If you watched the Winter Olympics, you would have gotten the impression, from the endless commercials, that Deal or No Deal was the only program on the NBC network. And at least this week, you would not be far from wrong. NBC is running the show five nights this week (before it becomes a regular weekly show).
This scheduling move may say less about the show as a force of pop culture than about NBC’s desperation. NBC debuted the show late last year, and it became a modest success, leading it, this week, to flood the zone with the show as if it were Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Because after Joey, Martha Stewart’s Apprentice and Bode Miller stinking up the Torino slopes, pretty much anything else looks like Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.
The rules of the show: whoever can pretend for the longest time that host Howie Mandel is a legitimate celebrity wins. Just kidding; actually, it’s far less challenging. A contestant comes out and chooses one of 26 briefcases, hand-delivered by hot models; one contains a million dollars, many of them contain far less. Then the models start opening other cases to show what the contestant didn’t win. A "banker" periodically offers the contestant a sum if the player trades his suitcase and walks away. And so it goes until the player either takes the buyout or opens his suitcase.
And that’s it. I bet some economist could find that Deal illustrates complicated principles of game theory, but suffice it to say that no one on the show is using them. Mandel actually opens the show boasting that it involves "no trivia, no skill." Compared with this, Let’s Make a Deal was chess, and The Price Is Right, quantum physics.
So what’s the deal (or no deal)? Much like the game itself, the question is not worth overthinking. The show is boring but popular for the same reason slot machines are popular at casinos. There’s suspense, there’s noise, there’s risk. You get to look at pretty women. You don’t have to learn any hard rules.
But hey, I’m paid to overthink these things, so here’s my theory: Deal Or No Deal is the anti-American Idol. Since TV began, viewers have been bombarded with games that require skill, intelligence, and ability. The $64,000 Question, Jeopardy! — all these games celebrate people who are smarter, or at least know more trivia, than you. American Idol is the biggest show on TV, but it is dedicated to the idea that most people, by far, are really, really bad singers — even people who think of themselves as good ones.
But most people already spend their lives reminded that they’re not the best: they don’t have the most money, aren’t the most talented, aren’t the best at their jobs. They don’t need to go home and have the TV — the idiot box, for God’s sake! — tell them that they’re stupid and talentless too.
On Deal Or No Deal, though, nobody is special. Nobody is more qualified to play, except perhaps our hypothetical economist (who, because he is rational, would never hold out for the million and thus would make bad TV). A contestant may be luckier or gutsier than you. But nobody is any better or worse at the game: not you, your spouse, the contestant or his chucklehead buddy yelling advice — not even Donald Trump, who made a cameo last night in the chucklehead advice-giver role. It’s the perfect show to unwind with on those tired evenings after the meritocracy has spent all day kicking your butt.
Why is this game so popular, then, when it’s so easy and so dull? Maybe it’s because life is too hard and exciting.