I decided to write about “Wipeout” (Wednesdays at 8 pm, ABC) because I couldn’t understand why I enjoyed it. I’m not a big laugher, “The Office” and “30 Rock” excepted. So what was it about seeing the human body being twisted and contorted like a rag-doll that made me giggle with delight? 

In retrospect, it shouldn’t be that funny.

For an hour, you get to watch contestants willingly offer up their bodies to be bludgeoned, bounced, drowned, dropped, catapulted and slammed through four foam and water obstacle courses.  There are 24 contestants to start, with the slowest being cut after each successive course, first to 12, then 6, then a final 4 for the last course; 23 of these are rewarded with no more than belly flops, face plants and muscle pulls. Many of these folks haven’t a chance of winning, being better suited for “The Biggest Loser” (i.e., overweight and out-of-shape), and seem chosen clearly because of some quality, or lack thereof, that the producers hope will add to the laughs, much like the screeching characters that pepper “American Idol’s” audition shows.

And like those AI losers, most of these folks know they haven’t a chance of winning and are there simply to get their 15 seconds of fame.  For anyone willing to do just about anything they’re asked to get on TV, “Wipeout” rises to the challenge by being willing to do just about anything to them.

The demeaning starts even before contestants jump through a hoop as they begin their ordeal by being labeled with an embarrassing or jokey nickname, based on something the contestant wears or says: this one’s a ‘trash talker’ who, of course, says next to nothing; this one’s the ‘date’ because he wants to take the female announcer out for a steak; this one’s ‘princess’ because she comes wearing a tiara; that one’s ‘Don Juan’ because of his good looks; that one’s ‘Speedo’ because that’s about all he’s wearing.  Although their real names are displayed on screen, they are rarely spoken aloud given the announcers’/producers’ preference for the funnier nicknames and for the general mood of goofiness created by the pun and jibe-filled commentary. 

Once contestants start running the courses, you get swept up in that air of foolishness, of laughable looniness.  It’s crucial to the tone of “Wipeout,” giving us permission to laugh, letting us in on the joke, offering the illusion that such silliness cushions the blows to egos and bodies even when the foam-encased obstacles don’t.

One can only imagine the length of the legal waivers these people must sign to get on this show.  You can read between the obstacles that these folks are taking more punishment than anyone should be allowed to sign up for.  Amidst the careful editing, one can glimpse real pain and tears, contestants hobbling and slowing to crawls, exhausted and beat, adopting looks of increasing disbelief and despair as they move from one improbable obstacle to the next.  Occasionally, we’re allowed to see one give up out of frustration, but one wonders how many more give up off-screen.

Although my wife enjoys “Survivor” with me, she rolled her eyes at my college-age son and me, as we guffawed at some “Wipeout” dunking or other.  It was then that I sensed this show somehow crossed the line.  Being a psychologist, she is justifiably sensitive when people are exploited, especially for the amusement of others.  And to her, “Wipeout” clearly was such a case.

It is the quintessential guilty pleasure: something you like but probably shouldn’t.  When most people admit a guilty pleasure, it is often stated ironically to distance oneself from the scene of the crime, when the fact you do take more pleasure than guilt from the experience actually makes you complicit in the crime. 

But I did laugh, and did find it funny.  Now I’m not so sure.  I read somewhere that ambivalence is the collision of thought and feeling.  Why did I not find it distasteful instead, and should I have? Clearly, the humorous tone and the lack of information about the contestants make us less caring of them as people than as performing bodies.  I suppose it is stupid to laugh at stupid people acting stupid, but I didn’t find the show funny because these people were stupid. That is, it wasn’t the nicknames, the goofy outfits or the inane commentary that made me laugh (although they did buffer the blows). I did find all that stupid. Simply put, I think it made me laugh to see these bodies moving in ways bodies are not supposed to. 

Isn’t this what humor is all about? The unexpected punchline, the use of a word in an unexpected way, the surprise ending? How can you not giggle at bodies behaving unexpectedly, willingly hurtling at, then bouncing off of huge red, rubber balls, then falling where they may?  Or players sliding along a wall of punching boxing gloves, sacrificing faces and groins?  Or climbing over (or being squeezed between) three huge, spinning, interlocking gears?  Or being catapulted some 20 feet up and maybe 50 feet out into a pool of water.  It’s Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and silent movie slapstick comedy revised for the reality show era. 

Now that I’m actually thinking about these contestants, I wonder if I knew one of them personally or knew their backstory, would I not experience the blows and falls with more empathy?  After all, these contestants are not trained stunt people or performers.

I don’t know.  Why do people run with the bulls in Spain, and should we not watch that because it exploits peoples’ stupidity? 

There’s a grey area here that hinges on the fact that all these folks are willing participants, and whether or not they are capable of enduring their trials is unknown until they actually try.  And after all, is it stupid for someone to actually survive all four courses and win the $50,000 prize?

So, on the level of visceral, unthinking feeling, I find myself recommending the show if you like physical comedy.  From a more thoughtful perspective, I recommend you see it to understand how people can be manipulated into enjoying something they probably shouldn’t.  People like me.

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