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Blind Date, Blind Luck
For all you hip, swingin’ singles out there, have I got the answer to your dating woes. Yes, it means chucking your I’m-young-and-bright-and-full-of-angst aura, but trust me, it’s worth it. Pray tell, you say? Tune in to Universal Studio’s twisted and downright brilliant spin on The Dating Game. It’s called Blind Date.
Here’s how it works: Participants submit their names to the show’s producers, just like any game show. Those picked are set up with a member of the opposite sex (well, so far anyway) whom the producers believe will make for an interesting outing. Boy meets girl, and the cameras film the entire nine-hour date from, "Hello," right through the awkward later-tater if doesn’t work, or right through the wild sex if it does. No, just kidding. They don’t film the sex. But they might as well, because the commentary offered throughout each date makes it clear that sex is the brass ring, and those who don’t obtain it somehow fail. Granted, there are trite post-date interviews that give participants an opportunity to justify what they liked and didn’t like about the other person, including whether or not they would see each other again. But their reasons don’t really count for much, because we all know that such false sympathies are just that. Fortunately, Blind Date employs several dramatic devices that let the viewer in on what’s really going on. These range from witty thought balloons inserted over the participants’ heads to various animations. The best device, by far, is the laser eyes. When a dater stares too long at some part of the other person’s anatomy, flashing purple beams appear on the TV screen connecting the eyes of the starer to the body part of the staree. If the stare lasts long enough, the attractive flesh bursts into flame. You’d be surprised how often this happens. You don’t need the recently released Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation “Sex on TV” study to know there is much, much sex on the brain. A more sensitive, but no less helpful, instrument is the interjection of friends’ opinions into the dating habits and patterns of the parties involved. Take Andy’s recent date with LaRue. Now Andy, a construction worker, is not the type of guy who responds well to aggressive women. He likes to be in the driver’s seat. So when LaRue comes on strong, Andy retreats faster than the British at the Battle of Cowpens (I, too, am a graduate of the Dennis Miller school of commentary.) We, the viewers, are all confused. The date just started and LaRue is ready to jump this guy. Then, like manna from Heaven, up pops a little window, informing us that LaRue’s friends all agree she comes on hot and heavy when she feels insecure. Ah ha! OK, we probably didn’t need Frasier to figure that out, but confirmation from LaRue’s confidants certainly helps. And that’s not the end of it. The peanut gallery is well stocked, including periodic visits from a strange little man affectionately named Therapist Joe. So what would make anyone want to play this game? I’m sure the usual reasons apply: 15 minutes of fame, recognition, and who knows, it just might work out. But there are other, darker reasons for riding this train. Jessica was a recent participant on the show. She’d just broken up with her hunk o’ burnin’ love boyfriend and was looking to get back into the scene. Jessica met a variety of the show’s qualifications, ranging from an adequate amount of spunkiness to the all-important necessity of living in the Los Angeles area (the show does occasionally go on the road, allowing residents of other big cities the opportunity to get on the air). The good people of Blind Date set her up with Chad, a twentysomething surfer wannabe with a questionable amount of hair growth under his nose. Long story short, Chad never had a chance. But I’ll be darned if Jessica didn’t play along, right up until Chad, at no one’s request, took his shorts off in the hot tub. But what kept Jessica in the game? Ten to one she told her ex she was going to be on the show. At the very least, he’s bound to find out. So here’s this guy, sitting at home, watching his ex date some random on national TV. Quickly it becomes clear that A) She’s dating again; and B) She’s a bit of a celebrity. What does he do first thing in the morning? You guessed it. Call her. Advantage, Jessica. Plus, no matter how rotten the date, the show gave Jessica a chance to get dressed up and prove she could fake her way through anything. It was, in essence, an audition for something better - a future date or another chance at stardom. With more opportunities than ever to achieve fame in this do-it-yourself celebrity culture, the risks of embarrassment and humiliation are a small price to pay in exchange for the possibility of recognition (and an agent). The more important question is, why watch? Well, the biggest reason is we’re all perverse voyeurs, but you knew that. Another easy answer is we enjoy watching other people make fools of themselves. Nothing new there. But what is new about Blind Date relates to that little brass ring. Among the ‘reality” programming put on the air in the last year or so, only Blind Date - and, to a degree, Temptation Island - can easily be reduced to the basics: Who’s going to score? The producers of Big Brother, for all their coyness about what would happen when a group of attractive strangers are forced to live together in tight quarters, never managed to deliver anything beyond elementary school-level flirtation. Give Blind Date 30 minutes. Satisfaction guaranteed. Face it, editing a nine-hour ‘date” down to 20 minutes or so of a sexual chase requires skill. While background information and conversation snippets are used to engage the viewer in the lives of the participants, the producers are whiz kids at reducing the participants to their primitive sexuality. They portray just enough of their ‘realness’ for us to justify why we would be interested in the consequences of their actions. These are normal people like Andy the construction worker and Jessica the aspiring make-up artist. We want them to score. And if a relationship develops, well, then happiness and fulfillment is there for everyone. All you have to do is keep the faith. But by choosing to emphasize the sexual parts of the show - whether or not sex is the intent of the participant - the producers keep pushing for that brass ring, which ultimately dehumanizes the people involved. Diane Korman, a field producer for the show, told San Francisco Weekly’s Silke Tudor that Blind Date was like "cultural anthropology." That sounds great. Really. Cultural anthropology. Well it’s not, but that’s beside the point. Blind Date might not quite hold up the mirror to nature sufficiently to be dubbed cultural anthropology, but it does strike a very common vein. It sells advertising based on the concept of universal longing - and sex. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a relationship or out. We’re all still searching. And any fantasy fiction fan will tell you, there’s fraternity in the common quest. Personally, I love Blind Date. I’m happily married, but I remember when. It’s comforting to know the human condition is somewhat stable. But really, aren’t you glad to know the chase goes on … and now you can watch it on TV! So grab some chips and a blanket and hunker down. Love’s labors are out there to be lost or won. Joe Newman lives in Connecticut. He writes about rare books when he’s not watching TV. Comment on this article or Related Sites |
