Let’s Make A Reality – TV Game Show Experience
In the rotting carcass that is the Tropicana Hotel and Casino’s convention center, a television studio was constructed, and in the last two and a half months, 98 episodes of TV’s newest game show have been taped in it.
The locale for CBS’s debut game show, “Let’s Make A Deal” with Wayne Brady, happens to be a 15 minute drive from my house. I invited my mother, who had been on the original “Let’s Make A Deal” in the ’70s, and my grandmother to a taping, one this writer, costumed in a size 18W purple dress and a necktie made of fake pearls, couldn’t take pictures of. Regardless, I figured it’d be a fun way to spend a Saturday afternoon while I’m home for winter break.
My mother (left) as a Groucho Marx type characer, and myself as someone with terrible taste.
Registration took about 30 minutes. 163 contestants were ahead of me in line; I was contestant 164. We stood in line under what used to be the slot tournament area. Six pages of paperwork. A quick digital picture. We were led off through the “Player’s Deli” and into the empty dining room for “The Soprano’s Last Dinner” show. A peppy producer and an assistant waited at the end of the line and asked fast, basic questions about who each person was and what they did for fun and work.
It became obvious at this point that this is where the contestants were selected. To these people, my life as a journalist, photographer, DJ and student was likely to be uninteresting. so I said the best interesting thing I could come up with: “I’ve been afraid of wearing dresses my whole life, and this is like my coming out day. I want to look good for my favorite B-list celebrity, Wayne Brady.” I noticed the assistant writing something on a clipboard, and I hoped it was “#164.” The producer quickly passed on the other two in my party.
We were led out to the casino floor and told to wait. I sat at a slot machine and was tempted to put a dollar in, but my mom strongly advised against it, me being 20 and all. 45 minutes had passed since our arrival, and I was getting bored. Once they called us, we were taken across a skybridge to a very strange scene.
Traveling to the next step of the contestant process took us through the Tropicana’s aging convention center, which is in the early stages of remodeling. Signs were torn off the wall, tile and carpet ripped up, hotel pools half empty and dirty. “Meeting in Progress” signs stood eerily out of place. Most striking was the room where we were searched, scanned, and checked any and all contraband, including electronics and pocket knives. It was once the main arcade. Signs with Nevada arcade law regarding minors still hanged on the dark purple wall. Leftover flashing lights remained on. “Notice: These machines shut off at 10 PM!” Doors to another pool and swim-up blackjack tables were shrouded in drop-cloths. I could see dying vegetation between them.
I handed over my iPod and keys. My mom’s funny horn couldn’t go in either. While waiting in line, I talked to one of the guards about the show. According to him, the show had just won a best daytime audience award, and the lowest attended taping was 153 people with a studio capacity of 330. Both surprising. A bouncer waved a metal detector over me, and I waited again, this time in front of the also aging Tropicana Spa. We had been in line at various stages for two and a half hours at this point. My grandmother was looking weary already.
People were sitting across the hallway from us. One was a doctor, another was Mona Lisa. There was a guy with a home-made box of “zonk-free” popcorn as a costume. Everyone knew everyone’s name, but no one cared. The interviewer asked for several contestant numbers. Everything was obvious about the nature of this show. Contestants were pre-selected from their brief interview. The woman who had been to nine tapings still had no chance of winning. Only the “zonk-free” popcorn box, green grapes guy and skinny hula dancer did. The guy with an “Obamatized” picture of Drew Carey on his shirt? That was a hit or miss.
We were finally led into the studio area inside a warehouse-style building. The dim audience corridor reminded me of a theme park ride queue; all this waiting, and you can catch glimpses of the brightly-lit studio and hear the people already inside, cheering – anticipation of the fact that you’ll be those people soon. A stiff man in black clothing assigned us seats. Back row, two in from the center aisle. At least I got to be on camera when Wayne made his entrance at the top of the show.
The main lights came on, everyone cheered, and a short, skinny dude ran out and began to coach the audience with popular dance tracks and terrible jokes. He stood side-by-side with the floor director throughout the show, prodding us to applause and cheer evermore. During commercial breaks, he would hand out tickets to his own shows at the resort and maintain the fib that anyone could, at any time, be chosen by Brady to make a deal.
Production setup? Six cameras (1 jib), speakers throughout the studio, and plenty of large lights and Colorblasts. Audio and lighting was controlled on the studio floor. Everything was formulaic. B-Roll shots were recorded before the show, and several prize revealings had to be re-taped during breaks. Surprisingly, what was not re-taped was a tease for the “big deal” with Brady and his assistant Jonathan. Wayne: “Do you know what time it is?” Jon: “It’s… 4:20?”
We were thanked for our time and sent home. It was sad seeing all the signs and cheap props in a studio trash can – dashed hopes and dreams.
It seems television remains one of those realities that is always brighter than real life. The woman who had been to nine tapings, the discarded signs, and even Wayne Brady’s disposition all hinted at disappointment in TV reality. I could tell in the way he talked that he was constantly wondering, “Where is my career going?”
In brief, it was an interesting view into the world of television game shows. I wore a dress in public. My family had a good time; Grandma somehow made it. Even though we didn’t win anything, it was still an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.
My friend Mene Tekel explained a discovery he made: People tend to leave lots of bookmarks in books they donate to thrift stores, and no one bothers to remove them. Now, plain old bookmarks sound boring, but that’s not all we found.