A Twisted Game Show for the MTV-Minded

What a match. Hordes of twisted college students hornswoggling their way through a break from school. And there to party with them: “Remote Control.”

That’s MTV’s satire of game shows that isn’t even remotely in control. In fact, it’s trying to be the sassiest series ever to appear on national TV.

It asks college-age contestants to name such things as the Italian lubricant that’s also Popeye’s girlfriend (Olive Oyl/oil). And when it went on the road to Daytona Beach in search of its natural audience (crazed, channel-flipping Couch Potatoes), many expected a volatile link-up. Perhaps even “Remote Control” meets “Beyond Control.”

But “Remote”--which features players lounging in La-Z-Boy recliners waving remote transmitters at an oversize TV set--is apparently sacred stuff to college students. At least those attending the tapings here were borderline reverential.

They came with beer cans in their hands, zinc oxide on their noses and balloons on their heads--to worship at what is fast becoming an electronic shrine for the college crowd. According to MTV executive Doug Herzog, the show is often the cable service’s highest-rated half-hour, and supervising producer Joe Davola says some students (Syracuse University and Midwestern State in Texas) are doing their own versions of the show on campus.

Makes sense. After all, the program is shamelessly dedicated to the low-brow subjects that college students cherish most: TV, music, celebrities and sex. As the promos brag, “If you’ve squandered your life watching TV, ‘Remote Control’ is the game show for you.”

It even features a daily dose of TV-style violence. In the studio, losers are taken off the air as their La-Z-Boys are sent crashing through a wall. (Home screens also turn snowy and a black-and-white “off-the-air” test pattern appears.)

The show was taped pool side at the Hawaiian Inn, with contestants lounging in beach chairs, complete with TV trays outfitted with inflatable palm trees and fake tropical drinks. Instead of getting smashed through walls, losers were tossed into the swimming pool by Muscle Beach types . . . while the crowd dutifully chanted, “Na na na na. Na na na na. Hey hey-ay, goodby.”

The infamous Sex Survey remained back in New York. A takeoff on “Family Feud,” Sex Survey first polls 100 people on such questions as “Which member of the Flintstones would be best in bed?” Then, on the air, “Remote” contestants must try to guess the top answers. (The survey revealed Barney Rubble’s wife, Betty, was the No. 1 answer. Dino, the pet dinosaur, came in second.)

In Daytona, the show’s sex quota was achieved far more basically. Brain teasers such as what’s the name for “an orally-administered hematoma” (a hickey) were replaced by swimsuit-clad models acting as living TV channels. Subtlety had no place here. So rather than aiming their giant remote controls at “the big Zenith,” Daytona contestants steered their transmitters toward the half-naked man or woman of their choice to select a channel/question category.

(Among “Remote’s” most memorable channels are the Goofy Hair Channel, Channel of the Gods (a salute to game show hosts), Fat TV Stars, Celebrity CAT Scan, the Bald Guy Channel and Sing Along with Colin, the audience favorite in which eternally hoarse announcer Colin Quinn croons pop tunes and players must sing the next line or two.)

There were other pool-side variations concocted for the three shows taped in Daytona. As it was impossible for snacks to miraculously fall from the ceiling as they do in the New York studio during the daily snack break (contestants must hold out their bowls and try to catch the snacks), the Weenie Factor was instituted. Pool-side players scored an additional five points for each hot dog they were able to “suck down their gullets.”

And the now-legendary Kraftmatic Adjustable Bed, into which the winning contestant is usually strapped during the show’s bonus round finale, was transformed to the Kraftmatic Adjustable Float.

This was anchored at one end of the pool as the contestant sitting in it frantically attempted to name the artists appearing in nine music videos within 30 seconds. When the last contestant successfully identified all nine, everyone jumped into the pool’s near-freezing water, including host Ken Ober, announcer Quinn, hostess Marisol Massey and half the audience. The crowd was ecstatic. One pool-side group even broke into its own contest: impersonations of announcer Quinn.

“I skip class every Tuesday and Thursday to watch this show,” said John Redmond, one of the mimics and a junior at the University of Scranton.

“I’m infatuated with the lovely Marisol,” said his friend John Zarb, another impersonator and a junior at Scranton.

“Remote Control” first appeared on TV Dec. 7, which producer/co-creator Davola likes to point out is Pearl Harbor Day. Herzog, MTV’s senior vice president of programs and development, explains the impetus behind the show, broadcast Monday through Friday at 9 a.m., 4 p.m. and 8 p.m. PDT: “They (MTV viewers) watch ‘Wheel (of Fortune)’ and ‘Jeopardy!’ but they don’t feel like it’s for them. We wanted to create a game show for an audience that doesn’t have one.”

But even Herzog, 28, says that he has occasionally had to ask “Remote’s” six writers to tone things down. When the group proposed the Betty Ford Channel, featuring questions on stars with alcohol and drug problems, the category was renamed at his request out of respect for the former First Lady, Herzog says. With a slightly more subtle reference to another First Lady, it’s now the Just Say No Channel.

And though questions such as “Which ‘Knots Landing’ regular was regularly beaten by Bing Crosby?” have been censored, one question on the Elvis Network managed to ask contestants what nickname Presley reportedly called his most private part. (The answer was “Little Elvis.”)

But the program consists of far more than irreverent questions and answers. Virtually any TV show can be mercilessly mocked when a player tunes into Remote Control Playhouse. And other game shows are routinely satirized in the course of the program. On “Remote Control,” it turns out that every day is Anything Can Happen Day. Or as Herzog puts it, “We never want it to look the same two days in a row.”

But even the show’s standard format includes these comparatively irregular features:

A nice but decidedly smart-aleck host, comic/actor Ober, 30. Since “Remote” is his show in his basement, the host has the power to make up rules as he goes. On one show, Ober recalls, the three contestants knew absolutely nothing, so they were all thrown out half way through the program. With tape rolling, the contestants were yanked and three new ones were randomly recruited from the studio audience. Ober says the instant stand-ins proved to be far smarter contestants. His producers note that Ober has become such a hit with viewers that he was mobbed at a recent Bruce Springsteen concert.

A set that includes tacky, framed photos of famous hosts (including Bill Cullen, Bob Barker and Wink Martindale); a huge Pez dispenser/bust of legend Bob Eubanks that contains special toss-up questions; typical basement accessories such as a washer and dryer, hot-water heater and assorted bowling trophies.

A chain-smoking announcer, Quinn, whose voice sounds so frayed that his high school guidance counselor once suggested he “gargled with kerosene.” Early in the show, Quinn is often called on to give his opinion of the IQs of the contestants and to tip the home viewers as to which contestants they might want to bet on. He recently made an appearance on “The Cosby Show.”

Assorted visitors to the set, most of whom portray whacked-out relatives of host Ober or even more obnoxious neighbors. There’s cousin Flip, who wears a skirt and stars on The Laughing Guy Channel, in which contestants must identify TV theme songs such as the theme from “The NBC Nightly News”--after Flip laughs rather than sings them aloud.

When all the beachside hoopla was over, co-creators Davola and head writer Michael Dugan reflected on where the program has been and where it’s going.

Even before they’d arrived in Daytona, the two had been judged a supreme success. MTV had renewed their show for a year and had asked them to come up with more original programming for the network.

Over a dinner with the cast (at which numerous escapades unfit for publication were related, all of them centering on Quinn), the creators celebrated what appeared to be the day’s successful tapings. And they remembered “Remote’s” appropriately strange genesis.

They explained that after MTV had elected to produce a game show, a small group of staffers holed up in a huge New York hotel suite overlooking Central Park. Unlimited quantities of junk food were served to stimulate appropriate ideas. As Dugan said, “I can tell you, I was sick for three days.”

Recalled Davola, 32, “We sat around the room and talked about game shows and decided that the biggest sport in America today is remoting (flipping through dozens of TV channels with a remote control).”

Added Dugan, 27, who occasionally appears on the show as the judge in a white wig and black robe, “We wanted to avoid the obvious--’Name That Video’. . . . We were more inspired by ‘The Gong Show’ than by ‘Jeopardy!’ ”

By Davola’s figures, the show was put together in four months with about $10,000 spent on development. He estimated that it costs MTV about $13,000 to produce each episode--peanuts by most network standards.

And now the creators have also been approached about developing other game shows for different companies. But they maintained that they’re more in this for the fun than the money. (As MTV employees, they predicted, it’s unlikely they will see any great financial rewards if the show is syndicated. Said Dugan, “These guys (the show’s stars) will make out like bandits if the show is syndicated. Joe and I will still be taking the subway to work.”)

Meantime, the two have decided to stick with MTV--where they’re plenty busy preparing new features for “Remote” to be used when taping resumes later this month.

Upcoming channels include Dance Along (in which contestants will demonstrate their dancing skills), The Price Is Very Reasonable (a spoof on “The Price Is Right”), and Mortify Your Mom (players, acting in classic game show fashion, will volunteer personal information sure to embarrass their mothers).

They have also invited Bob Eubanks and other more traditional hosts to appear. They’re considering adding celebrity guests.

And Dog Boy, yet another of Ober’s unsettling relatives, is ready to roll. As Dugan elaborated, Dog Boy’s father is French-Canadian, his mother is French poodle and contestants will be asked to identify the famous canines Dog Boy has been trained to impersonate.

What’s more, viewers can expect to see “Remote” broadcast from more locations. “The numbers (ratings) went through the roof with the Daytona shows,” said Davola. “We’re going to take the show on the road more, and hopefully we’ll have a contest in which somebody wins the show to come to their house. We’ll take over their basement.”