Something From Nothing

JournalNews column


I suppose that if I received an engraved invitation to join the game, I might be willing to participate in the next “Survivor” series.

But I can’t imagine waiting in line for five or six hours for a two-minute shot at impressing whatever intern or Assistant Production Assistant to the Assistant Producer is screening all the tapes now piled high in an undisclosed Los Angeles location.

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to observe hundreds of hopefuls as they braved the queue for just such a shot, and for the most part, I wasn’t impressed.

No disrespect intended to the nice people that I interviewed there, but even those who came with props and costumes failed to show much creativity or enthusiasm for the possibility of getting on national television.

I fully understand the desire to be in the spotlight. I became a writer, I believe, because of the attention I got from the comic essays I wrote while still in elementary school. And ever since Pat Ganz pushed me out onto the Ross High School stage 30 years ago, I’ve not been able to shake off the urge to perform. Although being an arts reporter and critic severely restricts my opportunities, I still find an opportunity every now and then to make my way to the other side of the fourth wall or play a song on my guitar for anyone willing to listen.

My guess is that most of the several hundreds of people lined up at Newport on the Levee on Monday don’t have much show business experience. But since it’s such a challenge just to get through our day-to-day lives, most of those there believe that they could eat worms for a million dollars.

But daily life isn’t show business.

Several of the people I talked to ahead of their auditions said that they were just going to “wing it,” then got frustrated at themselves for forgetting something. Many of the interviews I witness lasted a mere 15 or 20 seconds: “Hello, my name is Joe Doe and you should put me on the show because I survived 30 years on an assembly line.” Or something equally lame.

Some folks did show up with a bit of entertaining schtick. Patricia Porter, a Cincinnati teacher, rode into her audition on a tricycle and brought a stuffed, singing gorilla. And to show how creative and resourceful she can be, an off-camera friend pelted her with balls and toys that Porter had made.

Stacey Stine of Hebron, Ky., brought in an empty toothpaste dispenser to show the producers how frugal she can be by cutting it open to get at the dregs of the tube.

“I also recycle Kleenex,” she said, and I’m glad she didn’t get into the details of that process.

“Survivor,” I suppose, is one of the more benign reality games, certainly with a lower sleaze factor than the dating-and-marrying competitions. I can imagine that it would be a lot of fun to participate a game like “Survivor,” although I can’t summon up the interest to watch others play.

But many of the reality game shows have a meanness about them that I find distasteful. I’ve talked to people who get a kick out of watching the judges insult and degrade the people who appear on the talent shows that are so the rage right now. While it’s true that they’ve lined up for their chance to be ridiculed, but there’s something rotten about preying upon a person’s dreams and then taking delight in shattering those dreams.

It’s all fun and games and entertainment for the masses — unless you’re the person whose dream is being shattered.