The premise of almost every game show on American television is that it is infallibly entertaining to watch other people win large amounts of money. To Dr. Boli, nothing could be duller than watching some waitress from Connecticut jump and squeal because a board behind her has a big number with a dollar sign in front of it. Even if the television handed him ten-dollar bills at irregular intervals on condition that he watch the program, Dr. Boli’s attention would wander. Money does not entertain him.
But monetary prizes do not have to be he only attraction of a game show. In fact, why do there have to be prizes at all? Dr. Boli’s first rule for devising an entertaining game show will be that no prizes will be offered. That will force us to think up something genuinely amusing. We cannot hope to create excitement just by adding another zero to the jackpot.
Our next rule will be that our contestants must be clever. They must be people with amusing things to say, not people who exhausted their mental resources picking out the right T-shirt slogan to wear on TV.
We probably need a host or master of ceremonies—someone who can keep the show on track, mostly by making sure that each of our contestants has an equal chance to be clever.
Finally, we need something amusing for our contestants to do. This criterion rules out guessing the price tags of home appliances, to take one example at random.
What amusing tasks could we assign to our guests? Perhaps they could be required to come up with amusingly clever solutions to everyday problems. Back in the heady days of glasnost, there was a game show on Soviet television that asked teams of players to compete in solving problems from everyday life. For example: you are the manager of a hat factory. How can you increase your personal income without getting fired for corruption? One team earned much applause by suggesting that the manager should take the hat off his head, turn it over, and beg. That was an entertaining game show.
One task we might assign to our American contestants: You are in a public place, and there is a television droning with nobody watching it. How can you silence it without attracting a stern lecture from the keen-eyed receptionist?
Word games are also entertaining when the people playing them are amusing. “I Can Give You a Sentence” kept the Algonquin Round Table going and added some immortal wit to our treasury. The key to making word games entertaining for an audience is to make sure they are creative rather than mechanical. We don’t need to watch a crossword ace solve the Tuesday puzzle in the New York Times; we want funny stories and outrageous puns. The game itself should be only the conversation-starter.
Once we have picked clever contestants and given them some excuse for being clever, we have probably done all we need to do. We can let our contestants take it from there, and we have no need of a catchy gimmick. In fact, gimmicks are likely to get in the way. The more time our guests spend guessing the prices of major appliances or spinning giant vertical roulette wheels, the less time they have to be witty.
The final stage in our plan, then, is to get the show on the air. This probably requires a deep-pocketed sponsor. Dr. Boli might suggest that the manufacturers of televisions themselves could sponsor the program. You can imagine the favorable impression it would leave: “This actually entertaining game show is brought to you by DuMont, makers of the televisions too nice to heave a brick through. Wouldn’t you like to have a DuMont at home?”
So there we have our plan for mitigating the evils of televisions in public places. We shall call it Plan B. Plan A is still a brick.