Yahoo Lifestyle The Scandalous Game Show Contestant Who Hacked $110,237 From CBS
TORONTO—On May 19, 1984, 35-year-old Michael Larson won $110,237 on CBS’s Press Your Luck, thus becoming the most successful single-day game show contestant in television history.
Premiering on Sept. 5 at the Toronto International Film Festival, The Luckiest Man in America is the fictionalized story of that legendary real-life run, which is often referred to as a “scandal” because, as it turned out, Michael wasn’t merely the beneficiary of random fortune. Alas, while its protagonist may be concealing deeper truths beneath his mundane façade, Samir Oliveros’ film (executive-produced by Pablo Larraín) strives in vain to use its tale to say something about destiny, ambition, cunning, and the American Dream. It’s a pleasant and well-acted curio, and little more.
When Michael (Paul Walter Hauser) first auditions for Press Your Luck opposite the show’s creator Bill Carruthers (David Strathairn) and casting director Chuck (Shamier Anderson), he’s pretending to be someone he’s not. While that ruse doesn’t last long and his real identity is colorfully bizarre—he’s an air conditioner repairman who’s traveled from Ohio to Los Angeles in the ice cream truck he drives during the summer—Bill is convinced that he’s precisely the sort of genuine oddball for which programs such as his were made. Ignoring Chuck’s protestations, he tells the schlubby Michael to comb his mop of graying hair, trim his salt-and-pepper beard, buy a jacket, and return the next day for a taping.
Hauser’s Michael follows those orders in the same weird, halting, uncomfortable way that he does everything else, and upon arriving on set—following a behind-the-scenes Television City tour given by assistant Sylvia (Maisie Williams)—he’s in awe. That continues when he takes his before-the-cameras seat sandwiched between fellow contestants Janie (I Think You Should Leave scene-stealer Patti Harrison) and Ed (Brian Geraghty), the latter of whom is the current champ. Hauser’s fidgeting and shifty eyes convey Michael’s nerves but, also, something more, and the initial intrigue of The Luckiest Man in America stems from the unavoidable fact that his weirdness and forthcoming triumph share a mysterious relationship.
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Hosted by cheery Peter Tomarken (Walton Goggins), Press Your Luck is a contest of pure chance in which players answer trivia questions in the hopes of earning “spins” on the Big Board, where a light randomly hops around game pieces and players attempt to use their buzzers to stop the light on valuable spaces rather than those featuring the dreaded, bankruptcy-instigating Whammy (a red devilish cartoon character).
There’s next to no skill involved in these proceedings, and yet after a slow start during the episode’s opening segment, Michael begins hitting it big. More surprising to Bill and Chuck, who watch from the control room and the studio floor (respectively), Michael does as the show’s title encourages and presses his luck. As his winnings pile up, shock and amusement morph into panic for the CBS bigwigs, who are soon faced with a bill that exceeds any reasonable threshold.
Before taking the stage, Michael convinces Sylvia to let him use the phone (against company policy!) in order to call his daughter Susie (Carlota Castro) because it’s her birthday. Instead, he gets his wife Patricia (Haley Bennett), who’s hosting the girl’s party and seems both astonished and a bit annoyed that Michael has gotten in touch.
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A second unanswered call further suggests that Michael’s account of his loving home life (complete with breakfasts of eggs, bacon and burnt toast enjoyed around the table and in front of the TV) isn’t exactly accurate. So too do the various personal items that Chuck finds in Michael’s ice cream van, including a collection of fake IDs, a legal notice indicating that a person named Lyle (Stefano Meier) has a restraining order against him, and a duffel bag full of VHS tapes containing prior episodes of Press Your Luck. The longer Chuck studies those recordings, the more he deduces what’s really going on.
As has been public knowledge for decades, Michael’s accomplishment is the result of shrewd pre-planning. Specifically, he’s realized that Press Your Luck’s lights move in only five recurring patterns, and by memorizing them, he can win forever. Upon hearing this, Bill panics, understanding that he’s responsible for both making the show easy to hack and for casting Michael in the first place. Nonetheless, thanks to one of the series’ directors (Fargo’s David Rysdahl), Bill and his fellow suits recognize that this feat isn’t a catastrophe so much as an opportunity. By positioning Michael as an everyman who’s sticking it to corporate CBS, they can make a mint in advertising and ratings, thereby allowing everyone to walk away a winner.
The Luckiest Man in America therefore transforms into a saga about how luck is often fake, the American Dream is frequently a fantasy manufactured via scheming, and legitimately happy endings don’t exist. Unfortunately, unlike the nominally similar (if far weightier) Quiz Show, Oliveros’ film barely bothers to cast its micro story as a reflection of macro issues. Far more effort is expended on period production design than on infusing this material with depth; Michael’s familial motivations are a rather weak thread, and almost everyone else involved in the drama is rendered in one dimension.
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Goggins, Strathairn, Anderson, and the rest are all serviceable but there’s nothing to their characters other than a bit of amazement and consternation regarding Michael’s achievement, and Oliveros and Maggie Briggs’ script doesn’t help them out with comedy, of which there is none.
Aside from Michael’s brief, accidental, exposition-heavy visit to a talk show hosted by Leon Hart (Johnny Knoxville), The Luckiest Man in the World sticks to its sole Press Your Luck episode, which is ultimately split into two parts to account for Michael’s prolonged streak. In dramatic terms, however, the game show is a dud (it’s just a lot of talentless buzzer-pushing), and despite Hauser’s committed performance, so too is Michael—a sad-sack huckster who did the 1980s equivalent of counting cards. Neither a cheat nor a genius, the film’s title character is simply a clever con man at the right place and the right time—hence the reason that, prior to this feature, few had ever heard of him.
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