TV Preview

Staying up late on a Friday night makes for a long weekend, and a rough start to the next workweek. But I made a conscious choice to do it, so I guess I shouldn't complain about the consequences.

It all started when some tickets arrived in the mail. "You have been selected..." the letter began. OK, I thought, this goes in the garbage. But then the phrase "to review potential network TV programming" caught my eye. And since I studied how to be a TV executive as part of my degree program at the University of Kansas, I thought I'd be the perfect person to help the network bigwigs select the next huge hit show. Maybe it would be something with LeVar Burton, or maybe that one kid from "Home Improvement" who could actually act.

It sounded legit. Though any solicitation to join a room full of people for a "presentation" smells strongly of TIME-SHARE, this operation actually had a professional-looking website that reinforced what the letter said. They really seemed to be in the business of providing feedback for folks who wanted to get stuff on TV. I figured it would primarily be about the commercials, but what the heck, it sounded fun. I invited Tanner to join me, and after work on Friday we headed to the Tech Center to watch a couple of TV pilots.

We arrived early, and amused ourselves by observing the other attendees. There was quite a mix, from nicely groomed grandparents to hygienically-challenged toothless yokels to loud teenage girls who were working very hard to appear to be lesbians, but were probably just trying to cover up the fact that none of the boys liked them. The woman who took our tickets was probably a very nice lady, but it was hard not to stare at the inch-long hairs growing out of her chin. I found myself hoping that some of the commercials we were about to watch contained messages about depilatory creams.

We sat next to a family that must've had an argument on the way to the hotel; they wore industrial-strength frowns throughout the evening. The teeny-bopper couple behind us were obviously on a date, and she was trying very hard to impress her escort via the time-honored technique of vacuous giggling, but I don't think it was working. His eyes kept darting around the room as if looking for an escape hatch.

Our first task was to fill out our "gift request sheets". They were 12-page booklets that contained icons for several brands of products, and we were to circle the product we preferred. One page was toilet paper (I had no idea there even were so many varieties), one page was paper towels, one was lip gloss, and so forth. Whoever was chosen in the upcoming door prize drawing would receive a package of each of the products they circled. Or coupons for them, or something. I'm afraid that I couldn't get too excited about receiving a bag full of cleaning supplies and feminine hygiene products. Still, if the TV shows were good, the evening could be worthwhile anyway, right?

The first show was a drama called "Soulmates". It was about a hypnotherapist babe who had flashbacks that made her think she had made out with one of her clients in a past life -- in Hawaii shortly before the Pearl Harbor attacks. There was also some sort of subplot about a dentist's convention where other Pearl Harbor flashback guys were killed by Asian cult switchblade dudes who worked in a secret factory that the therapist accidentally walked into. And all of the conspirators had mystic hieroglyphic tattoos and walk-on parts within the flashbacks. And I have no idea what the deal was with the Abbie Hoffman/Sigmund Freud guy who did business from Ward Cleaver's den.

It wasn't as good as it sounds. The acting was bad, the dialog made you want to slap the writers, and the editing was done by the monkeys who weren't good enough to be hired for the Shakespeare typing project. Surprisingly, though, a show of hands revealed that a dozen or so of the 150 attendees wanted to see it as a weekly series.

OK.

There were commercials, too. The only ones I remembered were of South American jungle animals singing about Mountain Dew, and the one where the Pillsbury Doughboy gets in trouble for not serving milk to some French family.

I like the Doughboy. But unfortunately, not "Soulmates".

The second show was a sitcom called "Dads". It was about, well...dads. Very standard stuff, with a couple of recognizable actors. Summary: single dads are stupid, horny, and abused by their shrewish ex-wives...and all 5-year-old kids are funny when given risque and/or multisyllabic dialog. Tanner and I agreed that it was boring, insulting, irritating...and would probably show up in next fall's NBC lineup. It was appallingly dumb -- but I've seen worse stuff run for several seasons.

The one thing I suspect they'll change when they go to production is to replace the guy who acted exactly like Tony Danza. If a show really needs a Tony Danza type (which I doubt very seriously), they should just get Tony Danza; I'm pretty sure he's not working right now. But it would probably be better if they replaced him with somebody appealing, like maybe Justin Long, or Gary Coleman.

By the time the viewing finished, it was well past my normal bedtime and I could start to feel my patience dwindling. I just wanted to get the surveys completed and get the heck out of there. We each had a "fill in the square with No. 2 pencil" answer sheet, and the hairy-chinned lady read us questions about the shows. Did we enjoy the chemistry between the actors? Did we like the stars? Did we think the series would have the longevity and timeless quality of Bewitched and/or Leave it to Beaver?

Well...no. Frankly, those were pretty easy questions to answer. The tough part came when they started into the product usage queries. How many times have you blown your nose in the last week? What brand of nose-blowing tissue did you use most often? What was your second-most frequently used snot collector? And on and on and on.

They solicited opinions about everything from lunchmeat to enemas. I was starting to lose interest, and was getting a bit edgy. Even when I'm fresh, I find discourtesty to be intensely annoying...but when it's two hours past my bedtime, I really wish that people would just pay attention! Seriously, do you have to ask the emcee to repeat every single question? How hard is it to answer whether or not you've eaten Spam today? C'mon, people, just fill in a circle! You're not being graded -- it's not going on your permanent record, and even if you get it wrong, do you really think your one ballot is going to impact the availability of delicious canned ham?

After another 10 pages of grueling and inane questions, we were finally released. I didn't get to bed until almost midnight, and fell asleep wondering why they can't make sitcoms like "Police Squad" and "Green Acres" anymore. And did the golden age of TV drama really end when Bill Bixby died?

I'll have to think about it, my friends. Perhaps the abysmal quality of these pilots means that there are openings in Hollywood for some new writers -- maybe I could finally get the job I thought my Jayhawk education would bestow upon me.

Maybe I'll whip up a few scripts and let you guys decide. I know that Ron Howard is interested in producing something with a talking pie...I'll have to get to work on it.

Have a great day!

PS. In case you were wondering, no, we didn't win any of the door prizes. I guess I'll have to buy my own wet wipes. Sigh.