Travelling Smurph: The Dr Phil Report

On March 17^th the excuse du jour was the traditional St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Accordingly, the tour bus lunch’n’browse stop was diverted from the Farmers’ Market to Olivera Street. Known as the birthplace of LA, the street is a traditional Mexican style plaza where shoppers elbow their way through crowded narrow passageways between small vendor stalls. Crammed with colourful piñatas, hanging puppets in white peasant garb, Mexican pottery, serapes, mounted bull horns, oversized sombreros, and a life-size stuffed donkey, Olivera Street replicates a real Mexican tourist trap except that the prices are all fixed. As I munched a hot dog and slurped a Coke at the entrance to the plaza, I watched St. Patrick’s Day-costumed wanderers and listened to high school bands tuning up for the parade.

On March 18^th, the traffic crush was justifiable and forgivable, heralding the arrival of President Barack Obama. I was so excited just knowing Barack and I were in the same city! This time the tour bus did make it to Farmers Market, a noisy maze of novelty vendors and food sellers much like Granville Island in Vancouver or The Forks in Winnipeg.

In a 90-minute process between arrival at the studio and show-time, Dr. Phil attendees were funneled through security check points including a purse search and metal detector, and then a series of three holding stations before entering the sound stage. The first stop was an outdoor hallway lined with wooden benches topped with long dusty cushions. Young, good looking Dr. Phil greeters, dressed in blue blazers, white shirts with ties and tan pants moved up and down the line, enthusiastically chatting up the audience and ensuring that a pen was passed along and everyone signed the mandatory pink-sheet waivers that had been received at the entrance gate. The full-page, small-type document waives all rights of claim against Dr. Phil, the studio and their respective distributers, partners, joint venturers, successors, heirs, representatives, assigns, affiliates, licencees, agents, officers, directors, shareholders, employees and attorneys. The document also stipulates waiver of compensation for use of any recorded image, accepts that there is no warrantee for any gift received, and acknowledges that advice provided by Dr. Phil is not to be relied upon. I'm quite certain I was the only attendee to insist on fully reading the document before scrawling a signature across the bottom.

The second waiting spot was another line of cushioned benches where the audience was segregated into groups, depending on the colour of ticket that signified the level (or not) of VIP status. The final waiting room consisted of rows of padded chairs surrounded on all four sides by thick, royal blue velvet curtains. After receiving further instructions from a fellow who provided a history of the studio (built to house RKO Pictures and later the production site for “I Love Lucy") the audience was at last ushered into the sound stage.

Although the sound stage is small and there are no bad seats, audience placement was carefully choreographed with VIPs and the young’n’ beautiful occupying the front row and all seats likely to be caught on camera. Although relegated to the back row on both days, I was close enough to see all the on-stage action as well as read Dr. Phil’s teleprompter.

In the final warm-up before the show, a chubby, harried looking assistant aptly named Chunky B further warmed up the audience. Racing frantically from side-to-side Chunky encouraged the audience to clap and cheer for Dr. Phil, cupping hand to ear in an "I can't hear you" gesture, and handing out prize coupons which entitle the six recipients to each receive a free book. At Chunky’s behest the crowd did a 30-second on-the-spot dance to a blast of rock music and in the heat of that frenzy, Chunky exited stage right as Dr. Phil appeared at the back of the set.

The excited frenzy hit a brick wall upon hearing the topics for the two shows being taped. The first was about how the foster home system is failing children and the second was a boo-hoo episode about getting alimony for the hapless ex-wife and children of flamboyant billionaire basketball player and legendary bad-boy, Dennis Rodman.

Dr. Phil looked exactly like his pictures; paunchy, balding, ordinary. He didn't appear to be overly made-up and only once during the two show-shoots did a make-up artist dash on-stage to dust his balding head with anti-reflective powder. On the other hand, Dr. Phil’s wife Robin, who sits in her designated, extra-padded audience chair during every show, looked ever so Barbie-doll-cute in her form-fitting designer clothes and spike-heeled platform Jimmy Chu shoes. At every opportunity, a hair stylist sprang into action, fluffing Robin’s bangs with a brush and immediately thereafter Robin reached up and gave her bangs a good flick with her hand.

Each taping of the Dr. Phil show lasted about 75 minutes. During each of several commercial breaks all the furniture was wheeled off-stage and a different arrangement whisked into place. At the same time, the audience immediately in front of the stage and surrounding Robin was re-arranged. If necessary to fill blanks or create the right ambiance, seats were filled with the youthful ushers who quickly removed ties and jackets and sprang into hand-clapping action.

After Dr. Phil’s good-bye wave and standard admonishment to "get real about your life", he made his signature hand-holding exit with Robin and, although neither seemed to notice, they passed within inches of my back-row seat. The audience was kept in place and clapping for the length of time it takes to roll the credits. In accordance with VIP priority, folks were then quickly ushered out of the studio, past a table flogging Dr. Phil coffee cups, and back onto the street. (Yes, I bought one.)

Each of the 75 minute tapings provided ample fodder for laughter and chatter on the three-hour return trip to Hemet. No one seemed particularly concerned that the audience was given no idea of when, or if, the shows we "helped create" (so said Chunky B) will air.

Early next week I will re-donate my Dr. Phil audience outfit to the Hemet thrift shop from whence it was purchased. Can anyone guess what my new favourite tee-shirt is?