John Pavlus

Could the heyday of syndicated reality-dating shows be waning? If the turnout for "Elimidate"'s open casting call at Bar Chicago is any indication, connoisseurs of sexual schadenfreude may soon have to get their fix elsewhere.

Steeled to battle packs of pleathered natives clamoring for attention, the scene instead has all the sizzle of a poorly attended eighth-grade formal. Maybe the strains of Whitesnake filtering down the stairwell should have tipped us off. "Definitely, this is it," says the bartender, pointing at the vinyl "Elimidate" banner tacked to the back wall. Either we've missed the whole tawdry affair, or the shadowy gatekeepers of televised emotional blood-sport have somehow made their silent judgment--and found us wanting.

But that hardly seems likely, based on the reconnaissance gathered from an earlier casting call at the Bally's on Clybourn. At that event, would-be romantic gladiators waited patiently for producers to pair them off and snap Polaroids. Most contenders fell into three rough categories. Many are Alphas, like Jeff, a square-jawed colossus salesman who resembles Sebastian Junger. Then there's Antoinette, whose dating life "isn't too good." "I looked great this morning," she said, pointing at her now-fallen bangs. "It's just this damn humidity!" She's a Believer.

The best, though, are the Cynics, who harbor no illusions about "Elimidate"'s cat-eat-cat world, like Lindsey, a chipmunk-cheeked engineer from Boys Town. In fact, that's the whole appeal. "I want to compete, definitely," Lindsey said. But not necessarily to make a match. "I just want to get one cheap shot in. That's all."

(2003-05-28)

Also by John Pavlus

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