At no point does anyone provide a quasi-reasonable and succinct explanation for how they know the answer to a question you almost never hear someone say, “I read an article about Idina Menzel jokingly calling John Travolta ‘Glenn Gazinga’ at the Oscars,” or “I know that a tadpole was the first cloned organism in history, because I learned about it at school once.” In order to bullshit that they know an answer to a basically unanswerable question, contestants inevitably drone on and on about how they learned this particular piece of information reading bedtime stories to their kids or traveling through Cincinnati or whilst having an affair with a dashing Argentine football fan. Despite competing for money, the panelists and contestants are supportive of each other and they have an easy camaraderie, which is immensely fun to watch nor does the show rely on contestant sob stories to try to build up viewer sympathy, a refreshing departure from game-show convention.īut by far the most compelling aspect of the show is watching the contestants’ long-winded, backstory-ridden explanations of how they knew the answers. There are many things that work about Bullsh*t: The contestants are for the most part likable and non-annoying (with the exception of an outrageously irritating former cult member turned drag-brunch host in the final episode) Mandel is basically the most adept and charismatic game show host of all time and the questions are genuinely difficult and likely to prompt extensive at-home debate (did you know Dali’s Persistence of Memory is only 9 1/2 x 13 inches? I was an art history minor, and I sure didn’t!). Contestants progress through the tiers by successfully bullshitting the panelists, one of whom gets to proceed to the hot seat based on their accuracy in being able to suss out said bullshit. As on Millionaire, there are tiers to the questions, and like Deal, you can “lock in” at certain tiers to ensure you don’t go home empty-handed. But basically, the premise of Bullsh*t is as follows: Three panelists are all competing for a spot in the hot seat to answer trivia questions for a $1 million prize. The actual framework of the show is somewhat more confusing than it needs to be, so I won’t belabor it. (One contestant, for instance, claims she knows that Walt Disney World uses balsamic vinegar to ward off mosquitoes because she actually worked there though the contestant was actually a former Disney employee, the answer turned out to be bullshit.) They attempt to do so usually by invoking long-winded explanations and biographical details that aim to justify their answer. Instead, it rewards contestants’ ability to convince a panel of three judges (all of whom are themselves being judged based on their ability to discern whether the contestant is telling the truth) that they know the answer to the question in the first place. Bullsh*t is a combination strategy-and-trivia game show ostensibly modeled after early-aughts hits like Who Wants to be a Millionaire? and Deal or No Deal that does not reward knowledge of trivia or clever implementation of strategy at all. This isn’t particularly trenchant analysis on Mandel’s part: It’s purely a statement of fact. After the contestant wins, say, $25,000, Mandel will comment on the absurdity of the situation: “You just won $25,000 by knowing absolutely nothing.” The contestant has won a significant amount of money answering trivia questions, despite getting a sizable percentage (in some cases, most) of those questions wrong, simply by being able to convince a panel of judges that their answer was right. There’s a line that host Howie Mandel likes to revisit throughout the all-too-brief duration of the first season of Bullsh*t the Game Show, Netflix’s new entrant to its (largely unsuccessful) game-show canon.
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