues of Dot Com and Grizz on “30 Rock,” are engaged in a battle for their boss’s soul with Ryan, who never met a Jell-O shot he didn’t like. There doesn’t seem to be much danger, however, that the show’s businesslike star will be dragged down by his friends, who are there just to give the camera crews something to film. Contemplating a toasted, belligerent Ryan, Mr. DelVecchio says, “It’s not a good look for me.”


Nothing in the first two episodes of “The Pauly D Project” is more than mildly diverting, but that’s still more than can be said for the reboot of the candid-camera prank show “Punk’d,” which accomplishes something you might not have thought possible: It makes you miss Ashton Kutcher.


Mr. Kutcher, who created the original show with Jason Goldberg and hosted it, was busy this time around saving “Two and a Half Men,” so the new show features rotating celebrity hosts presiding over pranks staged by Mr. Goldberg.


The Week 1 host is Justin Bieber, and he’s just happy to be there. His adenoidal high spirits are no match for Mr. Kutcher’s sniggering malevolence wrapped in bland Midwestern bonhomie.


The first week’s victims include the MTV host Rob Dyrdek and the singers Sean Kingston and Taylor Swift. Reflecting the mildness of this new iteration, they are essentially bystanders to the show’s staged disasters rather than active participants. Mr. Dyrdek, who realizes he’s being punked, and Mr. Kingston, look on while a car is driven into the restaurant where they’re dining.


Ms. Swift’s punishment is more elaborate: She’s made to believe that fireworks she and Mr. Bieber are playing with have set a boat on fire, sending an entire wedding party into the dangerous Malibu surf.


She proves more than equal to the task, though. As the hired actors around her pretend to panic, she says, “I can get a number for the Coast Guard” and goes off in search of a computer. If there’s a Grammy for best person to have around in an emergency, she can win that one too.