The ‘Deal’ World

Chosen over the woman in lime-green bangs, the woman in clown-orange bangs emits a squeal that becomes a scream that becomes a screech.

That amuses the banana with the shades on, the nun with the five o'clock shadow and a Fellini-esque pinwheel of cartoonish creatures. Plus two backstage assistants.

"She's crazy," says one.

"Crazy is good," says the other. "Psycho is not."

You're witnessing TV history rebooted: "Let's Make a Deal" version 2009, dealt to daytime viewers on tape from the Tropicana weekdays starting today on CBS, 9-10 a.m., KLAS-TV, Channel 8.

Curtain one. Curtain two. Curtain three. Normal people behaving very abnormally. Dressed in jeans and flip-flops out there. Wearing Rubbermaid diapers in here. Salivating over money, refrigerators, patio furniture, shopping sprees, vacation packages, automobiles and a "Hi, Mom!" moment on what can truly be called -- affectionately -- the Boob Tube. (Whether Mom beams with pride over her little darling dressed as a part-policewoman/part-dominatrix is debatable.) Or they might pocket some fast cash if they produce a hard-boiled egg on demand, short of laying one.

"I had a fabulous time making myself look foolish," says 20-year-old Las Vegan Michael Runion, still in his "Deal" duds after a taping: sunshine-bright-yellow swim shorts, red soccer socks, military boots, purple tie, baby-blue plaid shirt with red stripes, red visor worn tilted, backward and upside down, sunglasses and baseball mitts covering each hand.

Call him "The Village Idiot." He does.

"My friends are talking about recording the show and not letting me live this down for years."

That's all onstage. Stretching out behind it is the "prize warehouse," where Sayyid the camel and a caged bull (to co-star with a china shop set) flex their modeling muscles. They're the symbolic "ZONK!" -- as in "LOSER!" -- prizes, unlike the just-won-by-someone "Smart Car," smartly parked beyond spitting distance of double-humped Sayyid.

Another day at the Tropicana, which -- with usually several tapings per day several times a week -- is now the Kook Capital of the Entertainment Capital of the World.

"I've been hugged, grabbed, picked up and spun around in circles," says Wayne Brady, the busy Venetian headliner hosting "Deal" as a side gig. "I've been kissed on the neck, kissed on the mouth by girls, kissed on the mouth by guys, had my butt pinched -- almost anything you can think of."

Beyond the studio, contestants inject a kind of Froot Loop energy into the 52-year-old resort.

"There's lots of foot traffic, lots of costumes, a lot of energy on the casino floor," says Tropicana spokeswoman Brittany Markarian. "We see all sorts of people in our cafe."

What if, in fine Vegas fashion, some contestants drink their meals before showtime?

"We've caught that, and we don't want it," says executive producer Michael Richards. "We have producers who interview each person, we pick who's going to play the game."

"Deal" dates to pre-hippie America and could survive well into eternity.

Classic "Deal" aired on ABC and NBC from 1963-76; a weekly syndicated version was broadcast from 1971-77; a Canadian revival ran from 1980-81; an "All New Let's Make a Deal" popped up from 1984-86; another daytime version resurfaced on NBC from 1990-91; and episodes of yet another weekly prime-time "Deal" aired in 2003.

The thread through them all?

"This has been my baby for 46 years," says 88-year-old Monty Hall, who defined a show that defines his career. He is now host-emeritus, serving as show consultant.

"I'd like to start the first show by handing over the mic to Wayne," says Hall, who hosted "Deal" through parts of five decades and plans to appear in 2010, marking the sixth.

This Vegas-based edition, the first daytime network game show to premiere in 16 years, replaces "Guiding Light," which was doused by CBS. "Deal" has been banking episodes for several weeks.

"This is a monstrous show to launch, just in the scope of getting prizes and the set, which is huge," says Richards, rhapsodic over the Tropicana's expansive Pavilion, which gives the show lots of legroom, including a 300-capacity studio.

"The pacing is quicker because how people watch television is different now. We have 21/2 as many deals, and we'll change the rhythms. There might be a quick game at the beginning, then a game in the first act, then a game that's going to go throughout the show, and maybe a three-person, high-stakes trading game in act one of the next one."

Producers claim audience members face 1-in-18 odds of being selected, which Runion beat to play a guessing game: If a female contestant had certain items in her purse, she got $300 for each. If Runion guessed whether she did or didn't, he got the cash instead.

He wound up with ... nothing. Then Brady offered him what lurked behind curtain three or $600. "I look at my friends, they're yelling, 'Take curtain three!'" Runion says. "So I took the curtain, and he opens it, and it's a junky, smoldering vehicle that's older than me. But I ended up getting $100 at the end of the show."

Faring far better -- on a recent day when she desperately needed to -- was 48-year-old Lisa Spearman, a nursing home worker who lost her job and found her car banged up by a reckless driver in a parking lot, all before the sun set.

"I started to come home and cry a river, but I came to the show instead," Spearman says. "I knew there would be a lot of laughs here and it would be good for me, and I'm so glad I did. I won a 42-inch flat-screen TV and two really nice recliners. I don't usually win much."

That day, Spearman came clad in a jeans jumpsuit, Afro wig and white roller skates. She has returned to several tapings, though doesn't always make it on.

"I'm gonna come every day because I'm unemployed, so maybe they'll hire me. Or even volunteer. I need to be where there's laughter," she said.

This day, Spearman wears a heavy clock around her neck and tin-foil teeth. "I'm Flavor Flav's girlfriend," she says.

That, Richards says, is the right approach.

"We don't want people wearing recognizable characters, like Superman or something, for several reasons, not the least of which is trademarks," Richards says. "We want homemade costumes so their personality comes through."

And that dude in the third row, stage left, the ultimate Vegas cliché? "Elvis wasn't chosen, and that's why."

Costumes weren't always at the core of "Let's Make a Deal." In 1963, contestants arrived in starched suits and modest dresses until one woman, extra eager to be selected by Hall, hoisted a placard.

"It read, 'Roses are red, violets are blue, I came here to deal with you,'" Hall recalls. "I picked her, then everybody started coming with signs, then funny hats. NBC called me to a meeting saying, 'You've got people dressed like it's Halloween, what are you going to do about it?' I said, 'Absolutely nothing. This is television, it's pictorial.' And in those days, all the shows selected as contestants these pretty young couples, mostly white, but we said, 'America is all sizes, ages, races and shapes,' so we picked them older, fat, black, brown. It became a cross-section of America."

Sending elated contestants home with enormous prizes is emotionally rewarding.

"I can't give away too much," Brady says, "but we had one couple, let's just say their whole circumstance changed. That was wonderful to see."

Hall, however, claims that size -- excuse the expression -- doesn't matter.

"The thing I decried was the shows over the last decade gave away millions," Hall says. "The biggest roar I got from a crowd was when I said I'd give someone $20 per dime, and an audience member pulled out a thick roll of 50 dimes. That got a bigger reaction than any big deal. Another time, I said I'd give $100 for any kind of ball. This person ran behind the three doors, he remembered I had given away a pool table, and he ran to it, holding a billiard ball in his hand. That's the beauty of the show, when they surprised me with their ingenuity."

Sartorial ingenuity isn't lacking at "Deal" '09. This human menagerie includes a wizard, two chefs, a green alien, a caterpillar, a droopy-bearded Santa, a cowboy, several witches, a king, a graduate and a mob wiseguy. Plus the banana in cool sunglasses and the nun with the stubble.

Many eyeballs, however, turn lasciviously toward the lanky pirate showgirl.

Work the booty to win the booty?

Good deal.

Contact reporter Steve Bornfeld at sbornfeld @reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0256.