But the hosts don't get it. In describing the women, their goal of transforming each into a sweet-talking whore-kitty becomes apparent. Of Kris, a talkative lawyer, they say, "Part of her problem is that she tends to be the life of every party. And that can actually be a turn-off for guys." Yeah, guys who can't stand to be upstaged, guys who need their tiny little egos stroked in the long, tedious, exhausting fashion you'll soon be stroking their tiny little... Anyway, who needs to add repetitive motion injuries to the insult of hiding your light under a bushel? I say keep tossing back the margaritas and enjoy yourself until the right breed of spirited stallion stomps by.
But the hosts hate Michelle the most, because she doesn't instantly swoon over the roomful of shiny, gel-haired yuppie mutants they've gathered for her perusal. The hosts explain, "Michelle is so strong and confident that sometimes, men find her unapproachable." Yes, we don't doubt that men who aren't strong or confident enough to approach her find her totally unapproachable. Forget that they're men who shouldn't bother approaching her anyway, since she'd likely find their weak knees and sweaty palms and intimidated, demeaning remarks unappealing.
Back when I was single (approximately three weeks ago), my main goal when surrounded by humpy warthogs anxious to sort through my cigarette butts was to scare most of them off -- you know, either by making a really loud banging noise with some heavy pots and pans, or by mentioning that I'm bossy, demanding, complicated and unbearably long-winded. This had about the same effect as lighting something on fire and sticking it really close to their faces.
OK, I know you don't believe that I ever drew a crowd, and I didn't, except for that one time when I was 4 and I pulled my skirt up over my head. But as far as I'm concerned, if you want a decent guy who might, for whatever sick reason, be willing to put up with your particular mix of dysfunctional tics, it's really wiser to wear your true self on your sleeve, rather than hide it until the marriage license comes in the mail. On the other hand, if what you really want is to gather a horny mob of random men, pulling your skirt up over your head will work a lot better than dropping hankies or hinting or casting long glances.
Hilariously enough, at the end of the singles party, the hosts proclaim that the event was a great, big success for Anne, whom we see walking out the door holding hands with a guy she met minutes before. That's right: You have to be coy and make eye contact and not offer a guy your number, but it's perfectly OK to hold hands with him even though you met him seconds ago. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't hand-holding the kind of serious thing you do once you've slept with someone several dozen times, since it involves an awkward gait and a co-mingling of sweaty palms? I mean, how awful is it to hold hands with a total stranger? It reminds me of the time I went to a Unitarian church in Hawaii with my dad, and we all had to stand up and hold hands and sing "We Are the World" together, after which the scraggly looking lady with the clammy hands next to me told me that she was a psychic and that I really liked horses, a lot, she could just tell.
Instead of chasing Anne down and scolding her for clasping onto this guy's mitt like a needy schoolgirl, the hosts applaud her work in sealing the deal, and breathlessly await her first date, during which she is instructed not to talk too much, "overshare" (bring up food allergies or lactose intolerance), mention any exes, or basically do anything that might hint that she's a human being. So what is she supposed to talk about? "Your job, his job, hobbies and family." Excuse me for a second while I catch up on some much-needed sleep...
The winner takes it all
It kind of makes you wonder if there are taboo subjects that you shouldn't discuss while dating in those charmingly desperate third-world locations I mentioned earlier. "Don't bring up AIDS, last summer's drought, or the raw sewage that pools outside your home, and definitely don't whisk those little flies away from his face, because lots of guys find that demeaning."
But since we don't like to consider such places -- hell, we'd rather not think of the struggling peoples who live a few blocks away from us -- let's refocus on rich people instead. Or, more specifically, ordinary privileged types like ourselves, who are up to their ears in strong coffee, good cigarettes and expensive home appliances, but who, nonetheless, don't have nearly enough of anything, until one day ... they all win the lottery! Hurray!
As NBC's "Windfall" (10 p.m. Thursdays) quickly demonstrates, the problem with basing an entire drama around a group of people that win the lottery is that the most exciting moment occurs in the first episode, and if there's nothing beyond that initial bang to keep viewers around, it's all downhill from there. And sadly, on "Windfall," even the main event isn't all that thrilling, since we've already learned to hate most of the characters by the time their big payday rolls around.
Why would you make most of the characters on a show about winning the lottery unlikable? If you started with interesting, likable types, people we'd like to see feeling really thrilled, at least briefly, by a huge sum of money, and then you could show us the ways that money brings out the best and the worst in people, that would be a ride worth taking.
Instead, we're invited to spend time with some old familiar enemies: the guy who has no shame about cheating on his wife, the mysterious criminal who can't be trusted, the teenager with the mean Daddy and the head full of bad ideas that will only get him into trouble, the wife who's going through a divorce and is determined to stick it to her ex and keep him away from her lottery winnings. Boo!
All of these characters feel ill-fated in a way that vaguely -- and pretty badly, I might add -- mimics "Lost." There's an attempt at darkness here that the writers don't pull off; instead each negative turn of events just feels depressing. The cast looks like a group we've seen before -- attractive in a boring way, somewhat talented but not exceptional -- and the characters aren't original or memorable. These aren't real people, basically. They're just a gaggle of ideas that arose from a writer's room, ideas that feel as inorganic and forced as they are arbitrary.
So, when the mysterious criminal beds the hot girl or the teenager escapes with the mail-order bride of his dad's best friend, we can think, "That's not a bad idea," but it's impossible to cheer them on, since they're all only ideas. When things go wrong for each of them, it's just irritating. Instead of moving the story forward, the plot twists feel like enormous cinder blocks laid across our path, and it's hard not to foresee an entire season of "Damn it, now what?" moments. And if all we're going to get are a bunch of shallow, ill-conceived jackasses seeking happiness and failing to find it time and time again, we'd sooner watch a drama about some kindhearted, third-world peoples in search of a few discarded tablespoons of caffeinated sludge.