Game Shows

The game shows on Italian television fascinate me. Many of them are copies of programmes that we are familiar with regardless of where we call home – Australia, Britain, Germany, Canada etc. However, each country adds its unique touches to the basic format. These are usually culturally based, they may be due to language idiosyncrasies, or restrictions imposed (or freedoms permitted) by the dedicated time slot. Some are simply because of the presenter’s personality.

Italian game shows are special. They seem to encompass both the best and the worst of this multi-faceted country.

Let’s look at the Italian equivalent of ‘Deal or No Deal’. In Australia, if I remember correctly, the amounts of money is hidden in briefcases (side note: in Italian, briefcases are referred to as ’24 hours’ because you can carry just what you need for the next twenty-four hours inside it). In Italy the ‘money’ is hidden in boxes that look more like they belong in a decoupage shop, with an official looking string (that might once have bound postal packages) held down with a seal of red wax. Each box represents a different region in Italy. In Italy, there is an enormous couch just behind the contestant where their family sits watching. It’s not uncommon for a spouse or parents to join the contestant to offer advice, or share in the joy of good selections with hugs, kisses and dancing.

I don’t remember being struck by the music on ‘Deal or No Deal’ in Australia, but in Italy it plays a big part in building up the atmosphere and commiserating or celebrating as the game plays out. The presenter often sneaks a peak here in Italy, and on occasions flashes the contents of the box to a special camera to the side that shows the audience at home what’s coming.

Above all else though, there are two things I enjoy most about ‘Deal or No Deal’ in Italy. When the show starts each night, at about 8:30 pm (I say about, as it seems to me that programming times are not followed as strictly as elsewhere), the presenter comes on fully dressed in a suit. The contestants are usually attractive, and primped to their fullest. Seated on a cheap three-legged stool, the contestant leans onto the counter, surrounded by good luck symbols. However, the presenter is the one who catches my attention. As the show progresses and each round unfolds, becoming increasingly more exciting (read stressful), the presenter slowly starts to strip. Off comes his jacket. He works his thumb around the collar of his shirt to ease his discomfort. The tie is removed, and the top two buttons are released, momentarily relieving the anxiety. He bounces around the set, a seemingly ceaseless barrel of nervous energy. In contrast, at times, he stands completely still, waiting to reveal the contents of the next box; everything is paused for what feels like minutes. With the jacket and tie off, the only descent option remaining is for him to roll up his sleeves. This done, he then resumes striding around, arms waving emphatically with eyebrows raised or his poker face slips into place accompanied by deep lung-filling sighs.

The strip tease is routine, and yet it somehow continues to surprise me. The other thing that confounds me is that Italians seem very keen to risk, and risk and risk, very often playing the game right to the final box. Australians are much more risk averse, regularly settling for a more conservative amount in lieu of losing it all. Of course the Italian style of playing lends itself to two possible outcomes. They either win, and win well, all of those good luck symbols coming into play along with the sage advice of parents, siblings and spouses, or they bomb out abysmally, walking away with mere Euros instead of thousands. It’s the second option that is the most interesting. It’s easy to watch someone win and look as proud as punch, as though it was a game of skill other than sheer luck, but watching someone keep on going, way past what was obviously their used by date and a very reasonable offer about three rounds ago, is both painful and somehow reassuring. These losers, the smiles wiped from their faces as the last box is opened, reinforce my misguided, very personal, opinion that Italians are indeed bad money managers, that they get too easily carried away with the moment instead of considering the future consequences of their actions, and that at heart they are somewhat reckless and crazy.

Other game shows include ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ and two variations of the same. These aren’t as exciting though. The contestants seem to be reasonably intelligent, testing their personal knowledge as opposed to randomly picking box numbers. Although, in accordance with the cultural touches, their does seem to be a lot more talking and vocal reasoning that goes on before each answer is locked in.

Another game show I enjoy watching is one I haven’t seen elsewhere, although I’m sure it must be a format stolen from Britain, USA or Germany. The Italian name translates to ‘Usual Unknowns’. There are about ten participants on the stage, each one carries an identity card with a secret amount inside. One at a time, they are called forward into the spotlight and the contestant (once again polished and most often attractive) has to match them from a list of occupations provided. How can you tell what job a person does from the way they look? Excellent question and the point of the game (at least for me) is that in fact you can’t. There’s a very good expression in English that sums it up; something about judging a book by its cover.

Yet they try. Each one they guess right they score the money, and the winnings accumulate. However, as soon as the contestant gets a match wrong, they go bankrupt. So, unless you guess the very last one, you are guaranteed of walking away with…nothing. Of course, the more you guess correctly, the easier it becomes as you eliminate jobs and reduces the pool of participants accordingly. Every one that you get wrong makes it more difficult as that job remains on the board until the end of the game.

The contestant is allowed to inspect the hands of each participant, and the running commentary usually goes something like this ‘well cared for hands, manicured nails, the lady is well dressed, yes, she’s a ‘bella signora’ (a beautiful, usually older, woman). Or ‘some calluses or cuts, probably the hands of someone who does manual work’ along with comments about their clothes, physique, barbering or hair. Each contestant also has the opportunity to ask two participants for three clues. The clues can be helpful, but on the surface seem ambiguous and confusing. Clues might be something like ‘I’ve never been out of Italy’, ‘I’m good friends with my clients’, ‘I have a dog’, ‘I live with my parents’, ‘I enjoy helping people’.

Sometimes the match seems so obvious that you think it must be a trick. Like when a big bellied man in a red shirt, with a flowing white beard steps up, and one of the jobs is ‘Santa Claus’. Would you choose the obvious, or think his occupation must be something a bit more obscure? He was of course, Santa Claus. Then there is the very beautiful younger woman, perfectly groomed, and one of the options is ‘Miss Italia 2004’. She is, too obviously, Miss Italia 2004, and the audience applauds wildly. They applaud their own canniness at having chosen correctly. More tellingly, they applaud for the sheer pleasure of being in the presence of such a fine specimen of what it is to be Italian.

Of course, there are tricks involved. The helicopter pilot turns out to be the unassuming young woman dressed in jeans and a shirt. She looks more like a cleaner or a shop assistant. Similarly, the emergency vehicle driver is a woman, a matronly figure who should surely be home tending to her children. The hair stylist is an unlikely looking young man, but when he speaks (other than to say his name and age at the beginning) it becomes apparent that he’s gay, or at the very least extremely effeminate. The doctor is not the serious faced man in the suit, but the middle-aged woman with shoulder length hair, spectacles and a sequinned top. The Olympic gold medal winner is the aging gentleman, elegantly suited and bursting with pride when he is finally revealed.

Most of the surprises revolve around the lingering idea that women do certain jobs, and men do different jobs. It’s as if the feminist movement failed to make the same impact on Italian society, especially as you travel further south. Likewise, there aren’t many men stepping into roles that have traditionally been held by women (although the unemployment statistics undoubtedly contribute somewhat to that ‘lack’ of development). It’s fascinating to watch, as female contestants continue to follow stereotypes, labelling the women as call centre operators, beauty therapists and the person with ‘two sets of twins’, mistakenly reserving occupations like pharmacist, saxophonist and pizza maker for the men.

The final game show is one called ‘Ciao Darwin’ featured on one of slimey Silvio Berlusconi’s television channels. It is the epitome of gratuitous tits and arse programming. In fact, every time I watch some of it (I never manage to endure a complete show) I feel offended, disappointed and frustrated that this rubbish is being fed to the Italian viewing public. Two different teams compete for points through a series of games, including a very lewd fashion parade. Each week the two teams represent different groups of society eg heterosexuals and gays, conservative women and ‘liberated’ women, southern and northern women, available (single) women and ‘taken’ (married, engaged or involved) women. Stereotypes are enforced to the point of being rammed down your throat.

The most offensive segment is the fashion parade, where both teams have women dressed in the following styles ‘disco’, ‘day wear’, ‘lingerie’, ‘nightwear’ etc. There is a plethora of skin, lacy bras, sheer knickers, barely there thongs (not the feet kind), bulging breasts and well-rounded buttocks. They strut up and down the length of the catwalk, watched by an ogling audience of lascivious men, some of whom bring binoculars and mini telescopes to help them get better close up views. It’s revolting to say the least. It’s only made worse by the fact that a certain husband and flatmate enjoy the show, in particular the fashion parade, and I don’t doubt that at times they too would like to have a pair of binoculars handy.

The rest of the show is generally distasteful, but the sexy suggestive lesbian dance is another highlight. Two women, clad in black lace lingerie and stiletto heels, with fabulous hair and apparently perfect bodies, dance together in, around and over two chairs. Their hands sliding up and down each other’s legs, derrieres swinging around towards the audience as they slowly bend over, hips undulating, mouths pouted. The audience responds heartily. It would be okay if it was a soft porn video or perhaps after midnight, but at 9.30pm it just doesn’t seem to be right. It’s particularly worrying when you consider that children in Italy don’t really go to bed much before 11pm at night, even on a school night.

Suffice to say that of all the crap programming on Italian television, in particular Berlusconi’s channels, ‘Ciao Darwin’ wins first prize for offense factor and for sexually objectifying women. It’s interesting to note though that a recent survey of high school girls revealed that the most sought after job would be as a showgirl on television. It seems that the evil cycle perpetuated by the lack of independent, intelligent female role models on television in this country is already starting to feed itself. Feminism takes another hit.

Game shows, not just for fun.

The natural follow up would be some thoughts about reality TV programmes in Italy. Think ‘Big Brother’, ‘I’m a Celebrity on an Island’ (or whatever that one’s called in English) and ‘Dancing with the Stars’. However, I’ve sunk into a state of disillusionment and can’t possibly write anymore.

Now, if I could just find a game show to watch to help cheer me up!