The Best Bad Show on TV

When the history of early 21st-century video achievement is written (and what a pointlessly silly volume that will be), the Reality phenomenon will dominate several chapters, with some attention focused on police procedurals and cable dramas (along with a post-mortem on the sitcom) But if there are any references to "Las Vegas," they will probably be in the footnotes. "Las Vegas" is an innocuous time-waster, a prototypical Aaron Spelling show without Aaron Spelling (now a doting grandfather living in a mansion the size of Mars and still trying to wheedle a career for his daughter).

But back to Vegas. Sorry, late Robert Urich, I meant "Las Vegas." This is a show with no sense of character development, whose weekly plot lines feature essentially the same elements-- obnoxious whales, lucky hicks on a lark, and abortive romances between costars. Yet knowing this, I watch every week, and actually enjoy it. (Okay, I tape it while I'm watching the exuberant "24," but I always review it). I'm not alone in finding such entertainment value; this was NBC's only popular success last season, and is cementing a Monday night block for the peacock crowd along with the uneven but somewhat absorbing "Medium" supernatural procedural that ensues. The question is, what is it that makes such a dumb product worth an hour out of my week (or 50 minutes off the VCR?)

The answer comes, simply enough, from my aged Mom, who says "I'll watch anything about Las Vegas." Once a devoted gambler, she is now too physically challenged to visit Sin City, or even Atlantic City, so this provides the closest vicarious experience. And in this regard, "Las Vegas" is pitched and produced masterfully. It has flashy graphics, quick and energetic cutting, colorful sets and the most attractive cast on TV. It is total superficial bliss, an escape from any sort of proportion or reality. It is, plainly, the video equivalent of a Vegas jaunt, without the security lines at McCarran Airport.

The cast has to consider itself one of the luckiest in the world. They are never challenged with difficult emotional material, though I believe they could handle it. And they are all benefitting from the visibility enhanced by expensive and flattering wardrobe. These are all pretty good actors--Josh Duhamel has a major future as a leading man, though his height may limit him a bit; Nikki Cox and Vanessa Marcil in interchangeable roles as casino hosts are underutilized except in the display department. James Caan has very deftly segued into a comic character actor with a dark edge (territory also inhabited by Alex Baldwin, with whom he generously shares some screen time). James Lesure's character has undergone the most revamping. Last season he was a street-smart Head Valet. Mysteriously, for the new season, he became a brilliant MIT-educated mathematician whose savvy solves intricate problems in Duhamel's security office. Some summer school. Whether this resulted from the actor's request, a network note regarding racial stereotyping, or a producer's sincere attempt to expand his role or reduce the sets, it at least represented an attempt to vary the formula. Another serial subplot regarding Duhamel's secret military mission and post-traumatic stress did not seem to blend well with the playful tone of the show, so it's been largely abandoned.

As much as I enjoy the atmospherics of the program, I must admit that in the flesh-and-blood Las Vegas I never see any attractive people working in the pits, and certainly no gorgeous female hosts who look like runners-up for Miss World. My idea of a real casino host is that clammy little guy who was on Mark Burnett's disappointing "The Casino" reality show--and whom I actually met at the Golden Nugget last summer. He was plastic and unctuous, of course, which was appropriate for the job.

The real star of "Las Vegas" is its art direction. Though nothing short of reality depiction can convey the mad cacophony of a casino, the set for the fictional Montecito offers a convincing rendition of the real thing, so elaborate that I'm tempted to drive down to the Sony lot to pay a visit. Even the CGI-created exterior of the hotel, placed strategically on the south side of the Strip, is persuasive. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I rate this production the best example of high style trumping substance that I've ever seen on television.

And in providing a substitute experience, a bogus gambling hit for the less adventurous and an hour-long vacation dream for the disenfranchised masses, the program may actually be serving a psychological and sociological benefit. I'm sure the advertisers don't mind it either.