Reality TV is pushing beyond fun to panic. The latest gimmick: the pure entertainment pleasure that can be found in terrorism.
Apparently it’s no longer enough to offer cash prizes to colorful contestants for the completion of stunts. Nor is it enough to put players through stressful decision-making games and puzzles, daring them to survive another week.
After outwit and outlast comes the next wrinkle: thrills, chills and post-traumatic stress disorder.
This is what happens on MTV’s new “The Phone”: A car blows up, a bomb must be defused, a terrorist must be tracked, a hatch door slams shut on contestants while a ship’s hold fills with water. And the clock is ticking.
It’s great fun for a nation already having trouble distinguishing reality from entertainment, news from parody, fact from fiction and torture from not torture.
“The Phone,” which counts pop idol Justin Timberlake as one of its executive producers, must have sounded perfect in the pitch meeting: drop 20-somethings into the middle of an action- adventure movie scenario, requiring them to complete tasks and daring physical maneuvers. Communicate orders to them via cellphones (built in product-placement!). Dangle $50,000 in prize money, and watch them emote on cue.
The players don’t have to be as colorful as “Survivor” cast members; the script’s action makes up for their relatively flat personalities.
The idea is borrowed from a Dutch reality show format. Heavy editing, suspenseful music and, clearly, much off-camera legal work combine to keep the pace taut, like that of a mini-spy movie.
“Could you stop a mad bomber before he strikes again? Can you take down the mob to save a police officer’s life? Will you recover a piece of secret military technology before it lands in the hands of terrorists?” Those are descriptions of the initial installments, which MTV hails as “nothing short of the most dangerous game on television.”
“The Phone” airs Tuesdays at 8 p.m., bookended by repeats. The debut hour, “The Bomber,” aired last week; this week’s installment is “The Conspiracy.”
By having actors run through public places (the first episode used Seattle’s Pike Place Market, central library and the Space Needle), slamming into extras and chased by the contestants, the series amps up the excitement. Bystanders must have suffered secondary trauma, as well, at least until they spotted the camera crews.
Just as New York City was retraumatized last week by an unannounced flyover of an Air Force jumbo jet for a photo shoot, low enough to rattle windows and nerves, so TV audiences are primed to be shaken by this latest TV buzz.
The show, a blend of treasure hunt and playacting, scares screams out of the players, notably when they fail to disarm a bomb in the given time period and a prop detonates to signal their failure.
Terror — the latest Hollywood theme party!
When did bombs and terrorists become suitable game- show gimmicks? There are rollicking plot twists to keep the young contestants interested and adrenalized.
Even the language of the show and visual cues are hyped to suggest actual loss of life when players are “eliminated for good.”
Where “Amazing Race” tests players’ intelligence, physical abilities and relationships en route to cash prizes, “The Phone” does it all with an extra gloss of cinematic action and some phony manipulations. Half the fun is spotting moments when the action was choreographed, or when the shooting stopped and started and cameras were reset, or when players were coached to communicate what they’re thinking. The audience’s awareness of the artifice and fluency in the language of moviemaking ultimately plays to the show’s advantage.
Still, there’s a troubling amount of psychic chain- jerking here. With a wink and a nod, we’re brought one step closer to feeling like heroes in our own action flick, but also to feeling like terrorism is a game with prizes.
Depending on your phone, an operator may be calling you with instructions on how to spot a terrorist and behave like an action hero before the next commercial break.
Joanne Ostrow: 303-954-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com
